I did as planned for Saturday morning. I queued outside H&M to avail of the limited edition Jimmy Choo products on offer. I arrived at 08.00 to find an orderly queue of around two hundred – most of whom were women – snaked around the corner of South King Street. Anticipation filled the air; it were as if the crowd might suddenly break into a sprint. The line contained just a few men accompanied by girlfriends. The best pickings of Jimmy Choo’s men’s range were as good as mine, I thought. My brother, Catherine and I waited patiently in the drizzling rain, making chit chat with some of the others in the queue.
At 09.00 the doors of the store swung open. The queue slithered at a quick pace until it was consumed by the entrance. In mere seconds, the ground floor of H&M descended into chaos. Countless women bounded for the centre of the shop, rummaging and throwing garments aside. Many grabbed anything they could, paying no heed to size or colour. I have since learned that a member of staff received a kick in the back by an aggressive customer. I am grateful to have given the lady-shoppers as wide a berth I did. I left Catherine to her sorority of fashion-enthusiasts. I made my way to the refuge of the men’s section. As the Bro and I descended on the escalator, I briefed him on the rules of engagement.
At the foot of the stairs was the Jimmy Choo range. It easily stood out from H&M’s regular collection. The clothes were adorned with lush, royal blue tags. The shiny, blue stacks of shoe boxes were a sight to behold. On my wish list was a leather jacket and suit. I rushed to the suits to secure my size. I quickly learned there were limited sizes on offer. I tried on a jacket. It was a little baggy. I opted for a thirty six waist trousers instead of a thirty four. Unfortunately, the men’s changing room had become an overflow to the women’s. There was no possibility I could try my suit on. My Bro suggested I strip in a quiet corner of the store, if I were desperate. I did consider it for a moment. The Bro and I separated to find the leather jackets.
“Find the leather jackets in size large!” I instructed him firmly. “Grab one in black and brown, if they have both colours!”
Minutes later, after no success, I scanned the increasing number of bodies to locate him. His eyes met mine.
“Any luck with the jacket?”
“Is that them?” He pointed to some shabby looking, fake leather jackets.
Frustrated, I glanced around the men’s section. Suddenly, it was obvious that this little island of fancy clothes and shoe boxes was the entirety of the Jimmy Choo men’s range. Only one third of the men’s range was on sale. There were no jeans, scarves or jackets. I located a member of staff.
“Hi, can you tell me where the leather jackets are?”
A young – and quite attractive – guy with a British accent shrugged. “Sorry, mate. This is the extent of it. They sent no leather jackets.”
“Oh!” I responded. Young, Sexy Shop Assistant turned to accommodate a pushy customer.
I stood there a little dumbstruck. What was I to do with the remaining few hundred euro I budgeted to spend? Catherine appeared from nowhere out of the bustling group of men. She carried a few items. I recognised a grey dress from coverage of the celebrity launch party earlier that week.
“How did you get on?” she asked in expectation.
“There are no leather jackets, Catherine! I am disappointed. What do you have?”
“I got these,” she replied as she held out her prizes. Two dresses draped from hangers. “I like this grey dress, but it’s not my size. It’s expensive. This other dress is pretty much all I could get. I am not mad on it either.”
We concluded she would not purchase either dress. She was not completely happy. She hung both Jimmy Choo dresses on a rail. Both garments were pilfered within seconds.
“What do you think of my suit, Catherine?”
She looked about my person. “Where is it?”
My brother howled with laughter.
“I’m wearing it now,” I said dismissively. “You are obviously astounded by its fabulousness.”
We all laughed.
“Is it a little big for you?” This question was put gently.
I turned to the mirror. I made an assessment of its size. A nearby woman advised the suit was a “fine” fit. My doubts were quashed. On the way to the pay point I stumbled over one or two shoe boxes that carelessly littered the floor. Maybe shoes would cater to the void my leather jacket would have so perfectly filled. I opened a shoe box to find a brown pair of suede boots. A second box contained the same.
“I hate suede,” I said to Catherine as I opened yet another box. “Behold! More suede boots.”
I reached for my fifth box. I could sense my brother’s impatience. There was no horrid suede boots. This box contained a pair of breathtakingly beautiful, black, leather boots. I gasped. I placed a hand to my chest.
Young, Sexy Shop Assistant reappeared in front of me. “Try them on,” he said (in probably less a provocative manner than I recall).
A good looking man need never instruct me twice. I sat on a display shelf and wedged my wide foot into the boot. They fit perfectly. I strutted up and down the shop, wearing one boot.
“I’m taking them,” I announced aloud. “And I am taking this Jimmy Choo wallet too.”
I proceeded to the pay point. Young, Sexy Shop Assistant had just opened a till (especially for me). He beckoned me forward. We made conversation as he meticulously folded the suit.
“You’re very lucky to find these boots,” he said. “These were the most popular item of the range.”
I lapped up the attention as I handed over my cash, momentarily considering suggestively throwing it at him.
Leaving the store, I felt good. I had just flirted outrageously with a sexy guy and bought some Jimmy Choo threads. I can’t exactly recall how I vacated the store; it may have been on a large, white, fluffy cloud.
Back at home, Boyfriend failed to conceive the idea of owning such amazing footwear. Nor did his basic mind grasp my suggestion I was now out of his league.
“I own Jimmy Choo boots,” I advised him. “The stakes are much higher now.”
He did not respond.
Boyfriend will not cease pestering me to remove the boots from the middle of the floor in the living room. They are a focal point; to be admired by all. Someday, I might have to wear them outdoors, but for the moment I desire to savour the perfection that is my black Jimmy Choo boots.