There aren't many things in life I need to be happy, except for maybe a quality red leather handbag. It all started when I was given a little white purse when I was 6 in which to carry my child-sized Bible on First Communion Sunday. I have carried a purse, a backpack, a tote bag, or a satchel ever since.
As a girl, or perhaps more as a girl scout, I always wanted to be prepared. I was the one who could be counted on to produce the tiny plastic box with the variety of thread, tiny patch, straight pin and needle, along with the spare button. I would have a band-aid at the ready, chap stick as a defense against the coldest of winds, and lip gloss appropriate to the season. Perhaps it was my love for miniatures that kept me interested in tiny folding scissors, travel-size toothbrush, and other accoutrements.
College transformed my need for a purse into a backpack with front pockets to carry the essentials. I could get by with the sweats and hair in a pony-tail, but bare lips--never. We were students, not barbarians.
Working my first job out of college, I converted to a shoulder bag which was the practical choice for someone who walked to work most of the time. I also remember a clutch purse with a built-in mirror for which I had a particular fondness, until it was stolen out of my desk drawer on payday to be later recovered in a near-by dumpster by the police. Not real appealing after that.
For many years thereafter, diaper bags took over where handbags left off. When I finally transitioned back into a purse I was expected to have provisions for the "village" who followed me around getting injured, hungry, and needing to have their little faces and fingers cleaned off. I had to have a deck of cards, army men, matchbox cars, wet wipes, a variety of snacks, and books to keep them occupied--just in case. One never knows how long the line will be at any given location, or how badly those traveling with you will want to hide under clothing racks, try to climb shelves, or run out the door into a parking lot filled with people just waiting for the chance to blame their mother. My shoulder would ache as my bag got bigger and bigger. The style: early American homeless, or everybody's mother. In any case, I was relieved when I could start strapping backpacks onto my young as they went out of the house carrying their own stuff.
I learned a long time ago it is better to buy quality than quantity, which is a different way of saying that I'm usually only able to afford one. I used to compare styles and prices in mail-order catalogs, taking notes and considering the pros and cons of each potential purchase. The curse of online shopping is the temptation to keep the comparisons going and never making a purchase. Or, maybe this is the blessing.
Several years ago, my husband bought me a red leather handbag. I was amazed at his sense of style and how well-suited for me the bag was. After all of the years we had been together, it was one of the best gifts he had ever given me. A little nervous to have such a bright and shiny object, I cautiously went out in the world, hoping not to draw attention to myself--well, not too much. I started wearing more red and declared it as my favorite color, after years of insisting a pale green was closer to revealing my true nature. But I had changed. As I sought a depth of purpose and a longing for living life to the full, a more expressive color was needed. Then came the red lipstick, red shoes, earrings, belt, and sweaters. Red became my signature color. It makes me feel more like me than anything else.
What may sound trivial was actually healing for me. Having grown up with whatever-was-on-sale and proceeding with that mode of shopping into my adult life, I did not often choose what I wanted but accepted what it was I could have. In small group discussions when we were encouraged to demonstrate aspects of our personalities by our choices, mine would always be in question, even to me. I simply didn't know what I liked since what I liked had never been part of the equation.
Discovering that I am deeply attracted to red leather handbags was an epiphany!
As that purse began to show signs of wear over the years, I started to look for a replacement. Red, I decided, was also the more practical choice because it goes with either black or brown. There was a time when I had a black bag and a brown one, switching contents based on shoe color, but I lost interest in constantly having to move from one bag into another, like a one-night stand. I needed to commit myself to one bag, a bag worthy of the life I hoped to lead.
About a year or so before my mother-in-law died, she gave me her collection of purses: a vintage black evening bag with an attached change purse and mirror; a beaded white clutch, perfect for carrying lipstick and tissue to a wedding; a smooth white leather bag with chain handle, shoulder bags, everyday bags, a green and blue velour with retro appeal and more. So many purses, so many places to take each and every one of them. I was already heading down the vintage trail and these fashion accessories launched me further than I thought possible.
Unfortunately, none of them were the color for which I longed, disqualifying any one of them from becoming my main bag.
