I'm shopping for a new bag.
No offense old bags. You've put in your time and I appreciate your service, but once your inner lining gets dirty and your straps begin to slowly unravel, I begin to slowly unravel. I'm desperate for some new arm candy, but not just any bag will do. I guess you could call me Pursilocks - some totes are too big, some satchels are too small, and I need a bag that's juuuuust right.
After hundreds of visits and promotion code searches for funsac.com, I thought I had finally found "The One". The Soho Hobo was big, but not too big, sleek in black with a casual shape, rock star studly with cool fringe at the base and most importantly, this bag was on every Top Bags for Fall list I had seen. It was perfect.
With coupon code committed to memory, I was finally ready to place my order. One final item of business... I asked my boyfriend if he liked it. His response?
"I don't get it."
He didn't get it.
My bond with this bag had suddenly been broken.
"What don't you like about it?" I asked, wondering if he had secretly already purchased it for me and UPS had it waiting at home on my doorstep.
"It looks like it has teeth."
My boyfriend doesn't get a lot of things. Why I like to put on makeup when he thinks I look beautiful mascaraless, why I walk in 4 inch heels when I trip approximately every 37 steps, and why I need a new bag when he could easily fix my old purse strap MacGyver style with some twine and a matchstick.
Although I question his (and every man's) ability to fairly judge this bag for it's total fierceness, I cannot ignore the fact that he thinks it's just plain weird and I surely wouldn't want to put him through the agony of worrying every time I wear it that my new bag is going to eat me.
So the bag search continues...