And it has a chain strap which you can use if you're tired of clutching the clutch. I'm in love. Also, I am seriously beginning to think that I need to:
a) Win the lottery
b) Get a higher paid job
c) Move to a borough where the rents are cheaper
d) Marry/Find a rich man to subsidize my serious addiction to expensive handbags. Did you see that in my previous post I did not include a handbag in my bargain look? That's because I'm a handbag snob. I rarely buy cheap bags, it's just my thing. Cheap shoes...bring them on! Inexpensive jewelry...I don't even want a natural diamond engagment ring, bring on the lab-created rock. Bargain accessories...that's what street vendors are for. But cheap handbags...well, they make me so sad.
Let me tell you a little story...
Last year, around this time, I was broke. I was attending graduate school full-time and was paid a living stipend, which, frankly, was not nearly enough to keep me outfitted in that year's trends. With some strict budgeting, I was just about able to keep myself from drowning in debt. Near the end of the winter, I saw this beautiful Michael Kors bag in Marshalls. I wanted that bag more than anything in the entire world. I couldn't sleep at night because I spent hours trying to find a way to buy this bag.
I told my dearest mother about the new love of my life and we visited it one day. I picked it off the shelf and just carried it around the store for hours until I had to place it back in its temporary home. The next day, my mother called me and said she had a surprise. I just knew it was that bag, I just knew it! But it wasn't. It was some ugly, black, functional, fake-leather bag that was a fraction of the cost. I cried non-stop all weekend. My boyfriend at the time (who I lived with) and my work friends thought I was crazy, but, you see, it wasn't just about not having that bag. It was what that bag represented. The ugly, black, functional, fake-leather bag was about settling for something less than ideal, something I didn't really want. I carried the ugly, black, functional, fake-leather bag for a week. It was the worst week of my life. I felt defeated and ugly, just like that stupid bag. My mood was the bleakest it had ever been, and I seriously contemplated lying down on the NJ Transit train tracks, or at least throwing the bag in front of a moving train.
My lovely mother picked up on my dwindling will to live and bought me the Michael Kors tote a few weeks later. I had never been so happy in my entire life.
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