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| As the dragon rages so to do appetites. Moguls, seek Bentleys adorned with Swiss embroidered dragons on supple leather headrests, and women seek unattached (or not*) men to father babies blessed by the dragon. |
Shanghai January 19, 2012.
The IFC (International Financial Center) Mall is a buzz, literally, for the Chinese New Year.
Six
months ago the IFC Mall could have convinced many that it was the biggest
luxury brand loss leader on the planet. It was often as deserted as many of
the office-plex, ghost towns in western China. However, the Christmas holidays
saw steady increases in IFC crowds. (For reasons unbeknownst to me since as of
March 8, 2012 one still hears Christmas carols regularly in public venues – JC is smiling.) By the time Chinese New Year rolled around IFC was packed.
Crowds at Cartier, Bvlgari and Tiffany & Co. were a common occurrence. And
they weren’t just window-shopping. This was obscene carat consumption.
The
year of the dragon launched a full-scale assault on the Armani, Dior and Louis
Vuitton alliance with no end in site. It’s party time in Shanghai. (Those
readers with experience should think USA 1999, or on a more sentimental note of naïveté, April 1, 1971 in Ann Arbor.) The mood is for the moment and people are ready to throw caution to the wind.
CitySuper
is the Shanghai equivalent of Whole Foods and it is the reactor at the core of
IFC on L2. A convenient location since both the Billionaire with Bentley driver
await in the garage, and the Yuanaire running for the subway can conveniently
swing in for that imported bottle of French or Italian wine (the safe stuff) or that imported box of Australian or New Zealand dairy (again, the safe stuff). During CNY “Super”
is just that (read as Whole Foods on mega-party steroids). So potent is the
party opiate that it spills beyond normal bounds of the exotic retailer and into breezeway kiosks to
intercept the unsuspecting young Chinese women before they head underground.
The
shiny, twinkling, little lure, that is the object of affection this nanosecond
is a shot glass full with Scotch – as in whiskey.
There
are small groups of three or four young women in their early twenties, chattering and giggling as they loiter about. The chattering ambiance is occasionally shattered by a convulsive explosion of jet black hair emanating from the epicenter of declining consciousness in Tonic-clonic fashion as shots are slammed. Upon reentry, the dazed and red faced consumptresses ignore the Scotch whiskey docent earnestly trying to
enlighten them to the finer points of the Scotch they had just vaporized.
Single malt, blended malt, cask and age differences, and the implications of the Scotch Whiskey act of 1988 as precursor to the revision of 2009 are cast awash in this tipsy sea of femininity.
Single malt, blended malt, cask and age differences, and the implications of the Scotch Whiskey act of 1988 as precursor to the revision of 2009 are cast awash in this tipsy sea of femininity.
These girls where there to accomplish one objective and there was no better way
to do it than with free, 40% by volume shots. The math would indicate that
small, Asian women on average of 90-100 lbs would, after 3 shots, have a BAC of 0.14 (effectively well-oiled on the Laphroaig scale) and just in time to enjoy a piloted Silver Spur or Silver
Streak cruise to their next orgy of consumption.
It
was after all only 4:15p and there were baby dragons to be made.
* – perceptions from the February 2012 article "She Said, She Said" in That's Shanghai magazine.
© 2012 Karl Shaffer
* – perceptions from the February 2012 article "She Said, She Said" in That's Shanghai magazine.
© 2012 Karl Shaffer
