FashBlog.com

I'm a woman. Though a lover of fashion and celebrity fashion stalker/snarker, in the real world I'm a minimalist, and a very simple (bordering on slovenly) dresser. For example, I give you today's ensemble: One men's navy blue hooded sweatshirt, from KMart. I think it may be some sort of name brand, but I can't quite recall at the moment. It is reasonably clean, though the cuffs are starting to look a bit ratty. One pair of men's Faded Glory jeans, very baggy (perhaps I'm losing some pounds? Hmm...) and tattered at the bottom because they drag on the ground a bit. On my feet, a pair of Tecnica hiking boots, which cost more than my entire outfit, including underwear (which do not match my bra nor any other part of my clothing). They are shades of greyish blue, so they DO match the sweatshirt...go me. And then there's my purse.

I LOVE this particular purse, as much as someone like me can love something that she finds to be a tolerable evil entity. It took me a year to find it. It's a Baggallini, a black triangular mini backpack with handles that zip to become an over one shoulder bag. It's nylon, nicely lined, with lots of pockets. Still, I hate carrying it and sigh heavily every time I pick it up. How, how, HOW did this happen to us, ladies? I know some of you enjoy carting all your crap around...those of you that wear makeup and actually look fem...but me, all I need are keys and money in my jeans pocket and off I go. At least, that's how I USED to be, for ten good years between backpacks and babies.

I remember my very first purse. I was ten. It was 1980, and I had just gotten my period for the first time. Suddenly, I needed something to schlep around my ginormous maxipads in when attending school. It was 12 X 14, light jean material. I hated it instantly, and I was the ONLY girl in my grade carrying one and it felt like everyone knew WHY. Maybe that's because I only used it one week a month...but then I got wise and took it everywhere. I spend most of my free time hefting it back up on my shoulder because it slid off constantly. I felt like I had some sort of purse-tick. Not good.

In 7th grade, I began wearing makeup (don't fret...it was freaky odd makeup like Cyndi Lauper, not anything ordinary) and I HAD SOMETHING ELSE TO PUT IN MY PURSE. The blasted things were starting to feel a bit useful, and I bought myself a few styles. All huge, though. And now, all of my friends were schlepping...and those that didn't faced whisperings of suspected lesbianism. It felt good, like I was on my way to BECOMING A WOMAN. Scary.

Once in high school, I was carrying enough in the damn things to sustain me for a week in the wilderness. Extra glasses, CHECK! Coca Cola, CHECK! Chocolate, CHECK! Novel, CHECK! Enough change to take out Jackie Chan with one whack, CHECK CHECK CHECK! Then it happened...big purses WENT OUT OF STYLE and TINY PURSES WERE IN. I was horrified. I just spent the past 7 years forcing myself to accept the fact that I was a GIRL and girls carried giant purses and that's just THE WAY THINGS WERE and now...not.

The first day with my tiny purse was odd...and I was hungry and bored. But...good lord...it didn't fall off my shoulder! I had my money, my drivers license, pads, tampons...what else did I need anyway? It was a small taste of a freedom I hadn't known in a long, long time.

When I started college, I discovered the backpack. I never looked back, purses banished from my circle of fashion for what I thought was forever. It held everything, and it looked like I was adventurous...and it matched all of my clothing perfectly. Life was good without thinking about constantly changing purse styles. Then, several instances of violence in our country and the birth of my first child turned things topsy turvy again. I began noticing I could no longer bring my backpack wherever I wanted. People, including myself, began looking at their fellow citizens on the street, at WalMart, or wherever and wondering about them. Door security started to ask to see what was IN my backpack at certain places. Some stores bore signs informing me that backpacks were no longer allowed, despite the fact that I had a small infant and needed what was inside. Diaper bags...welcome. Backpacks, not.

I began carrying a purse again, mainly because my checkbook doesn't fit comfortably in my pocket. Belive me, I tried. In the past three years, I've bought 10 different types before finding the one I use now. And I still hate the whole process...unzipping it to get what I need, making sure it's zipped so nothing falls out...making sure I don't forget the whole thing somewhere. I'm happiest when I have cash and all I need are my keys. THEY fit in my pocket, though they do have that whole dungeon master feel.

Last week, I saw a segment on GMA about purses. 3K purses. Red, python skin purses. MAN purses. Purses as a fashion accessory are perfectly acceptable in my book...match them with your shoes, your dress...it's something I enjoy on the red carpet. But I have to wonder...why as human beings to we need to truck all our crap with us? Why? Is it because we are nomadic by our very nature? Do we like to bring our things with us so we can show them to others? Does it make us feel like we're taking a piece of our homes along, and therefore a piece of ourselves?

For me, it's a matter of necessity. I need my damn checkbook, and I need to keep it out of the hands of my kid. Done deal. And if I dressed better, I'd surely have a bunch of matching purses like I did when I was young because that makes the ordeal at least a little fun and interesting. But in the back of my mind, a purse will always remind me of that moment when I was thrust into womanhood without my consent. The curse and the purse...the curse OF the purse.