Being an artist often means being skint… The artist has to eat and buy nice shoes… Family members are supportive and generous, waiting patiently for the Muse to strike; but they really do need an occasional help.
So, when I am asked to do some work I am pretty happy. Not having a career but various temporary jobs with no particular direction has its plusses (yes, it does); it means trying out different roles and learning diverse skills and information. I can narrate about the history of Swiss cheese-making for hours or tell you the depths of Swiss lakes by heart…
Where was I?.. Ah, work. So last night I get a phone call with a proposal to assist one Russian oligarch in finding a suitable coat while he is visiting Zurich. I agreed with an easy heart: how difficult can it be, right? Wrong! I was phoned by 4 (four!) different people to tell me how IMPORTANT this man was… so at the end of the evening I begun to imagine it was Putin himself roaming wintry streets of Zurich - coatless and incognito.
What does a professional anyone do before jumping into business? Right, he investigates. So I decided to make a check of the best shops of men’s fashion in the city. Getting up early and pulling the best clothes on I am wondering if they let me in the shop in MY coat… They did, all right, and they have been so polite and caring, I might go back there again just to get that special treatment…
My first destination is Tom Ford house. When an exceptionally well groomed Adonis hurriedly opened the door for me, I forgot the purpose of my visit, I swear. All I could say was “May I come in?” (Duh, it’s a shop, you fool…) I pull myself together for the next boutique (PRADA was it) and at the end I am actually having a kick of it. By the early afternoon - armed with a nice list of nice shops with nice coats - I head for a café at Zum Storchen to get some rest: shopping is a tiring business (shopping for the others that is…)
I order a cappuccino and start planning the upcoming meeting. Ten minutes before the appointed time I become nervous and unsure of my ability to advise to Putin… Twenty minutes AFTER the appointed time I order a glass of prosecco and become a little suspicious.
The oligarch cancelled. Telephone calls followed, apologies were made and costs covered….Surely, there are more important things to do than buying a coat (pfffffff….). The sun slowly starts to lean behind the Alps, and the lights of Zurich get ready to twinkle and I am contemplating the idea of ordering another prosecco…
And that is how my career of a personal stylist has died without producing a single blossom. It is not a very Christmassy story, but I hope it made you smile…what else matters?
Merry Christmas to all.
Love,
AB
P.S. If you want to know who the Rolls-Royce of the world of coats is, give me a shout. :-)
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