I never liked people who show off. I unfortunately grew up in a part of the world that excels at it.
I don’t give a sh** what brand you wear. What car you drive. What clubs you are a member of. What bottle of vodka you order when you act silly after midnight. Where you spend your augusts. My first car was a kia. My second too (after I crashed the first one near the Casino du Liban before a final). My favourite jeans are from Gap. Gap makes good white t-shirts too. I buy my flats from Zara. And I wait for the sales to buy good quality boots. And this will not change – I promise – when I eventually make it big (and I will). Because I’d hate to invest in a lie.
However, I surprised myself recently envying a certain show off. It was over dinner somewhere in London. And everybody was a show off. Everybody wanted to brag: what play they had seen. What artist they admired. What book they thought was rubbish.
And their show off did not turn me off.
I wish us, Arabs, showed off like this.