Since I moved back to Spain life is teaching me a vast amount of lessons. Lately I discovered Marbella. My sister got her first job as a nurse there and now lives at this town in the coast of Malaga. My dears, I have come across a completely different world. My beloved sibling lives in a town where people are not shy to ensure everyone knows they have cash... lots of.
Let me just clarify that the entire town is not like this. There are a lot of hard working people who barely make €1000 a month. There are also the ones that make a bit more but have a family to support.
I'm merely talking about the ones with obscene fortunes, ridiculously expensive cars and a overtly flashy lifestyle. The average specimen would be as follows: a man in their 40s-50s, with gelled back hair, tanned in excess and whose kids drive in sports cars given to them as hand-me-downs. Their wives wear Louboutins to go to the supermarket, paired with extremely tight blouses that parade their fake boobs to perfection. Their collagen lips shining as brightly as the Swarovski-filled collars on their chihuahuas.
You see, this kind of people are supposed to make me jealous and anyone could say that the lines that I write are the product of an insane envy. Of course I wished I had a pair of Louboutins and would love to own a sports car - in fact any car - instead of having to travel on crowded buses.
However, forgive me if this comes as a shock, but I do not wish to live with the constant need to prove others how much cash I have in my wallet, how much I spent on my body because I am so deeply unhappy with the way I look, or how much money I waste on my pooch, who doesn't really care for jewels or expensive pet-food, and who just smells, craps and barks like any other dog.
And as much as I dream of Choos, Chanel and Dior, I get something these people will never, ever experience: the amazing buzz when finding fantastic looking shoes at a reasonable price. An expensive label doesn't necessarily mean quality, so who's been the fool now?
I also won't spend my life uselessly fretting about my looks, because at the end of it all, no one wants to look like a rubber doll, at 80.
To end this post I'm just going to repeat the words of style icon Carine Roitfield "Fashion stopped being a matter of money a long time ago; it's a matter of taste" (Source: Spiegel)
What do you think? Is the life of the rich and famous that good?
*UPDATE: Just because I really don't aim to upset anyone with my writing, I wish to clarify something. This is not a judgement on anyone spending their money on what makes them happy. Marbella is a special case. Spain is deeply in debt, there are no jobs and the situation is about to explode. There are parts in the lovely town of Marbella where people with a lot of money have a very nasty attitude: the one that looks at you badly for daring to enter a designer shop, the one that looks you up and down when going in a trendy club, the one that yells at the girl in the supermarket till because she doesn't speak a second or third language. There are a lot of illegal money and nasty affairs. What I write here is just a reflection on what I saw while I stayed there for some weeks, what came across when I talked to the people working and living there.
I am not an envious person. I celebrate diversity. I may have had a tough year but I would never hate wealthier people for having more than me. I don't believe in jealousy. I also wrote this with some sense of humour and I can only hope you will see that too.
Pictures: Fashion Limbo