Handbag story

Milan, the world’s capital of fashion, I skip the high street to go shopping in a slightly gentrified area. Four years ago, there were more antique shops kept by old ladies and there were more shoemakers. They’re pretty scarce now, and are increasingly being replaced by soulless “Hello Kitty” boutiques. I feel sad. In Britain the high street is so boring that I don’t even like to go shopping. But Milan?

I buy a pair of shoes in a shop that still reminds me a bit of La Vita e Bella, it's a small shop in which the guy is making shoes all day long. Then I enter a similar shop that sells bags. I’m all set out on adding a touch of Italian style to my usual attire. In a corner, there’s a beautiful sequin handbag.

I grab it, looking for the label which I can’t find, so I ask the old lady whether she can tell me where it was made. She says she made it herself. I find this hard to believe, so I ask her again, she confirms. I ask which other bags she made in the shop. She shows me some of them and, again, I don’t really believe her. I said I really like the red sequin bag and I end up buying it, congratulating her on a beautiful work.

I get out on the street, carrying my new handbag. Well, it does look handmade, that's for sure. But honestly, where’s my brain? The brain of a young woman soon to be awarded a PhD in Durham Cathedral? Why don’t I sport my new Italian handbag right in there, now that would be a good idea!

Isn’t it freaking obvious that the lady had lied? And even if she hadn’t, would the hours put into making it not be worth more than six euros? I don’t know what to do with my sequin handbag now. Maybe wear it when I go shopping. Wear it with all the ambiguity now associated with it. Wear it as a red-hot reminder.



P.S. I'm in Munich now, shopping is fantastic and I'm so tempted to shop without thinking. I'm tired of thinking all the time, my desires are way out of line. I'm going to cling to that handbag!