I bought four cups. Mugs really. They’re white. I guess they’re kind of tall. But other than that, their distinguishing features are few. Unless you count the massive black Dover Street Market print.
Obviously I do count the massive Dover Street Market print. It’s the only reason I bought them. I didn’t need any cups. Like most, I’ve already got more cups than my cupboard can comfortably womb. Yet I had to have them. Like the biggest, most pretentious knobber imaginable.
“Do take milk? Oh what these, yeah, just something I picked up… They’re nice aren’t they, of course a total indulgence, silly really… Yamamoto Custard Cream?”
The sociological whys and wherefores of brand affiliation are perpetually documented and I’m too lazy to waffle through it again. I know I’m a sucker. I know a Dover Street Market tea set is a special type of wank. I know it, yet I’m sharing it with you. Christ, what does that make me?