I found a red leather bag on sale at a local department store, which carried me forward for a few more years. It was not as cute as the first one, but held more, which led me to consider: how much does one really need to carry around? And, where was I going that I needed such a stylish handbag? To church? To the preschool? To soccer games and track meets? Who did I think I was--a high-society lady trying to impress her friends at the country club?
A year or so ago I found the bag I had been dreaming of in a catalog. It was a red leather tote bag that converted into a satchel. Two bags for the price of one! And still too expensive.
While I was going from website to website on my journey to find the perfect bag, watching youtube videos to enhance the shopping pleasure, I found myself not only attracted to a featured bag on one site, a lovely Italian leather, but was soothed by the voice on the commercial, who, I would find out later, was the voice of my close friend who does voice-over commercial work! My very own friend was selling me a high-quality leather handbag. How could I not buy it?!
While I was going from website to website on my journey to find the perfect bag, watching youtube videos to enhance the shopping pleasure, I found myself not only attracted to a featured bag on one site, a lovely Italian leather, but was soothed by the voice on the commercial, who, I would find out later, was the voice of my close friend who does voice-over commercial work! My very own friend was selling me a high-quality leather handbag. How could I not buy it?!
Reality comes to call in times such as these. I had a price limit and the bag that I wanted, even when it went on sale, never made it into my buying zone. There was no way I could justify paying that much for it. I was reminded of a friend who broke up with a woman he was dating when she paid what he thought was too much for a designer handbag. He simply could not marry a woman who had that kind of expectation.
At Christmas, my parents always give me a check so I can buy whatever I want for myself for a gift. There have been years in which the check was deposited into our account to pay the bills or allow for special treats for the boys, but this year I decided to spend it. Having spent an inordinate amount of time shopping online, comparing prices, discounts, quality, and considering every other factor I could possibly come up with, I suggested we go to a near-by shopping outlet a couple of days before Christmas. Though my family may have thought we were going to passively seek out the sales and see what we could find, I had one plan in mind: to purchase a red leather handbag.
It was easy to narrow down the selection: red--maybe; not red--no.
Somehow it was always the most expensive bag in the store that would call out to me the loudest. There were so many aspects to the purchase I was considering by this point. It would have to be a true shade of red, not burgundy or too pink. It needed to be within a certain size range, preferably lined with built in pockets for a cell phone and debit card. Another zippered section would be nice, but not necessary. I needed it to be a satchel since I no longer want a purse or anything else strapped to me.
I found a red leather satchel on the bottom shelf in the corner of a leather store. It was almost half-price! My Christmas money would be more than enough.
Walking out of the store I felt a rush of excitement, but by Christmas morning, I wondered if I had made a mistake. Sure, this bag had the right features, but the leather was not soft as I had imagined and maybe the hardware was just a little too gold and glaring. I wasn't sure I even had the nerve to take it with me, and for the first outing after its purchase, I left it home, like an embarrassing relative with whom I didn't want to be seen.
I couldn't understand it. I had gotten what I had wanted at a fantastic price. The color could not be more perfect. The shape, the handles, it had it all. It was so big and beautiful it may have even made my backside look smaller!
But when I took it with me, I felt self-conscious. What was I doing with something that looked like it could never belong to me? Why did I want something so showy, so screaming, so look-at-me!
Trying to bury these feelings, I took my new bag to work, hoping to shove it under my desk before anyone saw it. A woman I work with immediately noticed it and commented. She carries an expensive-looking bag effortlessly, with style. I immediately wanted to be more like her and all of the other women I've noticed with bags that cost hundreds of dollars more than mine, who do not blink at the thought of having one. But I am not them. I suddenly didn't know how to walk or carry myself with this new accessory. Instead of defining my personality, this bag was threatening to erase my identity and take over my life!
It was then and there I decided maybe my search had not yet ended. There are those websites that sell used clothing and designer handbags. I figured if I sold my bag for less than its original price but more than what I paid for it, I would be able to justify the whole thing. I would somehow make my way back to the one I had picked out, the one this season that never went on sale enough for me to seriously consider it. There had to be a deal . . . somewhere.
