'They all look alike' syndrome

Bootleg images from Tom Ford's SS11 show

Two reasons made the 20-something-hour haul back and from America bearable. One was the stack of discounted shoes that filled most of my luggage, and the second was my smug belief that no one would have the same pairs when I came home.

With shoes enough to last me through fashion week, the first reason for my being in the land of the free had been fulfilled. It was the second that had me on shaky grounds.

Often while driving through the States, I fell asleep looking at manicured roads, lined with Target and Subway and McDonalds, only to wake up later, looking at manicured roads lined with Target and Subway and McDonalds. Such is the state of comatose that a moving car inflicts on me, that on more than one occassion my initial reaction was that my family had reached a restaurant, finished a meal, and were back home, all while I was asleep in the car. What began to unnerve me even more though, was that the people too were beginning to look alike. For example, autumn collections had just hit while I was there and I saw in one store, a well styled pair of mid-calf boots. I was soon to find out though, that I was not the only one of that opinion. By the end of one week of driving around, I had counted at least 20 people wearing the exact same pair of boots. Since it’s a country wide store, it chills me to think how many people are wearing those shoes.

Unfortunately for us, the phenomenon has started here. You can smell Zara on person from a mile away, and what will happen when stores like H&M and Topshop hit? What is this brave new world that we are creating? Will there have to be a reserve for single-city boutique owners?

It was for this reason that I was relieved with Tom Ford’s marketing plan this year. After a hiatus of six years, he revealed his Spring Summer 2011 collection, not to the usual humbug of fashion week paparazzi, but in a private viewing to the ‘queens’ of the fashion. So all we have is word from the powers that be that the collection is breathtaking. No clothes will be seen in magazines till January 2011 and the same will be in stores in February 2011. It’s a start in the direction away from mass merchandising.

Just a step though. Thanks to Zara’s track record of drawing board-to-store in 2 weeks, we’ll be wearing a Tom Ford ‘inspired’ look in March, instead of January. If you need to pick me out, I have a birth mark under my left foot.

How to get to a concert by train

Travelling by train to a concert is an art.

You have to pick the right clothes, shoes and bag with enough equipment to make sure you don't have a traveled-by-train look when you arrive to applaud. Performers have an annoying habit of looking immaculate on stage and the break between movements is ideal for them to mock the crumpled audience.

In this weather sweating is a given so you don't want to pick anything in a light colour, or too tight. Also, nothing white, you never know who your seat's been under. Strangely enough modesty is not something you have to worry about. Evening traffic is not very rushed and if the sunglasses are big enough, they'll frighten people away.

Then there's the question of shoes. Now this is of utmost importance. The dilemma is that train- travel shoes are never really concert shoes. But there's a way around this. One is to carry two pairs of shoes. A flat pair to run for the train, and heels to make a poised arrival. If you don't want to change shoes, then you need to have a really sturdy heeled pair. Ideally you want a rubber soled easy-to-walk-in pair of pumps. Leather soles will get ruined and anything open will leave you with footprints for nail polish. Charles & Keith have some ideal 3 inch block heel for these occasions. Although an alien concept in fashion, for such times comfort is imperative. I once wore a very pretty, very pointed pair of shoes for a concert, after which I couldn't get up to pee during the interval.

Now the damage control you do, when you get in a cab from the station to the hall. First wet wipes because, well, because. Then you need to have compact, blush and lipstick (Lakme and MAC lipstick never come off). Keep the window closed on your side and let the breeze from the one along side cool you down. Also the change of shoes should be done here. I always feel really sneaky at this point. The changing act is a bit of a Bond experience only with no wetsuit and unfortunately no martini.

A chic carry-all is necessary to pitch everything into. I picked up a surprisingly pretty one from a store opposite KFC on Linking Road (Rs. 600). It's white and neatly quilted and can hold my wallet, shoes, phone with a separate compartment for wet wipes and makeup. Also they give you a six month guarantee on the bags. Unfortunately even then, I know it won't last very long. An Aldo , Mango and Tommy (Rs. 3000 onwards) have some neat carry-alls this season.

Between the vibratoes and the long-haired-blue-eyed man waving his stick, you're in for quite a hm, climatic experience. Please don't clap between the movements.

Brand, Season, Collection… Haversack?

Being an irregular regular at the park, I had established a pattern. Leave bag on stand, finish with track, pick up bag, stretch, stumble home. And every irregular regular day the guard reminded me ‘Madam, leave bag, your risk’.

One day, dazed with a run that was too fast and too long, I picked up my bag and scrounged around for my bottle. Unfortunately, instead of my blue faded one, I picked up a very crisp and clean bottle and an even cleaner sweatshirt. Realizing my mistake, I attempted to fake limbering down by jumping up and down and flaying my arms about. In what must have looked like a terrible circus act, I then dropped the wrong bag back as inconspicuously as a dancing bear in a china shop.

Finally walking back with my own muddied bag and bitten, scratched, faded bottle I found myself actually offended by the owner of that bag. He seemed like one of those purposeful runners, with their music plugged ears, that never panted. This got me worried, very worried. Considering I didn't carry my wallet, or cellphone, what would a total stranger make of me based on the contents of my haversack?

I began to sketch.

In my bag I found a sweater, Crocin, mints, homeopathic medicine, some change in coins, swimming cap still in packaging, swimming goggles, sweater, blue and green water bottle, stuffed miniature tortoise, payals.

Sitting there undoing the contents of my bag, I felt like I was one of those agents in CSI. Trying to be as objective as possible, I dissected and analyzed. I concluded that the mints and Crocin seemed normal. (Of course later on they would be broken down to test for arsenic, cyanide and cocaine while I wore goggles, a white coat and spoke short, terse sentences).The sweater with grass and sweat stains reflected questionable hygienic habits . The swimming cap, was evidence to an energetic plan abandoned. The tortoise would be passed off as a paperweight and the payals as cheap.

Now I was really upset.

How would I explain that the tortoise had a name and had sat with me through every examination, and that the payals though cheap, were a precious reminder of college ‘bohemian’ fashions? Didn't they know that soon after I bought the cap, I chopped all my hair off?

I have a handbag that makes a definite brand, season, collection statement, and I guard it with my life. Any excesses that litter are cleaned out every evening. My daily needs are neatly wrapped in leather and a gold clasp. You would never know that my sweatshirt hasn’t been washed for over a week now.