I’m not going to lie and say that I’ve never done the Walk Of Shame before. It was a cloudy and rainy Sunday morning on frat row and my car was parked so far away that I left carrying my shoes! Thank goodness it was early enough that nobody saw me leave barefoot, and nobody saw me speed away with my hair in a tangle.
The adult version of the Walk Of Shame is a bit different– it involves bumping into a friend who you just told you’re gluten-free while leaving a bakery with way too many boxes of cake, cookies and carbs. Awkward! Or being at the mall, sans makeup, hair in a bun, returning something you claimed to have loved and the very person who gifted you shows up behind you and strikes up a conversation. Busted! But the worst Walk Of Shame possible is getting caught on Fifth Avenue with a gigantic designer shopping bag in hand. Nobody wants to see that Ms. Fancy Pants. The worst!
I had one particular item on my luxury wish list for about a year. (I did exhibit serious self-control for this over the top, completely unnecessary item… until I didn’t.) And even though I lost sleep about actually purchasing the item due to the comma in the hefty price tag and a healthy sense of financial sanity, I started to lose sleep about not purchasing it too. I saved my shekels and could hold out no longer. The day had come.
It was on a Sunday, late afternoon a few summers ago when back to school shopping was in the soon to be turning colder air. On the retail glam scale, this was my one pseudo-celebutante experience. It happened in the flagship Louis Vuitton store on the corner of 57th and Fifth Avenue in New York City. A lovely, petite woman named Caitlyn was assisting me. With one white-gloved hand, she gently slid the Veau Chachemire W PM bag out of the simple monogram dust cover for me to caress, adore and model. They referred to the bag simply as “The W.” The tufted dimensional monogram symbols were subtle. The leather was supple and buttery. The suede interior was divine. The look was timeless. The price was painful, but the sting was permanent. The fit, shape and size were ideal. This bag upped my game. I could not leave the store without it in hand. Hello, W. Welcome to the family!
So while she was wrapping my unbelievably fabulous addition, I was silently negotiating the logistics of how I was going to carry this comically huge, insanely heavy, thick brown, luxuriously obnoxious package to board the M57 bus home. (I love the word obnoxious. It even sounds obnoxious saying it!) I could have completely taken out an entire row of passengers or maimed the bus driver if I accidentally swung it around. And this was just so me– having to take the bus home because I just spent a mortgage payment on a handbag but being too frugal to even consider a cab! Just then, Caitlyn emerged with a bottle of sparkling water and my Uber expensive purchase. She immediately saw my distress and offered me a car home. A car? Home? They did that? Holy shit, yes please! “We have a dedicated driver of course.” Of course? Who knew? I tried to act casual but giggled anyway.
Bill Murray’s character John talking to Harold Ramis’ character Russell in the movie Stripes.
JOHN: “C’mon, it’s Czechoslovakia. We zip in, we pick ’em up, we zip right out again. We’re not going to Moscow. It’s Czechoslovakia. It’s like going into Wisconsin!”
RUSSELL: “Well I got the shit kicked out of me in Wisconsin once. Forget it!”
Five minutes later, Mateo pulled up on Fifth Avenue in a shiny new silver Maserati Levante, popped the trunk and retrieved my package from Caitlyn. In tight black pants, a crisp white button-down shirt, a black leather skinny tie, and with his nose prominently in the air, he raised the bag by the handles way up in the air too. With practiced marching high knees like he was carrying a cake for the queen with one hand while playing the clarinet in the other, he escorted my bag to the car… so I followed.
I swear I saw someone snap a picture of me slithering into the cushy backseat before he gently closed the door. Ha! “Where to Miss Jennifer?” Oh my God, he knew my name. I gave him the address and sat back and to enjoy the bubbly beverage and laughed at my temporary status. We shared a friendly chat. I was all smiles.
I immediately fished out my cell and called my Mom. “You will never believe where I am! Your daughter is in the backseat of a Maserati being driven home from Louie by Mateo!!” In a sing songy voice I told her I did something ba-ad! “Uh oh,” she said. “Whatdidyoudo??” I told her and she asked me how much I had to spend to get a ride home? I told her not to worry. I had been saving! When we arrived at my apartment, Mateo proffered a card, took a quick bow, and encouraged me to ring him anytime I should need a lift to the store. But of course. Like in about a decade when I recover from the heft of this purchase. But I didn’t dare say that aloud. I just smiled and wiggled my polished fingers goodbye.
The W raised the profile of my entire wardrobe. I swear I almost vogued in the elevator on my way upstairs. After this indulgent trip, I decided to change my thinking about the Walk Of Shame and migrated right on over to the Strut Of Success. (Take that, frat boys!) In both cases I zipped in and zipped right back out and got exactly what I wanted.
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