Bag Grab

I love handbags and shoes. Women like me simply have to. There is this theory which states that- “In a closed fashion system, as the mass and volume of an entity falls away from a store mannequin or a runway model, the entity’s attraction to shoes and handbags tends to infinity.” Hello, Fendi. The past long weekend found us in the city of cities, New York.

You know, there is this thing about New York. Well, actually there are a lot of things about New York and in New York and of New York and about New York, but the one that always strikes me is how the New York Woman dresses. Have you seen those little articles in fashion magazines? Wise words from fashionistas that tell you to “match it” or “clash it” (whatever that means). The ones that tell you to unabashedly pair a gold belt with a purple shirtdress and wear nude shoes and acrylic bangles? Or to wear white when one is not supposed to, or wear full skirts with chunky sweaters and a hat. The New York Woman wears it all. Thankfully, not all at the same time. And yet, somehow, manages to look so stylish. Crazy, but stylish.

On that background, I look too much of a suburban mom. I live my life in the rainbow shades of polos, henleys, oxfords and chinos. And I only have myself to blame. A few weeks ago I went to get my hair cut, determined to have a stylish angled bob, but when the scissors hit the hair, I chickened. “Make it a mommy bob.” I told the stylist. Mommy bob? “You know I want to look chic, but mommy chic.” In the end, I got my angled bob, but I have to tell people it’s angled and more importantly chic. My friends admire the angled bobs on other’s heads while I stand right beside them, tapping my foot, pointing to my own do.

I do not, unlike the writers of fashion magazines would like me to, own any gold belts or a purple shirtdresses or acrylic bangles. And the white capri I bought so enthusiastically at the beginning of this summer has salsa stains from when Chip had overturned a bowl of taco-salad bought from a drive-through fast food place. So obviously, having learnt something from that stainful experience, I have avowed not to wear white until Chip goes to college. I cannot wear full skirts and chunky sweaters with a hat. BigGeek will laugh until his eyes pop out and ask me without batting an eyelid if this is what I plan to wear when I take Chip out to trick or treat this Halloween, cautiously avoiding the sensitive issue of my abundant behind.

Determined to be somewhat chic, I decided to get a new handbag. And shoes if I could find them. Over the years I have come to realize, that a handbag or a nice pair of shoes can be the answer to most pressing dilemmas and deepest questions. Life, after all is so much like a handbag. Leave it open and a lipstick is bound to fall out of it sooner or later. In an earnest quest, then, my friend and I walked and walked. Ok, it was only 10 blocks, but it seemed like a long journey. Felt like 20 blocks, if you ask me. At last, we reached the corner of Broadway St. and Canal St. where touts from forgotten African countries tried to sell us luxe knock-offs. Coach? Gucci? Fendi? We were in heaven. I bought two and at that instant, my suburban persona underwent a dramatic transformation. New York Chic was upon me. I was New York Chic and New York chic was me.

Who was I kidding? Who was I kidding? After I got back home, far away from New York, and dangled the bags from my shoulder to my thick middle, I realized that New York Chic and I were far away from being one. Now I looked like a suburban mom trying to be New York Chic. Sigh. On the flip side, that means, I get to go and buy another handbag very soon. And shoes if I can find them.