Many memories return, good and bad, when I recall these bags. I recall my first generous tax return at eighteen, which I promptly cashed and used to purchase the ivory pebbled leather Dooney & Burke satchel, complete with matching checkbook wallet. I also recall being on a nervous first date at twenty and feeling sickly after dinner while traveling in a brand new sports car. I dared not deface my date’s new leather interior, so sadly, the interior of a new navy blue leather Coach served an unintended purpose. The bag I will always remember and will never resell is from my husband, my Louis Vuitton, the memory of our surprise Valentine’s Day excursion to the LV store more precious than the bag itself.
So what is this obsession with designer purses? Why brand myself a handbag junkie? It’s a materialistic vice for certain, an expensive one I most often can ill afford. I am not rich, earning only a public school teacher’s salary for years, and now earning not a single penny as a stay-at-home mom with a six month old baby boy. This precious time at home will certainly curtail my shopping, and I don’t mind one bit. The giant mom Coach satchel purchased before baby will serve a functional purpose for many months to come.
Looking back now, I wonder how my life might differ if my family had remained in small town, USA. Sure, all of those young lady lessons about how to dress and apply make-up would have been taught—but maybe not so young. I feel certain at some point I would have glimpsed my first Gucci or Louis Vuitton. Would I have become obsessed? I can only conclude that coming of age in the Big D has left an indelible imprint on my life. I see now that my handbag history, the purses of past and present, has carried more than my life’s baggage. Each and every one carries precious memories, links to lives and stories lived before the present life, previous and constantly evolving versions of myself.
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