A curious drought haunts the city’s finer emporiums. Formerly, cabinets were cleared each fortnight (the holidays most especially) by people of influence who purchased designers in bulk, with entourages of wives, daughters and heirs who whispered, “I am near decisions,” turning haute boutiques into annexes of government offices.

Now, store concierges tell us sales are down. “Because the politicians aren’t coming anymore.” They peek, hesitate at the threshold. Smart. Very terrified.

The season of “gifts for relatives” has petered out into an outbreak of fiscal modesty: A miracle, if you will — a mass conversion to restraint among families previously allergic to it.

The silence of the boutiques is the loudest confession the recent revelations have produced.

You could hear a Birkin drop in Manila, and it would echo like a scandal. When the bags stop flying off the shelves, you may as well be certain someone is about to get arrested.

The rumors persist that transactions were brisk and cash-only, lest credit records betray devotion to “generosity holidays.”

Who knew corruption could affect luxury retail? Only in this country. We asked, “Ever considered issuing a flood-scandal discount just to tempt the buyers back?”

It must be nice owning something that does not collapse after a rainstorm. A Bottega Knot is a subpoena waiting to happen. One asks not, “How much?” but “Can this be explained?” Corruption has rendered luxury toxic, where visible wealth equals visible danger.

A lesson: Never look richer than your alibi. Extravagance works only if bridges stay up. Nothing educates the privileged faster than the sound of a cell door closing — the Discayas, celebrated for the velocity with which they acquired vehicles.

Chiz Escudero’s obscene wedding ring; Edwin Gardiola’s California estates; the contractors’ dirty stash; nepo babies suddenly off-grid because their cash sources are under investigation, discovering, finally, that their inheritance does not include immunity from public scorn.

Just as extravagance retreats from public view, the DPWH —masters of misallocated funds — are back seeking once more the public’s bounty. Were one to wish for a model of how to squander public wealth, one could scarcely improve upon their past exploits.

Can’t help but admire the nerve and the assertion that, equipped with this fresh stipend, miracles shall now flow as abundantly as cement in the DPWH’s prior misadventures.

To give them the same sum again is to declare publicly that promises of reform are edible only when seasoned with nostalgia for past corruption.

If fear has taught politicians to stay away from luxury counters, it should teach the state the same lesson. Let the budget reflect the silence of the boutiques.

Watch the restraint travel upward. If discretion is now fashionable, then let DPWH wear it, too. A government that demands modesty from its citizens must learn to model it institutionally.

Because scandals end when the nation learns that public money, like public trust, is not something one can simply repurchase after disgrace.