I'm an uptown gyrl??!!

In reality, this title evokes a miscellany of progressive rebelliousness at the sad attempt to confine myself to this none-the-less intrinsic construct of society (ahhh.. sooo downtown, no??)—the even more laughable irony: uptown-ness is oh-so noticeable!! I couldn't even begin to unravel the conflicting mysteries of my lifestyle: A devout admirer of Mlle Coco—and yet, she was such a revolutionary (that equals downtown attitude!!)—and, equally a lover of almost every piece designed under the revered name "Chanel" (soooo uptown baby, uptown baby!! Yay!! Lord Tariq!!); how do I define this?? Oh, make that a lover from afar, I still can't afford $10000 Chanel jackets!! Haha!! And naturally, I prefer to wear shirts/tops as short dresses just barely covering my booty because I can and it's so so sexy, borderline raunchy; a string or two of pearls accompanying my risqué outfit, perhaps. Again, how do I classify this??!! Fashionably h**chie?? *shaking my head in fits of giggles* Perhaps, it's the notion I think, that I've never fit in any one category. Never will.
I'm enthusiastically black (and Nigerian) and I love many Nigerian/African prints; but, how I detest the word "urban?!" describing anything.
Seriously, what does it even mean??!!
*Again, conflicting.*

But call me an uptown gyrl because I sure-as-Prince-William-is-my-future-hubby love YSL's Uptown Bag!!! Naturally, a weekend in Manhattan includes a stopover at BG, where I had my (second) ten-fifteen minute coveting pass to the black patent YSL bag. Barely grazing the bucket portion of the bag—we don't want any fingerprints on it—I exchange a loving, pleading look with my bag. Politely, I tell the sales lady a few seconds into her sales pitch, that I've been here before and I'd just like to admire the bag. She retreats, nodding a mute understanding or exasperation. It's hard to tell the expression on her botoxed face.
And, I almost care.
I'm simply taking my time with this beautiful bag. I admire both myself and the bag (ahh vanity!!) in the mirrors of the adjacent less crowded (sunglass displays) enclave leading to elevators that no one ever seems to use. Enjoyable me-time. *smile* Perhaps a miracle will happen... Someone will see how good the bag looks on my arm and decide to buy it for me; or in my usual (but sadly, distorted) reverie, the decimal point in the price tag is moved one over to the left and the price is really 3 digits rather than 4!! *cue: Hallelujah chorus*
Neither scenario takes form.
Finally, I put the bag ever so delicately back on its hanger.
I can't afford it. Especially now. It's Christmas season, time to shop for family and friends; not myself.
[Lord hear my prayer.
And Santa come in the form of my yet-to-be lover bearing my YSL BAG!! It's available at Saks, and the croc version (I don't want that) are at Neiman's and Bergdorf's.]

And speaking of, I've fallen into one of my seemingly-drug-induced love affairs with LV Spring '08 bags. The French must be absolutely stuck on Marc Jacob's derrière—especially after the atrocious limited edition mistake he put out this past summer (forgive my crass portrait). They let him to take uptown-y LV bags downtown to be spray-painted, graffitied and generally deconstructed, resulting in a collection that I simply can't wait to see up close!! For the first time, I'm not totally against any piece of arm candy that has LV stamped or sewn all over it. I mean aren't the monogram (canvas and multicolored) collections the most numerous and ill-replicated motifs out there?? Eeeck!!
How could I just not love these??

Double air kisses, *fluttering crystal-encrusted eye-lashes*