I had never heard the word before, which is funny considering that I’ve been writing for about 10 years now. I heard Kate Blanchett use it on a promotional video for SKII skin care. It’s a Japanese brand that has fermented something-or-rather in it, and when I put it on my face I look like I’m 14. It also costs a million dollars.
(Yes, I do hunt for skin care videos on YouTube with the same late night, bleary-eyed guilt that someone might, say, search for porn in the darkness of their room, the bright tablet illuminating their expectant face.)
Anyways, Kate Blanchett was going on and on about the new line for SKII, and she says, “It’s quite bespoke, really.” She made it sound like the damn most elegant word in the English language. From then on, I have been obsessed. But the thing is, because the word is suffused with the luminous elegance of Kate Blanchett, I want to use the word all the time. Albeit, all the time and inappropriately.
Say someone brings up politics. Such and such happened on Capital Hill today. I want to reply, “Oh yes. I did hear of that. It’s really quite tawdry and bespoke, if you ask me.” My friend makes a joke and I want say, “Oh friend, ha ha ha, c’est tré bespoke!”
The truth is that I don’t think I have to guts to misspeak bespoke.
BUT, I can at least use it in the safe recesses of my mind. When I peer into a shop window and see the sparkly new blouse that can change my life, I will think to myself. “How bespooooooooke.” (Drawing it out, thusly) And for a moment, I will feel like the classiest woman in the world.
And on that note, I actually need to remind myself what bespoke actually means again.