Bringing Home the Birkin, a Wrap-up

So I've finished Bringing Home the Birkin. I spent the rest of Sunday grocery shopping, came home after a short bout at the office, nestled in with some spicy tuna rolls, watched The Breakfast Club, and now I'm writing this post with Viva La Vida on, the windows open, and a fresh breeze circulating. There's something about summer weekends right before they become oppressively hot that is quite perfect. Winter just doesn't compare.

To be honest, I think part of my good mood has to do with this book. Bringing Home the Birkin is a great read, of the summer persuasion or otherwise. I'm going to try to explain what Michael Tonello gets right without giving away too much of the good stuff.

The story begins with him moving to Barcelona after growing tired with Massachusetts. (I can identify with this. Only I moved to Ohio, which is different.) When his job falls through, he's left with a 5 year lease, no Spanish skills, and no work visa. Quite frankly, this is where my story would have taken a turn towards me rocking back and forth in the fetal position, but this man is an opportunist. After a few successful auctions on Ebay, he stumbles upon an Hermes underworld of sorts where thousands of scarf and handbag collectors are constantly on the prowl for rare and vintage Hermes merch. That's about the first 50 pages.

The rest of the book entails how he starts amassing knowledge about the Hermes brand, navigating the world of ecommerce, discovering the "code" that secures him Birkins (that are known for their exclusivity and 2 year waitlist - only he can score them in 30 minutes), and the chaos that invariably comes with moving upwards of a million dollars of merchandise in a single year.

You don't need to know much about Hermes or designer labels to appreciate the story. The fact that Tonello starts out relatively green on the subject allows the audience to learn along with him. There's a healthy amount of romance, which is always appreciated, as well as a good dose of drama (which seems par for the course in the world of retail, luxury or otherwise).

There are a few things that made the story great. First, and probably most importantly, his writing is effortless. So often writing and plot don't match. I sometimes picture romance novelists (read: the ones whose book covers are adorned with naked torsos) writing with their reading glasses down their noses, crafting their words with such flourish that they seem to have convinced themselves that they are writing the next great American novel. They completely miss the point of their book and, as such, their novels tend to be awkwardly executed. Tonello doesn't suffer from this problem at all. In his Amazon.com mini-interview, he says that after responding to the dreaded "So, what do you do?" question, people suggested he write a book. So he did. And that's what it feels like. It feels like I've met a quirky, vibrant guy at a sidewalk cafe who has a ridiculously unique occupation, great fashion sense, and he's giving me "the long story," only it doesn't feel long, and it's shared over a bottle of red.

Second, it's not formulaic. As I wrote last night, I would wager that it's really difficult to encounter a formulaic memoir. People with formulaic lives often don't feel compelled to write about them. So the fact that he's even bothering to put pen to paper somewhat confirms he has a unique story to tell (which he does). So the non-fiction genre benefits him amazingly well. This, coupled with his writing style, doesn't make for much fluff. Every page matters, and every sentence contributes in a meaningful way. In my view, this is the best way to measure clarity. If I could rip out whole pages without losing much substance, there's a problem. With this book, I wish I could add pages, not lose them. Which brings me to my third point...

Scope. Tonello chooses the breadth of his story perfectly. It's apparent that this is one specific and admittedly bizarre period in his life and he chooses exactly where to start and end. The New York Times critic Christine Mulke commented that she was only disappointed that Tonello didn't draw any earth-shattering conclusions from his experience:

"If he’d tucked into what really makes people define themselves by their obsession to Hermès, 'Bringing Home the Birkin' could have brought home some very important truths about our times."

... and I think that's a little ridiculous. It would've been completely ill-fitting for Tonello to interject a social commentary on people's deep need to fill themselves with the superficial comfort of material goods. I mean, come on, that's a little much. To start off, it doesn't fit with his personality - he's too polite to go there. Many of Tonello's customers remain behind a veil of anonymity, and I think that sweeping judgments of his clientele (of whom he knows little about, aside from their handbag and scarf preferences) is not his objective, nor should it be. He's not out to make an example of anyone.

Yet if you're really looking for a commentary, it's already there. No, Tonello, doesn't spell it out for you. But he gives the reader the tools to make a few summations of their own. He depicts most characters (save a few) in a favorable light and not one of his customers is particularly greedy, yet there's still a disconcerting insatiability to their appetite for Hermes. (This isn't about getting just one handbag, folks.) And while they have wishlists of particular merchandise, you realize that these lists are never-ending. Once one wish is fulfilled, another quickly moves to the front to replace it. I won't continue on about what I surmised about luxury culture, but I think it's fair to say that you can aptly draw your own conclusions from the material Tonello provides. (Please note that I am in no way exempting myself. The amount I've spent on bags, clothes, and shoes is, at times, shameful.)

As a whole, this book is great (5-of-5-stars great). Here's how I know:
1. I laughed out-loud. Rare for me. And when I wasn't laughing, I was smiling. And when I wasn't smiling, I was frowning because I couldn't turn the pages fast enough.
2. Pictures have long been lost in "serious literature." I think they should make a valiant return, and this book has some. Some good ones, that is.
3. I want to move to Barcelona, eat paella, and drink Sangria. Maybe out of a Birkin.
4. Perhaps the most obvious evidence of this book's greatness? At the end I was left feeling bittersweet. Bitter because it was over. Sweet because someone new to the writing business told me a great story. To continue the sidewalk cafe chat analogy, I never wondered when he'd shut up, when we could get out of the glaring sun, or when the waiter would be back to refill my glass of wine.

Cheers, Mr. Tonello. That was a damn fine book.