Too poor to buy anything of lasting value but rich enough to go for expensive clothing, many a denizen of the Croatian capital splurges on fashionable coats, dresses, suits, or shoes. Most of these choice items are cheap fakes, but some are genuine Guccis, Armanis, or Pradas. Everyone does his or her best to impress everyone around them with their discerning taste.  And means. Often enough they go over the top, too. But I have never seen anything like the pudgy woman who just plopped herself down at a neighboring table in a fashionable outdoors café in the city center. Roughly my age, she is dressed to kill: tiger jacket, leopard shoes, and a huge giraffe bag. Her hair is bright red, as are her lips and nails. Her hat and blouse sparkle invitingly from afar. Still, she is just short of ridiculous, at least by Zagreb standards. Chances are that she has sold her family jewels for her fancy clothing, though. But it was all worth it, I would guess, judging by the interests she has quickly spied to have sparked in me.