I am not a bag lady.
Wait, that didn’t come out right. Let me rephrase:
I’m not a fan of the Bag.
Otherwise known as a Purse, Clutch, Tote, Handbag, Shoulder Bag, among many other names and forms, the Bag is a sack that carries miscellaneous items that supposedly cannot be left at home, and do not fit in the standard garment pocket. It is typically a female accessory and is often considered absolutely essential to the female wardrobe. A whole designer industry revolves around the bag, and a whole subculture of bag connoisseurs dedicate their souls to the “perfect bag“.
(Before going on with the point of this post, let me first say, WTF? The perfect bag? $5000 dollar designer bags the size of a cigarette pack? What’s so bloody important that it HAS to go with you wherever you go? And as for the tiny bags, are those for real, or just accessories, carrying nothing but lint? Again, WTF?)
Now, don’t get me wrong; I do own a few bags, one of which you can see here. I also have an “artist tote” from Derwent, which I never use. I have a blue canvas celtic-knotwork printed bag, which I love, but never use. I have a small black silk clutch-like thing, which I also never use, and I have this bag that my knitterly awesome big sis knitted for me, which totally rocks, and which I use for the other half of the year when I get sick of the brown bag.
And of course, there’s the camera bag, the grocery bags, pen and marker tote, and the damn makeup bag, which, not incidentally, I also never use.
That’s my problem with bags. I never use them. They end up cluttering my closet and my car, carrying within their voluminous depths more clutter. Paper, receipts, pens, lip balm, sketchbooks, batteries, and sometimes makeup. Never the important stuff: wallet–back pocket, or in the glove box; keys–hooked on my beltloop and tucked into my jeans, or stashed in my coat pocket; and cellphone–clipped on my waistband. If ever I feel like I cannot leave the house without my sketchbook or writing pad in tow (and this is frequently), I will stuff them into my bag, and then leave on the car seat, never to be used. Whenever I go to Boston or New York, I purposefully leave my bag behind–because I know I will not use anything within it. So why would I carry an extra 5 or 10 pounds of dead weight all over a concrete city? I just end up with a sore shoulder for my troubles.
And the idea of carrying a “cute” bag just as an accessory to “complete” my outfit and “complement” my “adorable” shoes…I’m sorry, but that’s just ridiculous.
My arms and my hands can be better used for more important things such as holding my boyfriend’s hand as we walk. Pointing out nifty sights. Swinging at my sides and keeping me balanced when I walk–as nature intended.
That reminds me: god, how I hate stilettos.