Then, during one of my endless searches, I found the bag I had hoped to purchase this season, selling for a little over fifty dollars on eBay. It was "pre-owned," a department store return that featured a broken shoulder strap and pen marks on the interior leather. Its style was more appealing--Ralph seemed to know more about my sense of style than Calvin--and though I could not be sure, it looked as though the leather may be just a bit softer. I decided I would buy it with my next paycheck, sell the new one, and either spend or save the remainder of the money. This was the financially prudent thing to do. This would represent the way I live, my values, my truest self.
Walking into my office building the next day, a thought pierced the silence before I got into the elevator, "Why don't you think you deserve the new purse?"
(Upon further investigation, I discovered the reason my red leather handbag is not soft is due to a process in which the calf hide is pressed by a machine, giving it a cross-hatch design and finishing it with a wax coating to create what is called saffiano leather. It was invented by Mario Prada. It is the kind of highly sought-after leather that can retain a bright, vibrant color and shape, and is more resilient to whatever life throws at it.)
It was easy to narrow down the selection: red--maybe; not red--no.
Somehow it was always the most expensive bag in the store that would call out to me the loudest. There were so many aspects to the purchase I was considering by this point. It would have to be a true shade of red, not burgundy or too pink. It needed to be within a certain size range, preferably lined with built in pockets for a cell phone and debit card. Another zippered section would be nice, but not necessary. I needed it to be a satchel since I no longer want a purse or anything else strapped to me.
I found a red leather satchel on the bottom shelf in the corner of a leather store. It was almost half-price! My Christmas money would be more than enough.
Walking out of the store I felt a rush of excitement, but by Christmas morning, I wondered if I had made a mistake. Sure, this bag had the right features, but the leather was not soft as I had imagined and maybe the hardware was just a little too gold and glaring. I wasn't sure I even had the nerve to take it with me, and for the first outing after its purchase, I left it home, like an embarrassing relative with whom I didn't want to be seen.
I couldn't understand it. I had gotten what I had wanted at a fantastic price. The color could not be more perfect. The shape, the handles, it had it all. It was so big and beautiful it may have even made my backside look smaller!
But when I took it with me, I felt self-conscious. What was I doing with something that looked like it could never belong to me? Why did I want something so showy, so screaming, so look-at-me!
Trying to bury these feelings, I took my new bag to work, hoping to shove it under my desk before anyone saw it. A woman I work with immediately noticed it and commented. She carries an expensive-looking bag effortlessly, with style. I immediately wanted to be more like her and all of the other women I've noticed with bags that cost hundreds of dollars more than mine, who do not blink at the thought of having one. But I am not them. I suddenly didn't know how to walk or carry myself with this new accessory. Instead of defining my personality, this bag was threatening to erase my identity and take over my life!
It was then and there I decided maybe my search had not yet ended. There are those websites that sell used clothing and designer handbags. I figured if I sold my bag for less than its original price but more than what I paid for it, I would be able to justify the whole thing. I would somehow make my way back to the one I had picked out, the one this season that never went on sale enough for me to seriously consider it. There had to be a deal . . . somewhere.
Then, during one of my endless searches, I found the bag I had hoped to purchase this season, selling for a little over fifty dollars on eBay. It was "pre-owned," a department store return that featured a broken shoulder strap and pen marks on the interior leather. Its style was more appealing--Ralph seemed to know more about my sense of style than Calvin--and though I could not be sure, it looked as though the leather may be just a bit softer. I decided I would buy it with my next paycheck, sell the new one, and either spend or save the remainder of the money. This was the financially prudent thing to do. This would represent the way I live, my values, my truest self.
Walking into my office building the next day, a thought pierced the silence before I got into the elevator, "Why don't you think you deserve the new purse?"
(Upon further investigation, I discovered the reason my red leather handbag is not soft is due to a process in which the calf hide is pressed by a machine, giving it a cross-hatch design and finishing it with a wax coating to create what is called saffiano leather. It was invented by Mario Prada. It is the kind of highly sought-after leather that can retain a bright, vibrant color and shape, and is more resilient to whatever life throws at it.)
