I lived with a girl in college who was Crazy Rich Asian rich. She always wore this mini bag style purse when we were going out. I asked to borrow it for a concert one weekend. She was like, “Oh sure, no problem.” I loved it and ended up looking it up to buy one for myself, and found out it was..
…a Hermès Kelly Micro worth more than my entire tuition for the year. My jaw dropped. Here I was casually tossing it on sticky bar counters, brushing against sweaty strangers in the pit of a concert, thinking it was just some cute accessory from the mall. When I told her later, she just laughed and said, “Oh, that old thing? My mom gets them for me because they’re ‘investment pieces.’”
That’s when I realized her “casual” closet was basically a high-end boutique. She had Dior sneakers she wore to the gym, diamond studs she forgot in the bathroom for days, and cashmere sweatpants she claimed were “super comfy” for all-nighters. Meanwhile, I was stretching my Starbucks points to make venti iced lattes last me two days.
The purse became a running joke between us — she’d call it “the priceless relic” and I’d treat it like a museum artifact whenever I touched it. But honestly? Borrowing it gave me the wildest confidence that night, like I’d accidentally slipped into her world. For a few hours, I wasn’t broke-college-me, I was main-character-rich-girl-me.