Crazy Rich Asians

Araminta was helped out of the boat first, and when all the girls were assembled on the dock with cocktails in hand, she announced, “Welcome to Samsara! In Sanskrit, the word means ‘to flow on’—to pass through states of existence. My mum wanted to create a special place where you could experience rebirth, where you could pass through different levels of bliss. So this island is ours, and I hope you will find your bliss with me this weekend. But first, I’ve arranged a shopping spree at the resort’s boutique! Girls, as a gift from my mum, each of you can pick out five new outfits. And to make this just a little more fun, and also because I don’t want to miss cocktails at sunset, we’re going to make this a challenge. I’m giving you only twenty minutes to shop. Grab whatever you can, because in twenty minutes, the boutique closes!” The girls shrieked in excitement and began a mad dash down the jetty.

With its soothing mother-of-pearl varnished walls, Javanese teak floors, and windows overlooking a lagoon, the Samsara Collection was normally a haven of civilized tranquillity. Today it was like Pamplona during the running of the bulls as the girls charged in and ransacked the place in search of outfits that would outdo one another. A fashionista tug-of-war broke out as they began clawing over the most coveted pieces.

“Lauren, let go of this Collette Dinnigan skirt before you tear it to pieces!”

“Wandi, you bitch, I saw that Tomas Maier top first and you’ll never fit into it with your new boobs!”

“Parker, put down those Pierre Hardy flats or I’ll poke your eyes out with these Nicholas Kirkwood stilettos!”

Araminta perched on a counter savoring the scene, adding more tension to her little game by calling out the remaining time at one-minute intervals. Rachel tried to steer clear of the rampage, taking refuge at a rack overlooked by the rest of the girls, probably because there weren’t any quickly recognizable labels on any of the garments. Francesca stood at a nearby rack picking through the clothes as if she was surveying medical photos of genital deformities. “This is impossible. Who are all these no-name designers?” she called out to Araminta.

“What do you mean ‘no-name’? Alexis Mabille, Thakoon, Isabel Marant—my mum personally selects the hottest designers for this boutique,” Araminta said defensively.

Francesca tossed back her long, wavy black locks and sniffed. “You know I only wear six designers: Chanel, Dior, Valentino, Etro, my dear friend Stella McCartney, and Brunello Cucinelli for country weekends. I wish you’d told me we were coming here, Araminta. I could have brought my latest Chanel resort wear—I bought this season’s entire collection at Carol Tai’s Christian Helpers fashion benefit.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to slum it for two nights without your Chanel,” Araminta retorted. She gave Rachel a conspiratorial wink and whispered, “When I first met Francesca in Sunday school, she had a plumpish round face and was wearing hand-me-downs. Her grandpa was a famous miser, and the whole family lived crammed together in an old shop house on Emerald Hill.”

“That’s hard to picture,” Rachel said, glancing over at Francesca’s perfectly executed makeup and ruffled emerald-green wrap dress.

“Well, her grandpa had a massive stroke and went into a coma, and her parents finally got control of all the money. Almost overnight, Francesca got herself new cheekbones and a wardrobe from Paris—you won’t believe how fast she and her mother transformed themselves. Speaking of fast, the minutes are running out, Rachel—you should be shopping!”

Even though Araminta had invited everyone to pick out five pieces, Rachel didn’t feel comfortable taking advantage of her generosity. She picked out a cute white linen blouse with tiny ruffles along the sleeves and came across a couple of summery cocktail dresses made out of the lightest silk batiste, which reminded her of the simple shift dresses Jacqueline Kennedy wore in the sixties.

As Rachel was trying on the white blouse in the dressing room, she overheard two girls in the next dressing room chatting away.

“Did you see what she was wearing? Where did she get that cheap-looking tunic top—Mango?”