Sunday, 20 November 2016
Thoughts on designer handbags, specifically the Stella McCartney Tiny Tote, written at 3am when I should have been sleeping but couldn't because I was too busy thinking about the joys and uncertainties of frivolous purchases.
Beginning my early teens wearing tracksuit bottoms and baggy jumpers, eventually shunning trousers in my late teens and early twenties in favour of floral dresses and pastel cardigans, I now only ever wear black jeans and plain tees so it's clear to see that I'm no fashion connoisseur. Despite this however, designer handbags still seem to have a certain allure for me that I can't quite explain. Over the years I've found myself looking at the usual suspects; Saint Laurent, Chloe and Chanel, but my desires for them always seem to have been nothing more than passing phases.
For now my intrigue is currently set firmly in the direction of the Stella McCartney Falabella Tiny Tote. On paper it's perfect; it's small, it isn't made from leather and, although certainly expensive, it's not wildly unattainable. It would take a fair amount of time to save up for something so frivolous and yet, when the day finally arrived, I know myself well enough to already know that I would like seeing that number in my savings account too much to hand over my card.
Perhaps a mixture of feeling that I don't deserve it, although I don't think I believe we have to earn something beyond completing the physical act of saving for it because that in itself is surely enough, and concern that the allure is firmly situated in the feeling of longing and not actually in the experience of owning and enjoying something that I didn't need but, for some reason, wanted to have.
Alas, perhaps one day I'll fight my urge to overthink everything, walk into the shop (aka buy online) and leave with my frivolous purchase to see where the allure lies. Until then though, there's plenty more overthinking to be done...