This morning, I found myself in Brown Thomas on Grafton Street with an hour to kill. It wasn’t my first visit by any means, but I rarely spend much time there as my limited funds do not allow it. In fact, I’ve seldom had a reason to go past the Mac Make-Up desk at the very front of the store.
However, this was all to change today. I was going to explore.
As soon as I put a foot on the escalator to exit the ground floor, leaving the common folk below me to sniff at the moisturizers, I felt immediately like I had stepped into somewhere I did not belong. I wasn’t dressed shabbily, but I wasn’t wearing couture either. Damn it, why hadn’t I worn couture?
I strolled through the various sections that formed the first floor, trying to appear nonchalant, and failing desperately. Casually, I flicked over a price tag of a not-that-special looking dress and had to steady myself against the rail. €1500. That’s about three times the worth of my car. And it wasn’t even glam.
After getting over the initial shock of the price-tags, I began to question who, in our flailing economy, could possibly afford to shop in a place like this. Then slowly I began to realise, Brown Thomas is not a shop at all. It’s a museum. A museum that’s full of art displays, which, if you really, really want to, you can purchase and take home to display it in your own home. Suddenly, it all became very clear.
Well with this new fact firmly in mind, I began to do what most tourists do when they visit a museum. I took pictures.
With all my business done, I took myself away from the pretty museum of fashion to River Island just a few shops down. Immediately I had gone from sticking-out-like-a-sore-thumb to right-at-home and all was well again. Only some of the price tags made me cry there. Of course, I couldn’t go home empty-handed either. It would have been rude to leave it behind.