But when I came to the Bulgari display, I couldn't just pause--I full on stopped. I could not take my eyes off of a stunning pair of earrings. My heart dropped in the same way that it did in front of Van Gogh's Sunflowers at the National Gallery, or inside the Enlightenment Gallery at the British Museum. These were not lavish excess, they were pieces of art.
They were also bait, and I followed the line inside. Ignoring the probability that the door guard would assess my inadequate income level and turn up his nose, I pressed through his remote-operated revolving door (yes, you read that correctly), and walked right into the display of precious and semiprecious bling. After a few moments, the doorman's pleasant Italian female colleague asked if she could be of my assistance.
I smiled, not because I was ecstatic to be there (although I was) or because I was basking in the rainbow of sapphires (that goes without saying) but because I had absolutely no idea how to respond. What does one say in a store like this? No thanks, I'm just looking seems sheepish, and I'm looking for a gift would be a lie. After a few moments, I simply vocalised my genuine appreciation for the earrings outside.
Oh, they are beautiful, but they are even more beautiful on, she said...before turning towards the window behind her and opening the locked case.
Was she...? Yes, she was pulling out the earrings. But for me? To put on?
Holding the earrings in one hand, she politely gestured for me to sit with the other. I casually - but discretely -slipped off my pearl studs (concealing the pencil erasers I'd been using as makeshift backings), just in time for her to set before my eyes two absolutely stunning dangles of pink, yellow, and blue sapphires. I ever-so-carefully placed them on my ears, and turned to the mirror to look. I smiled, checked in visually with the Italian woman - who was still smiling - and then glanced back at the mirror.
My image in the mirror brought back memories of me as a toddler, dabbling in my mother's makeup cabinet. This time however it wasn't a clash between juvenile features and matte lipstick, but middle-class student budget and price-available-upon-request jewelry.
I glanced back at the woman, whose warm smile had by that time set me at ease. I was puzzled. This woman knew I couldn't afford these earrings - I probably couldn't even afford to ask how much they cost (and I didn't). But she was treating me with such respect that I felt like I could buy the Aston Martin parked outside. I felt like I fit in. Yes, even on New Bond Street. She pulled out a similar pair that she thought I might like, and let me try those on too. She let me look at the rest of the cases, apologising for the sparsity as they were currently changing their cases ("Between exhibits" in museum speak, I've explained that enough at the V&A). When I asked about Bulgari as a company she took me upstairs to a private tour of the mini Bulgari museum (yes, they have their own museum) on the top floor. Her service was so detailed and her demeanor so considerate that I felt like a guest in her home, not a pauper at her door.
She didn't judge me, but more importantly it made me realise that I was wrong to judge her. Or the door man. Or the rest of the shoppers and shopkeepers on that elite street. They weren't undeviating cold, prideful, materialists whose lives consisted of things. They were people, Heavenly Father's children, and they were as worthy of faithful and positive preconceptions as I was in their eyes.
I'll go back to Bulgari one day, perhaps, but most importantly I hope that Bulgari comes back to me. That the experience I had there frequents my mind and reminds me that I should treat everyone with respect, regardless of whether they belong to a lower-or higher-income bracket.
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