Remains of the day

In the mood to shop this week, I decided to make an end-of-summer visit to a few of my favorite stores. Ever the romantic when it comes to shopping--and life--I set out partly to check out what was new and mostly to follow up on those items I had at one point carried a torch for.

Riffling through the sale racks (for better or for worse, it seems to be prime sale time right now), I soon found myself face-to-face with my summer '07 object of desire no. 1: a pretty blue silk dress that I had tried on a month ago, which was quite flattering on, but which I couldn't justify buying at the time. There it was. Just the one. And in my size. Hemming and hawing, I held it up to me, as I had on several previous occasions, and looked in a nearby mirror. I imagined all the fabulous events I could wear it to. But then the doubts started to fill my mind. Maybe I didn't want it that badly after all. Had its moment passed? Or had I changed and wanted something different? I followed my gut feeling, my hesitation, and put it back. Like Deanie driving away down that dusty road after seeing Bud, his pregnant wife and their farm house (good ol' Splendor in the Grass--so tragic, so true), I parted ways one final time from my once-beloved dress, with no regrets, and slowly made my way down the rack.

Moving on and across town, I visited a decor shop that usually is filled with goods from floor to ceiling, but it seemed on the sparse side today. Of course, a large weathered-wood-framed mirror that I was fond of was still among the offerings. It was marked down.

"Only 12 Saturdays until Christmas," I heard the store owner say from behind the counter to a couple buying a vase. As the couple expressed their disbelief and dismay, the store owner simply stated, "I'm a retailer. I gotta know."

As a customer, I was grateful for the insight. The mirror started to look awfully sell-so-we-can-get-the-new-Christmas-merch-in to me. Guess it just wasn't meant to be.

Brand new bag

I'm always on the lookout for cool, reusable bags to carry my groceries in. And just the other day, I heard about the latest bag in town while at the gym of all places. Two women, with faces flushed from spinning, sat on a bench conveniently located in front of my locker, speaking in hushed, conspiratorial tones. I leaned in to listen.

"So where did you see it?"

"All those film fest people have them. They carry it over their shoulder. It's black. And pretty big."

Well, that was enough to pique my curiosity. Out and about that weekend, the opening weekend of the Toronto International Film Festival, I spotted one being used as a book bag, then another that seemed to be on official film fest duties (the man carrying it was wearing a suit). Simple. Sleek. Discreet. I headed to the festival headquarters to purchase my own.

To be honest, I was less than thrilled when I finally held my new bag in my hands. In previous years the festival bags were made of cloth and even leather, but this year's $8 tote by Roots didn't look or feel substantial in any way. The surface resembled a tarp in sheen (dull and a tad tacky) and sound (kind of crispy), and moreover, the bag just felt too light and too flimsy. So I let it lie dejectedly on my kitchen floor. A few days later, I grew curious and inspected it up close. Inside the bag was an unexpectedly soft, woven material, something I didn't recognize. So I googled the name on the fabric tag: polypropylene.

Polypropylene. A lightweight, extremely durable polymer used in everything from dishwasher-safe plastic food containers to wick-away-type long underwear. Score, I thought to myself. Ever since learning about this king of materials, I can't stop spotting it, particularly in its reusable bag application (seems to be the latest thing among the "green" bags sold at stores).

Now that the film fest is over, I can finally take my bag grocery shopping (because carrying an event-specific bag after said specific event is way cooler than during). It's no hyped Anya Hindmarch "I'm Not a Plastic Bag" bag, the last eco-friendly bag I considered buying, but that's just fine. I'll pass on cloth. And no paper or plastic either, please. I've got polypropylene.

Cheap chic

Returning home from a trip to my local bookstore empty-handed--they were sold out of "Deluxe: How Luxury Lost Its Luster," the book I was looking for--I was greeted by a mailbox delightfully full of alternative reading material: a new issue of the New Yorker, a postcard from a friend overseas, a few bills and the Ikea 2008 catalogue.

Deciding to set aside the reality of bills to pay, the friend I had neglected to keep in touch with and the stack of New Yorkers I was already behind on reading, I soon found myself flipping through page after page of Ikea's affordable escapism. I contemplated buying a new couch (a circular conversation with myself that starts with "I do need a new one," followed by "it is an investment piece," then "but it is on the expensive side for Ikea" and back to "I do need a new one"). I thought about "hacking" a few tables into a shelf. And then came upon a page promoting a new luxury line from Ikea: Ikea Stockholm.

Now, the concept of going high-low makes sense to me. The now-ubiquitous collaborations between big-name designers and mass market retailers, like, most recently, Roberto Cavalli for H&M, Jovovich-Hawk for Target and Vera Wang for Kohl's, are essentially a case of high-end design for low-end prices, and I'm all for budget-priced Cavalli and company. But low-high, as it were? Is it a case of low-end design for high-end prices? Or just a basic brand pushing the price tag, albeit with plush this and plump that? The appeal of luxe lines for main street shops, such as Forever 21's new Twelve by Twelve "couture" (their word) line, alludes me.

Sure, luxury might have lost its luster (which I'm sure I would know much more about once I get my hands on a copy of the book!), but lustrous low-end? Really. There's nothing more de-luxe than that.

Water, water everywhere

Like most people, I don't drink nearly as much water as I know I should be drinking. I know hydration is good for me and all, but it's always been more of a knee-jerk reaction: If I'm thirsty, I drink water. More on hot days, less when I'm sitting at my desk at work.

So it struck me as odd that for the past few weeks, my first waking thought, my first craving in the morning, has been water. Not the regular H2O variety. Just Glaceau's Vitaminwater, specifically the deliciously pink Power-C (Dragonfruit) or any new flavor I'd seen recently--the latest on my to-try list is Essential (Orange-Orange), which I saw some dude drinking on the subway on the weekend.

Besides the not-too-sweet-in-a-good-way taste, I suppose just seeing others carrying it on the street and the sight of all the luscious colors lined up on store shelves have been enough to infiltrate my subconscious. Usually I'm a sucker for food and drink advertisements (I'll even admit to having tried Smartwater because of the Jennifer Aniston print ad--I know. Lame.), but funnily enough I've never seen a Vitaminwater ad. As far as branding goes, the cheeky tone of the writing on the labels is effective--I always seem to read them and half-smile. Whatever they're doing, it seems to be working.

Unlike the traditional bottled water companies who have been getting a bad rap lately, as tap-water brand Aquafina well knows, you could say Glaceau has been having a good year. There's the whole being bought by Coca-Cola deal, or, more tellingly, a spot feature in that arbiter of style, Vogue. Or so I think...

Call me obsessed, but isn't Daria holding a bottle of Vitaminwater in her pink-bauble-clad hand in the September issue? Must be the Power-C flavor. Or, actually, I suppose it could be the rose-colored Focus (Kiwi-Strawberry). Focus. Must remember to try that one next.