Your place to come talk about clothes whenever you feel like it.
I had a falling out with a good friend of mine recently and I’ve spent the past six months or so trying to figure out where our best friendship went.
Of course, there’s no cut-and-dry thesis with things like this. She changed a little and then I changed a lot and then she changed a bit more and then, oh, would you look at that! We haven’t spoken in six months! Funny how that happens, right? But sometimes I think we were doomed from the start. The things that made us ourselves were too different and not in a good way.
Our differences didn’t complement each other. We weren’t peanut butter and jelly. We were peanut butter and cheese, which is just so damn crazy it’s fun for awhile, but then you’re just eating peanut butter and cheese and it’s actually sorta gross. When I consider our differences (of which there were many), I think they can all be explained by our purses of choice.
You know how there are these seemingly insignificant traits people have that just totally explain their personality? Like, there is this one rudimentary thing, but it is actually the definition for how their brain works? I think the purse you choose to tote your life around in is one of those things. Not in an oh-you-use-Alexander-Wang-bag-so-you’re-downtown way or you-wear-a-Chanel-bag-so-you’re-sophisticated way. It’s not that complex (or women’s mag back of the book quiz cliché). It’s just “big purse or small purse?” That’s all it is, folks.
Things in my purse: My phone, my headphones, a tape recorder even though it’s 2012 so obviously phone has a tape recorder, my glasses, sunglasses that I never wear, a highlighter that I’ve never used, a watch, a heart sticker, a phone charger, a typed out copy of the prologue of “How Should a Person Be,” my laptop, my iPad, two medicine bottle caps, nail polish, Vitamin B, a poster, two cough drops, 12 pens, a perfume stick of a perfume I would never wear because the person who wore it died and it makes me sad to wear it, a statement necklace, a part of a broken statement necklace, a Lara bar, a Lara bar wrapper, deodorant, Kleenex, tights, a tampon mascara, foundation, my keys, two soy sauce packets because I’m the worst, contacts, a packet of Advil, another pair of sunglasses, two lipsticks, a book, a copy of the New Yorker, two old New York magazines, two Moleskins, my journal, floss, a recent for a Subway sandwich, nasal spray.
My former friend was a small purse kind o’ lady, which is something I’ll never be. I have elaborate fantasies about how my life would be different if I didn’t need what is essentially a weekender just to get through the 9 to 5.
I probably wouldn’t have 8 unanswered text messages. I would have called my mom today. I would know how to cook something that isn’t burned eggs. I would just have my shit together a bit more. I wouldn’t say shit.
I can say this with confidence because these are all the things my former friend did. This is the kind of person she was. She got her pants hemmed and didn’t overshare on first dates and always paid rent on time. She used a small purse from a big name designer that she often held in her right hand like a clutch. In it, she kept her Metro card, her ID, her debit card, her credit card, her keys and cash. Just the essentials! No need for a two-month-old Marie Claire here!
Her purse-related minimalism showed a great deal of organization and self-awareness. She didn’t understand why I need -- need -- my large headphones with me on the subway. I feel completely panicked without them. My skin starts to itch.
“Just sit there,” she’d tell me. It was beyond her ken why I always have to have three separate notebooks on my person at any given point in time, and how each notebook has a very specific purpose and, no, I cannot write my to-do list in my little blue notebook. Stop being ridiculous.
My baggage -- both figurative and literal -- exhausted her and eventually we both just became too tired to continue on with the relationship.
When I imagine my life as a small purse girl, my hair is always a bit shinier and my cuticles are cut. I’m not so neurotic, not so driven by impulse. My decisions are calculated, not rash and hasty. My old friend, holding her purse in her right hand, is still by my side.
All right, all right. I’m exhausted from all this talk of lost friendship. Let’s spend money. Great.
This has five stars on the reviews and comes in all the colors, by which I mean it comes in five colors, but only four if you don’t count that weird pink one.
Alright, so, I actually own this bag because I decided I’m worth treating myself every now and then, and I let a pen explode on it because I’m a pathetic excuse for an adult and now it’s completely stained and ruined. Now whenever I treat myself I just go to California Pizza Kitchen.
Buy this, just not in the purple color. Unless you’re into that sort of thing, in which case, cool.
Just going to throw this out there: I’m totally willing to put my life at risk and give out my address if people are willing and able to buy this purse for me.
I feel like Gap got really awesome when none of us were looking. Like, what is that about?
Quick. What do you see when you look at this design? I see a cat eating a shark. Your turn.
I like that this bag is metallic without being a dick about it.
I like that this bag is metallic and is complete dick about it.