Hip to hire and admire

LET'S say you're young, hip, broke and living in Vietnam. You fancy a night out but you've nothing to wear. No problem. Just hire your bling.

LET'S say you're young, hip, broke and living in Vietnam. You fancy a night on the town but have no money. No problem. For a small stack of dong, you could look like the proverbial million dollars.

I slump on a sofa at Mojo, self-described as Ho Chi Minh City's "most vibrant, stylish and chic cafe-bar" and watch a passing parade sashaying along Dong Khoi Street, the commercial hub's main drag. Bored, I toss aside a business publication where it is reported young IT graduates can expect to earn "big bucks": $US4000 ($5300) a year.

Instead, I check out my fellow coffee shop habitues: dressed to thrill, they're overwhelmingly pretty young things of both sexes. I recognise a few regulars who have been hanging out on two previous evenings.

My thoughts turn to the Vietnam Economic Times I have just been reading. If that's what they earn – assuming, probably wrongly, that everyone here is an IT graduate – how do they afford to dress so expensively?

On Lam Son Square I visit Q Bar, built into the side of the venerable Saigon Opera House. I sit at an alfresco table in subdued light because I feel conspicuously casual (rather than "elegantly casual" as recommended by many dress codes).

An Australian war veteran friend joins me for a 333 beer. He eyeballs the oh-so-cool crowd and asks me: "How on earth do you think they pay for those clothes?"

Subsequent research reveals the truth: Vietnamese fashionistas often don't buy; they rent. Haute couture items are available for ultra-cheap rental – not just clothes, but accessories. In-vogue gear is on tap for a special night out, even if that night is almost every night. Why go clubbing in the same tired threads when your friends – like you, unable to afford even counterfeit knock-offs – are renting?

Clothes, shoes, watches, designer sunglasses (all but obligatory after dark) and enhancements such as costume jewellery and handbags are all available. Wallets, too, although they differ from rental cars in that they are returned empty.

In communist-ruled but capitalist-styled Saigon (residents seldom use the official Ho Chi Minh City name), these discreet rental enterprises don't advertise. It's a word-of-mouth activity designed to help locals (and the odd tourist) hit the hot spots.

Renters look great. Twenty-four hours later, they return the goods, perhaps immediately renting again at a laboriously negotiated discount. And this is a youthful industry, with few style counsellors or customers over 30.

A young journalist on a Vietnamese-language daily feigns puzzlement at my interest. We meet at one of several outlets of Highland (a local Starbucks equivalent, regarded as exceptionally fashionable). "It makes good sense economically," she explains. "Entrepreneurs have identified a market, just as they've done in many other niches. Why pay high prices for clothes you'll wear only once?"

Members of Vietnam's hip crowd, she adds, don't talk beyond their closest circle about what they rented or how much they paid, although the equivalent of a few dollars covers a fashionable evening out. She says you must pretend to own the gear, even if peers correctly assume you don't.

"What about you?" I ask, rather rudely. "Do you ever rent for an evening out?" I swear I see the beginnings of a blush. "Well, y-e-s," she stammers. "Everybody does. So, why not?" Why not indeed?