Bag Lady

My husband is getting me a not-brown handbag for Xmas. I know this because he told me. And he told me because, while there are many things I am fairly good at, faking I like a present that I clearly don't is not one of them.

So we went shopping together.

I enjoy shopping with my husband because having him there somehow quiets the incessant debate in my head over whether an item is worth its price (it rarely is). It's like I don't have to edit myself as much if there is another rational adult there who co-signs off on the purchase.

Back to the bags. Remember when it seemed like every socialite and infamous former White House intern was developing her own handbag line? They weren't alone. There are a lots and lots (and lots) of bags out there.

It quickly became clear to my husband that finding the right bag for me was not a job he ever could have undertaken on his own. It's almost like Ollivander's Wand Shop-- you have to find the one bag among the many for your arm, for your shoulder: the right leather, the right color, the right heft, the right hardware, the right handle length. It's a very personal decision. Nothing spoke to me. Not even the bags that cost more than most mortgage payments (not that those were ever actually in the running).

My husband pointed out how ironic it is that some of the biggest price tags are for so-called "hobo" bags. Talk about the rich making money on the backs of the poor... Occupy Neiman Marcus!