It’s time I come clean about something: I’ve recently fallen
victim to a conspiracy. Now before you go rushing out to notify the
authorities, I don’t mean the criminal or government kind.
It’s time I come clean about something: I’ve recently fallen victim to a conspiracy. Now before you go rushing out to notify the authorities, I don’t mean the criminal or government kind. Oooooh no. It’s WAY more sinister than that. I have, my friends, fallen under the spell of designer handbags.
Oh sure, people tried to warn me about the dangers of this sort of habit. And, really, up until, well now, I was the kind of person who would balk at paying more than $5 for a purse. I’ve always been a big huge fan of Velcro, rhinestones, vinyl, pleather (for the retail-challenged: a mysterious blend of plastic and leather) and other unrecognizable fabrics. I’d be the first to agree that, say, helping to end world hunger is much more important and politically correct than owning a genuine Louis Vuitton handbag. But somehow my priorities have changed. Now my pink pleather purse, the very same purse that was once the Most Fabulous Purse In the Entire World, is on my I-Wouldn’t-be-Caught-Dead-Wearing list somewhere between polyester gauchos and elastic thongs.
There’s no logical explanation for this. Maybe I’ve fallen victim to an insidious plan by trendy upscale retailers to brainwash me into thinking that having a designer purse will make me appear successful and sophisticated. Or perhaps I’m just plain stupid. Or maybe both of these things.
But, if you ask me, I blame my friend Suzie.
“Pssst,” she hissed at me one day over coffee. “Do you want to buy a slightly used Coach handbag? Cheap?” She went on with a tantalizing description of the snakeskin trim, silvery zippered side pockets, and genuine brown leather strap.
My inner, much more practical, voice said, “WHOOOOOA! Don’t go there, girl! Once that line is crossed there’s no going back. The next thing you know you’ll move on to harder stuff like, say, Prada shoes and Armani sunglasses and Donna Karan evening gowns. Stop before it’s too late!”
And that might’ve been the end of it. Except, instead, I heard someone (OK, me) say “Great! Cash or check?”
I don’t need to tell you it didn’t stop there. I mean, according to the leading fashion magazines every woman needs a black and a brown purse. And one that goes over the shoulder and one to hold onto and a little black one that goes with your evening dress, and one for the times you don’t want to wear any of the others.
Don’t ask me how it happened, but somehow, during all of this, I crossed the Line of Reasonableness. Clearly I was no longer a suburban mother-of-two, I was a Designer Handbag Junkie.
That said, it should be no surprise that I became what they call, in certain circles, a Pusher. First, I took my friend Linda to Macy’s and talked her into a Louis Vuitton duffle bag. Then I convinced my usually frugal friend, Barb, to buy a hundred-dollar Coach shoulder purse. I coerced my friend Lisa into a suede Gucci tote. And on it went.
After all this you would think I felt a bit guilty, and, hey, I did. Sort of.
That is until my friend Cheryl told me about a high-tech fashion miracle: a Web site where you can rent (RENT!) upscale purses for about $10 a week. To think that I could wear a new, practically free, designer purse every week.
Oh sure, there’s a message in here somewhere. Maybe it’s that I should be spending my time on more meaningful projects. Or maybe it’s that I’m using material objects to fill a deep emotional void in my life. Or maybe it’s that I should start a Web site and rent out my own collection. But whatever it is, I’ll leave it to you to figure out. Right now, folks, I have cyber purse shopping to do.
Debbie Farmer is a humorist and a mother holding down the fort in California, and the author of Don’t Put Lipstick on the Cat. You can reach her at
fa********@oa***************.com
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