An amusing article courtesy of the webzine
The Smart Set. I'd be interested to hear how you handbag-carriers may or may not relate to these observations.
The Handbag
Finding the right one can be as complicated as keeping track of what's inside.
By Paula Marantz Cohen
One of my seasonal rites is shopping for a new handbag.(1) It's a mystery to me why I have to do this. You'd think a bag would outlast a season.(2) But these things get a lot of wear and tear. Pen marks appear on the surface; unidentifiable lint accumulates at the bottom; once-sturdy straps fray and then suddenly snap, scattering loose change, Kleenex, tampons, and costly pills for allergy and anxiety in all directions.
Even the best handbags don't wear well. I inherited two Coach bags from my mother. Coach bags are supposed to be indestructible, and, it's true, they don't fall apart ?- they just look increasingly awful. One of the bags my mother left me was originally off-white but, with time, turned a sickly beige. One day, I realized it had taken on the coloration and texture of human skin. The other bag was black and very heavy ?- perfect for a funeral but not much else. Also, the little leather piece surrounding the buckle had started to curl like a potato chip. When I finally took both bags to the consignment shop they were turned down flat. I then donated them to a thrift shop where they continue to hang sadly on a hook, unwanted at $3 each.
The very idea of my needing a handbag is puzzling. How is it that men, of whom I am the equal in all other respects, seem to be well served by their back pockets or (if they're European) sleek little manpurses? Why can't I manage as well? All I have to carry is lipstick, eyeliner, pressed powder, reading glasses, sunglasses, small perfume spray, sunscreen, Kleenex, small brush, tic tacs, chocolate bar, small sewing kit, liquid soap, wash-n-drys, address book, key chain (with nine keys, three of which I have no idea what they open), and a wallet (containing charge cards, check book, pictures of children, membership cards, and cards that are stamped for one cup of coffee at a shop I'll never visit again). When my children were small, I also carried crayons and coloring books, fruit snacks, and a change of underpants.
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