“I can’t this evening, I’m covering this show.”
“Then some other time?”
“Yes, perhaps.” I found it difficult to pretend to be interested in him, as he made my skin crawl. I did remember my audience, so didn’t move away as my instinct was trying to tell me.
“Is this like the shows in the west?” he asked, looking around.
“Similar. There are always four distinct people at these events. There are the journalists, the designers and the buyers.”
“You said four, that’s only three.”
“There are those who have money and clout. They come to see what is worth investing in. Some fashion houses have names that sell their products regardless; others have to rely on the products alone. So big business needs to see which of the latter have the potential to sell in big numbers to the high streets in the West. Most ordinary people can’t afford big name brands, but the less well known designers and their products have to sell in high numbers to make it.”
“That would explain why there are many Vietnamese businessmen here.”
“They’ll be the owners of the factories that need to know what designs will sell in the rest of the world.”
Several of these men and women sat in the prime chairs close to the catwalk. They were the quiet ones who sat and watched, without showing great emotion at the proceedings. The designers were the opposite, full of noisy and rapturous applause for each other.
“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing to a distinguished looking man in a dark suit. Two young men flanked him, looking out of place at a fashion show. There were a few women in the party, quietly dressed and simply watching with unreadable expressions.
“That’s Cu`ong Pho’. He’s a very important man. He used to be in the army and now he has connections in government. He’s been at a different show, and is here for the last few hours.”
He was obviously referring to the arms show being held a few miles away.
“Do you know him?” I asked, more for the benefit of those who were listening.
“Slightly. He owns several businesses and has some influence here in the city, so occasionally our paths have crossed.”
“Does he live in the city?”
“He has several homes, and one of them is in the wealthy quarter of the city. Why the curiosity?”
“Watch him. He watches the buyers from the big western companies, not the girls. He is watching what products the buyers are interested in, and every now and again one of his men takes photographs. You see the big name firms will always be at risk from pirates or copies. Once a design is released into the public domain, it's in the open and may be copied by unscrupulous companies. The design might have cost the original company thousands of dollars to reach the final stage, so a good copier can produce a similar garment made from cheaper material at a fraction of the cost, flooding the market long before the big name design has even reached the shops.
“I like watching the sharks as they try to judge what is going to be popular.”
“You know a lot about this business,” he observed.
“I should do, it’s been my life for several years,” I lied. Inside I was grinning, as bullshit seemed to work here as well.
“So, can you tell what will be the big sellers?”
“Yes, usually,” I said, watching another pair of models walk down the catwalk. Their garments were wispy and ornate, with low belts and holes in the strangest of places. However, they looked fantastic on the slender oriental models.
“Take this pair. The design is flamboyant and has flair, but who in their right mind will ever wear that? Oh, I guess the occasional movie star like Madonna or a celebrity such as Victoria Beckham might get away with it, but for the rest of us mere mortals, not a chance. To be successful, you have to appeal to the people with money, and they come in two sizes; the young, free and single women, who are in good jobs and have no overheads, and the wealthier older women whom have both time and money to spend on clothes. The younger women don’t want to waste their money, but they want to look good for special occasions. Few of them have models’ figures, so the design has to flatter women of all shapes and sizes, not just the stick insect models.
“The older women will think nothing of spending a thousand dollars on one garment or outfit and wear it only once, whereas the younger woman will want an outfit that she can mix and match with a variety of tops and jackets so she can wear it several times. The third group are the women who have neither time nor money; the mothers and those with families. Money is a major issue, so is good value. They are the ones the people like Cu`ong Pho’ want to target. They’ll pay a hundred dollars for a copy, knowing that it looks chic, but care not one jot that it hasn’t a big name label. So, what is better, to sell twenty at a thousand dollars, or ten thousand at a hundred dollars?”
“What about overheads?”
“What about them? In Europe or America, there is a minimum wage and you have to pay the designers. Here, your designer is just some kid who can copy one of these dresses and the overheads in the sweat factories are but a fraction of what it costs your European counterparts. Even if you use immigrant labour in Europe, it is still far more costly than over here.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“All the big Western chains are using places like Eastern Europe, Vietnam and India, because it’s so much cheaper to produce bulk.”
“So, having looked at everything on show here, can you tell what Cu`ong Pho’ would be wise to select?”
“Of course.”
“Would you like to meet him?” he asked.
“What for?”
“You might find him interesting. I’m sure he would be grateful for your inspired knowledge of the business.”
“Okay, if you want.”
“Wait here, I’ll not be long.”
I watched as he made his way through the throng and spoke to one of the young men at Cu`ong Pho’s side. All of them looked at me and then Hyunh waved me over. While I made my way over to Pho’s location, I glanced to the back of the room and caught Trevor’s eye. He smiled, shaking his head at my audacity.
As I approached, one of the men stood and Ch’ong Pho’ beaconed for me to sit next to him on the newly-vacated seat. He shook my hand, as the music and announcements made it hard to hear any conversation this close to the speakers.
He leaned close to me, but when he spoke, he surprised me, for he spoke in fluent French. I shouldn't have been surprised, for the French had been an important feature of Vietnam right up until the American involvement in the civil war.
“My friend the policeman tells me you are an expert on fashion, mademoiselle Blanchard?” he said.
“I’m a journalist in the fashion field, so whether that makes me an expert, I’ll let you be the judge,” I replied in my French, working hard to maintain the Canadian accent.
He laughed, staring at me with an expressionless visage.
“So, what will sell in the shops in Montreal?” he asked, switching to English.
I opened my pad and looked at some of my notes. Maryanne had advised me to make notes of those items I liked and would buy if I had the money.
“You may be the finest judge, so if you like it, then it must be nice,” she had said.
I read out the numbers and he looked at a list that one of his aides had made. I had three more on my list than he did, apart from that we matched exactly.
He spoke to the man who’d been taking the photographs. He produced the digital camera and we looked at each of my selections that he did not have.
“Why these?”
I explained that each would suit women of larger proportions, and although were silk, they could also be easily copied in cotton or even synthetic fibres.
The aide took down the details of my selections, scurrying away to conduct further enquiries, no doubt.
“You know your business, mademoiselle. Please, join us, and sit,” Pho said, watching the next model as she walked onto the catwalk.