OMG, I die, I literally die. I am absolutely breathless right now. Please, someone has to put me on a stretcher and deliver me outside H&M’s front door. I have a very personal relationship with Versace. As a child, my mom was obsessed with Versace, she was at the height of her glamourous self. She was more in love with Versace than anything. I was educated with Versace; when they would mail the catalogue over, like a coffee table sized booklet, I would drool all over the book. While my mom was travelling around in Europe, going from one Versace to another, I would be waiting at home looking through the book.
Of course, sadly I was not in the clan, the cool Versace clan. Being a 14 year old, my chubby self and Versace could never be friends. I remember one of the most humilating experience was in the changing room, where my mom shoved me one pair of jeans after another, to try on the biggest size they had in Versus; yet the biggest size in Versus only came in 28 inches in Hong Kong. Being 14, I was already a 29 inch waist. So those high waisted jeans and I were never to be. In fact, when I would go into a store, my mom would ask the sales assistant, begging to see anything that would fit me. However, they would always shake their head. So there you go, I had to let you go, Gianni.
Since then, my mom has gone through many eras of ‘discovering herself’. So a lot of Versace limited collection fineries have been sold, sent off to friends, or even to the Red Cross. One day, when my mom visited me in London, while I was studying fashion, we went to the V&A, where there was an exhibition of Versace. She pointed out piece by piece what she had owned. All I could do was to sigh. She gave them all away.
Fast forward twelve years, as a grown woman, I have still got a thing about Versace. Not in my life did I think I could afford Versace, period; but now hopefully I am going to queue, fight, and conquer, for a collection of Versace that would fit. Oh, and I might just buy a pair of jeans with palm trees on them.