within a year I imagine legions of Pakistani women will
get up in the morning, look in their mirror and intone,
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the Carrie
Bradshaw-est of them all?” Then they will trip
quickly to their wardrobes and try to put together an
outfit made of a strapless kurti, a feather boa, a pair
of leather pants, and some stiletto heels that they
picked up on a recent trip to Bangkok. And all this
not to attend the opening of a cool club in downtown
Manhattan but to go shopping at Itvar Bazaar.
Not only this, but Pakistani women
have acquired a new vocabulary to go along with their
alter egos. Words like Prada, Mahnolo, Jimmy Choo (again)
and Cosmopolitans (the drink not the magazine) have
crept into conversations, and are thrown about with
a feigned air of nonchalance. On the phone you’ll
soon have a conversation with someone and it’ll
go something like this:
“Oof, jaan, last night I
went to the happening party at Studio 57. I wore my
new Mahnolos and that Prada shift dress and I looked
so fab, yaar, everyone was saying how much I reminded
them of Carrie Bradshaw…”
“Well that’s nothing.
I went to the Leprosy Ball this weekend and I wore my
Gucci ball gown with my new Jimmy Choos, you know the
crazy ones with feathers and orchids that you have to
keep replacing every hour, and Bingo loved my look so
much that he called me Carrie all night! He wouldn’t
even use my name once!”
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