Read Online The Prada Paradox by Julie Kenner - Free Book Online Page B

go.”

    Chapter9

    As I’ve already mentioned umpteen thousand times, Prada Beverly Hills is my absolute favorite store in the universe (next to the Manhattan locations, of course). And before you go all “Celebrities should be more responsible with their money and not bow to the god of designer fashion” on me, let me just say that I am the last person who has to leave the house decked out in designer labels. My current outfit should be proof of that. Yes, my shoes are Prada, but the jeans and the funky eyelet shirt are eclectic, not designer. Which I think proves my point. I’m not a slave to fashion. I’m a trendsetter. Seriously.Entertainment Weekly said so just last week.

    About Prada, though, I’m a total fan girl. There’s just something about the way form and function mesh, which sounds like I watch too muchProject Runway or something, but it’s true. I’ll confess that my loyalty lies primarily with the bags (purses and totes), but that doesn’t mean I’m not a sucker for the clothes, too.

    Here’s my neurotic celebrity secret: If Prada wanted me to be their spokesgirl—like Liv Tyler did for Givenchy and Demi Moore did for Versace—I wouldtotally do it in a heartbeat. Hell, I’d even negotiate down my usual wage (assuming I got to keep the products). I love the stuff that much.

    Today, though, I’m not getting my bags gratis. And I do plan to walk away with a bag (or ten). I’ve had my eye on a classy black tote for a week now. I’m thinking today’s the day to take the plunge. I’ve recently bought a new laptop computer, and I want to be able to easily schlep it with me. (I’m not a computer geek or anything, but my assistant syncs all my appointments electronically and forwards drafts of all my fan-mail responses for me to review and send on. So like it or not, I’m attached to the laptop. And, yes, I have been known to type my name into Google and surf the Web looking for fan sites. I know I shouldn’t, because I invariably find a blog or a Web site run by some perv, and then I spend a week being freaked out. But I can’t help it. It’s insecure and pathetic, maybe, but I have to know what’s going on.)

    “Are you going to pry open your checkbook?” I ask Lindy, as we pause at the crosswalk. “Or am I the only one indulging?”

    “We’ll see,” she says, with a tiny little smile. She makes a nice living, and since her husband is an attorney, too, they’re doing just fine financially. Lately, though, her purchases have been geared more toward the under-five set. Honestly, it’s put quite the crimp in our shopping sprees. Like me, though, she has a weakness for Prada. And I’m guessing that, like me, when she walks out she’ll have at least one shopping bag hooked on her arm.

    The store entrance is technically anonymous in that there is no signage announcing that it is Prada. You’d have to be brain-dead to miss the place, though. It’s conspicuous merely by its simplicity. A gray facade, sleek and modern, juts out, forming what I like to think of as an Huxleyesque entranceway. You’re entering a brave new world of fashion here.

    The entire width of the store opens onto Rodeo, so even without any sort of sign, it’s not like you’re going to miss the store. Although some people think the store is weird-looking or even tacky, I think it’s a tribute to style and fun. It’s different. And in my book, different is good.

    Case in point: To get inside how many stores do you have to walkover the window displays? But that’s just what Lindy and I do. Our heels click on the wood entrance area as we pass by and over the futuristic pods that display decked-out mannequins below our feet. It’s incredibly bizarre and totally fun, and I’ve loved it since the first day I saw it. Which, thank you very much, happened to be at the opening party. And, yes, Miuccia Prada, the doyenne of high fashion herself, invited me to the opening. I’d arrived in heel-to-head Prada, and looked amazing. But I was no match for Miuccia, who