Last month, I bit the proverbial bullet on a fashion purchase that I had deliberated on for half-a-decade — the Valentino Rockstud pump. I saw the shoes for the first time on my Instagram feed in 2013, three years after they made their sensational début in Paris, and fell in love instantly. For years they remained an obsessive fantasy — ‘obsessive’ because I would go online every day to check them out, and ‘fantasy’ because they cost a little more than my monthly pay check. I had plenty of luxury cravings in between, but none lasted as long as or matched the potency for this pair. So I decided last November that I would have them.
Hold on to your patience
Luxury goods are designed to be aspirational in their unattainability, but I knew I could get there with patience and, ironically, prudence. The first step was to see where I could get the best price. In India, the duties and taxes levied on luxury goods are very steep — so much so that you can buy yourself a return ticket to Paris with that money. America has competitive prices with regular sales, but taxes crop up there as well. Europe is the best bet, not only because it gives you that je ne sais quois coolness when you say you just ‘picked this up in Madrid’, but also because they offer the lowest prices. You are also entitled to a VAT refund as a tourist, further reducing the cost. We were to travel to Spain in July 2018, so that gave me a realistic target to save for.
Affording designer goods should never come at the cost of existing obligations. I began putting aside money over the course of eight months — after I had paid my bills and completed my investments. Naturally, my disposable income was hit, but I coped by taking on additional jobs, going on a no-buy spree and not eating out unless necessary.
The no-buy was particularly challenging. By abstaining, I realised how much I had been mindlessly spending on things I did not need and how spending had been a response to emotional triggers. The first few weeks were difficult because I had to consciously alter what had become a habit. It did not help that friends and family asked why I was practising such extreme degrees of masochism. I persevered by having photos of the shoes around me. The result of my no-buy: it not only boosted savings, but also the ability to appreciate all that I already had.
The designer experience
The day we went to Valentino in Madrid, I was giddy with excitement. Designer stores are created to look and feel like tangible dreams. The one I went to, located in the upmarket Salamanca district, was straight out of a fashion fantasy — with its red walls, sparkly marble floors and ethereal Sales Assistants (SAs) who looked like they had also been manufactured as part of the brand’s Spring Summer collection. The SAs, who floated in and out with boxes of beautiful shoes, were as helpful as they were patient. I entered wanting the flats, but tried the kitten heels on their suggestion and was an instant convert.
Luxury is an experience that dives deep into the details. I knew I would be treated like royalty and that I was buying something that had been meticulously handcrafted from the finest materials; what I did not know was that the big red box they packed my shoes in would smell exactly like the store. Every time I open it now at home, the fragrance transports me back there and revives the exhilaration I felt when I tried them on for the first time. I have not worn the shoes as much as I would like to, partly because the idea of the soles on Chennai’s ruthless roads breaks my heart and partly because I am someone whose social life is restricted to scrolling down Instagram. But I will get on top of this situation. What is the point of buying anything if you are not going to wear it?
Luxury goods is a privilege. These shoes were never an essential for me, but I feel that spending your hard-earned money on anything that makes you happy is not to be looked down upon. Having these shoes has not changed my life, but they have given me great joy. And joy is worth working for.