As someone whose shopping-related screen time (scrolling through websites in the name of research), is embarrassingly high, I’ve developed a photographic-like memory for “product”, an entirely useless skill unless you want to know where something’s from analogue-style (i.e. without the internet). So when something eludes this specialised brain function of mine, it tells me something—it’s encouragingly under-the-radar.
This happened last year on the Eurostar. My very chic seat-mate, French obviously, was carrying a handbag that, annoyingly, I couldn’t place. It vaguely pricked my subconscious, but a lack of logo or obvious branding meant that, by the time we pulled into Gare du Nord, I was still none the wiser.
