The monogram needs no introduction. From the royal head of Madonna to the back alleys of Guangzhou, the reach of Louis Vuitton (LV) is a force to be reckoned with.

Many fables surround this ubiquitous label but LV has been, for a long time, a label of heritage and luxury.

Ever since I had cognition of labels and their stronghold on self image, my mother has been an advocate of the monogram.

She extols the impeccable quality of the leather, the intoxicating smell of it and the delightfully suede inner lined bags.

In short, I’m one of those who had inherited this form of label loyalty and subconsciously both my mind and purse are attuned to LV.

Annually I conduct, in a manner of a fashion pilgrimage, the sojourn to LV Mecca, the Parisian flagship store at 101 Champs Elysées.

Why do I fly gazillion miles to get there?

Trust me, at this LV landmark address, you get out-of-this world service and dedication.

Every single patron who steps into this holy ground is attended to by a special fashion butler or a dedicated female service valet.

And of course, tax refund is such a pretty phrase.

For the years of my patronage, I have built a steady friendship with my LV butler, a middle age Robert De Niro look-alike; a relationship founded on common interests of LV consumption (for me) and LV ambassadorship (for him).

He found it wonderful to be able to tote multiple LV sacs on his arm whilst he waltzes me across the many floors of LV’s powerhouse.

There are no qualms when it comes to question of masculinity for him.

My faithful butler plies me with tinkering glasses of LV gold; the fountain of bubbly doesn’t stop.

The happier I get on champagne the deeper the burn on my credit card. But oh, the retail bliss I experience is, as they say, priceless.

Back home in diminutive Singapore, LV recently unveiled its expanded Takashimaya outlet, which has grown to the size of a duplex (having consumed the old Stella McCartney shop floor) and has refreshed its façade inspired by Kungfu star Michelle Yeoh.

For its exclusive opening, the press and label gentry are invited.

The event is marked successfully with booths of ‘activity’ from artists in commission.

Guests of the event leave with wire sculptures created by prominent American artist, Steve Lohman.

And if you can spare the time, join the queue to get your own caricature inked exclusively with the LV stamp.

You can walk away with your very own card. This booth is fronted by Thai illustrator, Nualthong.

Oh how delightful and wonderful the LV experience is!

The night transformed magically into a fun affair and I applaud LV’s collaboration with art to bring about this unique experience.

In the midst of this revelry, LV’s infamous snobbery prevailed.

Those who had asked for a wire sculpture of a stiletto from Lohman gets it easily.

In fact these gifts were served on a silver platter to those who dressed the part.

That is to say, if you had on you an article of clothing that is 1. Branded 2. LV-ed or 3. Over The Top.

I was invited to the event along with my editor, and suffice to say, she is a decent hard worker with a long day behind her.

Read, she had not on her an article of clothing with any of the above mentioned characteristics, despite looking good in what she wore.

Imagine my shock when she told me she’d been denied the sculpture gift when she’d asked for it.

The artist was entirely innocent; it was his two LV salesgirls who he had for help who denied her of this given privilege.

I interceded and asked on my editor’s behalf.

The gall of those salesgirls made me gag! They retorted in the form of a question, “For whom will the gift be for?”

After whispers, plain for all to see, to a male manager who told his saleswoman, "No, it's ok", was the said gift handed over with the face of a sour puss.

What is it about the term VIP that these salesgirls can’t seem to fathom?

It really doesn’t stand for “Very Insignificant Person” and as an invite-only event, you are assumed a someone since you're invited to the event.

Perhaps little miss; your false sense of authority is empowered by a thin alliance with the LV brand.

It is disheartening to know that the brand built from the grand era of 1854 is now steadily chipped away by lousy service staff in 2009.

After I finally managed to wrench that mini sculpture from the girls’ cold hands, we headed to the first floor where the caricature artist is installed.

There was a long line of socialites, media and local celebrities. You can call it the queue of equalizer. Everyone queued and chatted while they waited.

My dear editor regained her spirits from the initial insult and joined the queue. After a full half an hour, finally it’s her turn.

What the Thai artist did next was like a bad dream.

She took a readymade card with a figure of girl with long hair and started to personalize the card to the iconic look of my editor.

I mean hello? Everyone had theirs drawn from scratch and why did my editor have to suffer this OBVIOUS injustice?

As a third party witnessing this, it made my blood boil.

What she’s experiencing must be ten times worse. I wonder if her blood's still flowing in the face of apparent snobbery.

To add insult to injury, the couple who were waiting for their turn after her had theirs both drawn from scratch, despite the salesgirls saying the artist is tired.

As the unpersonalised drawing was edited, overheard were the salesgirls whispering in Hokkien "Didn't she know that the artist is finishing off? Did no one tell her?" No, no one told her nothing.

Well done LV. Undo the mighty tradition and heritage of loving service of Champs-Elysées.

You have once again worked into psyche of the market place your proud sense of snobbery.

Alas, my editor has other fish to fry (Gucci, Prada, etc) and I might visit De Niro again but the champagne, you can save it.