Keeping Up with the Belks

The spot in Charlotte to see and be seen. The place to drop some well earned dollars on designer duds. A place to gawk at the local celebs. The hottest spot in town to get an Auntie Anne’s pretzel and a smoothie.

Southpark Mall is the place to be in Charlotte, and that will always confuse me. I realize it’s where you buy couture handbags (or at least droll over them as you buy a Coach bag to feel somewhat superior). And of course, Bob Ellis and Neiman Marcus are around to remind you just how many ridiculously wealthy people there are in this city. But the nearness of Hermes to Delia’s and chain restaurants like McCormick’s should be enough to remind Charlottans that 4400 Sharon Road is not equivalent to Rodeo Drive.

And yet it is an oddly fun place to be. Out-of-towners appreciate the odd Charlotte tradition of mall valet parking. Plus it’s fun to see how ridiculously put together all the shoppers are. Dressed to the nines, like they are about to go out on the town and don’t want to be caught off guard by the paparazzi. Note to self, don’t wear jeans to this mall if you actually do plan to spend and want salespeople to take you seriously.

But even for me, someone raised to be repulsed by overpriced labels by my poor but proud seamstress mother, it’s hard not to get caught up in it all. The lights reflecting off the streak free glass, shining down on perfectly stitched ties and cobbler made stilettos, the smell of leather, the weight of jewelry on your hand. They let you in just enough to think about selling your soul to finance it before a second look at the price tag sends you running out the door. Something about being in proximity to the finer things makes you feel better about yourself, even if you are passing through in your sweats.

I was at Southpark with LKN Larry last night. Even after we had to have a “talk” about money, the most downgraded place he can think to eat at is Cheesecake Factory? (I can’t decide if he was being smart, or a smart ass). I wore a navy strapless with rainbows and tied a white sweater around my shoulders. Definitely not my style, but definitely what Larry is into. During our 75 minute wait for a table we walked around the mall and the only place he wanted to go to was Tommy Bahama. I question his judgment on this even more than I did when I found out he was a Republican. I find nothing wrong with spending money on nice clothes, especially if you have it to excessively spend (as he seems to). But my policy on spending a lot on something is that it better look as expensive as it is. Floral cotton polos never make me look at a man and think “damn, he looks successful.” But a friend’s recent flaunting of her new Lilly Pulitzer reminded me just how expensive it is to keep up the country club casual look. A well trained gold-digger could see right through those chinos to a nicely padded wallet. I must not have the skills.

Inside Cheesecake it is obvious that I am under-dressed. Not really for the kind of restaurant it is, but for how people perceive it. These rules don’t really apply to men, as Charlotte guys don’t need to (and rarely do) suit up. Women on the other hand, if dressed to match their khakied dates, are looked down upon. Twenty to forty somethings, with dark tans and highlights, wearing pointy toe black heels, pressed shorts, frilly button ups and of course, clutching the signature coach bag were surrounding me. All standing quietly next to their dates, who took a total of ten minutes to get ready: two minutes to pick out a wrinkled pastel Lacoste polo and worn out pair of topsiders, and the other 8 gelling and styling their messy hair look.

Honestly, it’s somewhat sobering to see 16 year old girls looking much older, hotter, and well-dressed than you. The fact that Myers Park high school students have a nasty habit of shoplifting in the mall just makes me all the more jaded. It’s jealously really. Stealing might be the only chance I have to swaddle myself in Juicy Couture (as if I wanted to), but they just do it for fun. All they have to do is put down daddy’s credit card. If they really want to shoplift they can at least let me borrow it for an hour…

Just don’t tell my mom.