When I was in college, I dated a couple guys who turned out to be real assholes, and after we broke up (between the crying and the angry journal writing), I’d secretly curse them – with male pattern baldness. At the time, it felt like the most benign retaliation, a silent wish that they’d have to choose between a comb-over or a baseball cap for the rest of their lives.
Dilemma. My purse is balding. Sure, you could call it a patina, or character even, but the truth is it’s balding and there is nothing I can do about it. Brand new it was a Theysken’s Theory messenger back with lustrous blue calf-hair. It started off as many new things do, with tender care and loving pets, but interest wanes and real life smacks you on the face and a purse becomes what it should be – utilitarian. I’d stuff it full of receipts and lipsticks, Altoids and bananas, and then sling it on my shoulder each and every day. It got worn on and lived in, and slowly shed it’s bristly blue hairs, and well now you can see it here, one year old.
Have I been cursed? Oh hell, I don’t really believe in curses. But maybe it is time I took it easy on old Blue and put another purse in the rotation. I’ve selected a few candidates over an online shopping binge, but I’ll have to venture in-store to really narrow it down. I need to feel their heft, measure how they drape and swing with my hips. Purses are personal, after all.
|ABOVE potential love affairs| Alexander McQueen de manta, Proenza Schouler record bag, Acne laurie, Céline edge