The Mother Wears Prada


Having worked in fashions for close to a decade, I have had my fair share of being in close proximity to some of the most beautiful and stylish fahion labels in the world.

I’m not talking about physically owning any of those iconic brands (see, how clever marketing gurus are for attaching the hardly attainable luxury goods in the world with hopeful adjectives and nouns as “aspirational” (yes dream on, baby!) and “iconic”), but merely my dreamy eyes that lust over these fashionista’s must-haves across the window glass from outside the boutique until either one of these pull me back into reality: a) the price tag that would mean cutting back on a year’s supply of Happy Meals for the two happiest people on earth or b) the cruel stare of the boutique assistant as if to suggest I’d better not stain their window with yet another set of fingerprints for the tenth time in that week.

Now with all these little luxuries in life that we must at least have owned once in our lifetime (because designer guru says every girl deserves to have a dream), from Jimmy Choo, Louis Vuitton, Channel, Hermes, Gucci, Fendi, Bottega Veneta, oh, did I mention the very label that makes my heart skip a few beats, Prada (boy, I can’t even whisper the name without feeling the teenage crush of a sixteen-years-old), one wonders if a working mum stands a chance to turn a dream into reality if she has to also pay for disposable diaper, tuition, milk powder, swim lesson, occasional ice cream and many happy meals.

When two people have been together for a really long time, the tried and tested way of communication is always telepathy. Through unspoken words or perhaps it’s a clear signal when your wifey talks incessantly about something; Daddy Joe “sensed” my love for Prada, and perhaps after replacing many sushi and italian lunches with Ah Chong Hainanese Chicken Rice or Penang Chay Koay Teow instead, he generously bought me one for my birthday last year. The excitement of discovering the paper bag appearing in the room almost brought the house down, literally.

Back to the fashion industry. Many stylish women I have met along the way have more than one luxury handbag to match with the gorgeous clothing they own. Although it remains a dream to keep up with the Joneses, I’m determined to make sure the Happy Meals come first before a dream. Gucci, I love you too, but you’ve just got to wait til all of these dreams where kids matter even more get prioritised, then perhaps I’ll come for you. For now, the mother wears Prada and only just one, with a glee of course.

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