Every new beginning heralds a blank page and the purchase of something new. Or something like that. And because I have naught a fabulous night out for New Year’s Eve to brag of, but a new handbag to boast of instead, I decided to start 2013 with a toast to my latest acquisition. It’s quite romantic if you think about it: a tribute to why I started blogging, and an ode to the future…
Kidding. I got a bag for Christmas, and that’s about as deep as it gets.
Four years ago I had my heart set on the Michael Kors Hamilton and my eyes on the price tag. It’s nothing in comparison to your slew of designer with a capital “D,” but what’s a 16-year-old girl to do with a $400 handbag but parade it around the mall? (Movies are so last millenium.) Sure, I was a baby fashion blogger and won “Best Dressed” in senior superlatives but let’s face it: my varsity jacket was the greatest investment of my high school career.
Life got in the way and I had a few flings with a various bags. But it was like time had never passed once I laid eyes on this bad boy come Christmas. If that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is: the things that stand the test of time are the best investments. It only goes to show that I’m picky about my bags. The pressure of finding the perfect everyday bag is, relatively speaking, immense. There’s so many thing’s to consider like size, fit, durability, level of chic-ness. Day-wear appropriateness. Not too flashy, yet not inconspicuous.
I’m not quite bag snob per se, but I’m a bag whore with standards—meaning any handbag purchases made forth-ward must meet the following requirements:
- Classic, in every which sense. But of course. Timelessness is everything.
- Structure. Satchels are my happy place; a bit of boning juxtaposed with a bit of slouch reads easy, effortless and elegant.
- Top-handles. How else is a girl to get her arm workout in a full 7 a.m. to 12 a.m. day?
- Leather. Borderline fetishist, but I know none who can resist a beautiful, buttery leather piece. I coo over good leather and am not ashamed to admit it.
…and the Hamilton passed with flying colors. (Bag-buying requires careful deliberation, you see.)
Below is a tall latte from Starbucks for visual reference; this hunker was half my size and triple my width. Had I not been so drunk with glee I would have been horrified at its sheer monstrosity that posed a threat to oblivious shoppers in my path:
It even makes tracksuits and joggers look chic.
And in the spirit of all that glitters and glows, I couldn’t resist this soft gold number. The Jet Set Continental wallet was yet another one of Kors’ pieces I’ve had my eye on. It’s pretty, compartmented, and has just enough shimmer—meaning both my inner magpie and Aries personality are appeased. Fetching my wallet in cavernous bags will no longer be in vain, and I now have the perfect post-work/happy hour/cocktail clutch. Double-duty does it.
Nothing rings in the new year like a freshly organized wallet, no? Here’s to prosperity and wishing that money grew on trees.
. . .
(P.S.: Sweater from Calvin Klein.)
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