I spent thirty-five years in corporate, you know, climbing that ladder. And I thought I left all the silly games behind when I finally retired. But here I am, practically a senior citizen, still thinking about this young woman I used to see every morning at the Mercedes dealership. It was a block from my office building, and I’d often pass by on my way in, just admiring the cars, like, from a distance. The receptionist there, she was something else. Always impeccably dressed, you know, the kind of outfits that just scream money. Like, the latest Chanel bag, a gorgeous Hermes scarf tied just so. She’d greet everyone with this perfect, polished smile, and you could tell the clients, these really wealthy men and women, they just ate it up. They probably assumed she was one of them, just, you know, working for fun or something. And I watched her for years. Every morning, like clockwork. Until one day, I was stuck in traffic, and I saw her leave a thrift store a few blocks away, carrying this HUGE bag. And the next day, she was wearing this GORGEOUS tweed jacket, you know, like something out of a magazine, but it was just a little... off. The pattern wasn't quite right, and the buttons were, I don't know, plastic-y? And it hit me, like a ton of bricks. All those bags, all those scarves, all those designer outfits? Knock-offs. Really good ones, mind you, but fakes. And it wasn't just that she was wearing fakes, it was the way she CARRIED herself, like she absolutely belonged there, like she was as rich as the people she was chatting with about their latest G-Wagen. It was an act, a really convincing one. And part of me, the part that spent years trying to impress people with real designer clothes, you know, trying to fit in with the executives and their wives at those awful holiday parties, the part that was always scrutinizing everyone else’s outfit and silently judging them... that part of me was just so IRRITATED. Like, how DARE she? But then, there’s this other part, the part that hated the corporate politics and the superficiality of it all, that actually... admired her. She found a way to play the game, to project this image, without actually blowing her paycheck on a handbag that cost more than my first car. She just went for it, you know? And honestly, sometimes I wonder if she was happier than I ever was, trying to keep up with the real thing. It’s like, she knew the secret all along, and I was just... slogging through it. And I still think about her, sometimes. Like, what’s she doing now? Is she still pulling it off? I hope so.