March 2, 2020
It’s my belief that most all people have an addiction, often in reaction to some part of life that is out of one’s control. For some it is life-threatening (alcohol and/or drug), or at least significantly life-altering (gambling, sex, shopping); but for some, it may take the form of a more benign or socially acceptable obsession — like collecting books or pottery — that nonetheless has an overruling power. For me it was handbags.
It began innocently enough. As mentioned in an earlier entry, I love fine leather goods, which likely had its foundation in my love of horses and their saddlery. As a girl I used to cut up my father’s old leather wallets and crudely craft saddles and bridles for my Breyer horses.
As I grew older, I began to take notice of the Coach catalogs that occasionally arrived in the mail. I carefully studied the pictures of lustrous leather and sturdy brass hardware. Not only were they beautiful, they were useful, too. And it was something I pretty much had to carry as a woman.
I got married. I began working for W&M. I worked in General Accounting, which back in those days would sometimes send staff to deliver magnetic tapes to Department of Accounts in Richmond — so I volunteered. My scheme: to earn enough mileage money over several trips to buy a Coach bag from my favorite local store in Merchant’s Square, DM Williams.
In the days before Prime Outlets (and its predecessor Berkeley Commons), I could browse for the real thing on DM Williams’ neatly arranged shelves. My target was one of Coach’s most classic (read modest) designs: the small, zip-top shoulder bag. The color choices available were British tan, mahogany or black. Ahh… the sheer luxury of it all.
This was back in the days before Coach was acquired by a global conglomerate and the material and work outsourced to China. The bags were American made of fine, thick unlined leather. There were lifetime warranties and replacement straps available. Purchase and care was an investment! And everyone bought into it, especially me.
So after collecting and saving my mileage money, I bought my first bag in classic British tan, and used it devotedly for the next several years. But, as often happens, somehow the bag grew too small –and the hunt for a successor began.
I wish the story ended there. But over the next ten years as my personal and professional life became increasingly fractious, bags became my go-to escape. I perused and planned and anticipated. I compared and measured. But I would no sooner purchase one and put it in the rotation, when I’d be angling for the next one.
I continued to patronize DM Williams, and developed a taste for Ghurka (made in CT) and Longchamp (Paris), both at the high end of “affordable luxury” which was now a thing, thanks to Reed Krakoff, the new creative designer for Coach. And because of this retail price outrageousness, I “restrained” my shopping to “only” the semi-annual sales and listings on Ebay. It was horrible. I absolutely could not help myself. I promised no more – and then the next new season’s design catalog would arrive — and I would justify one more.
Since I am a reasonably self-disciplined person, my complete lack of control on this issue ate away at me. And I knew just how bad it was because I kept a running catalog of my acquisitions! But I prefer not think about how much I spent over probably twenty years. There is no “Handbags Anonymous.” Fortunately my personal circumstances continued to evolve, and the obsession to possess died a natural death. Plus, by this point in the collection I was beginning to repeat myself. Just how many satchels does one need in rich, autumnal colors anyway?
With the obsession relieved (although not the interest — I’m not dead yet), I quietly began to cull the collection in order to free space for a new husband and a new life. I’ve kept only those bags that are most striking, well-made or historic — like that first zip top bag and the first leather brief. And I understand that Coach, after the ruinous days of Reed Krakoff, is making a return to its leathery roots. I think I shall just watch and enjoy from the sidelines.
WordShelter.com 