To receive a plain text copy of this article by email, see info at the bottom of this page. I have two Kate Spades, a Gucci belt and a Prada belt and . . . Even Hamlet pales in comparison to such tragedy. The mirror, mirror on the wall demands total worship.
Image is everything.
Beneath the pathetically overpriced costumes hide fragile egos and, one suspects, empty souls. These girls don't become addicted to jet-set sartorial chic by accident. Billions of dollars of advertising ceaselessly hammer home the message that they are, in themselves, worthless as women. But elite labels offer fleeting salvation. The costly garb and accouterments promise to transform their dowdy selves, give their banal existence meaning, and whisk them into the society of the beautiful.