Man purses. Murses. When I lived in France, I had a very masculine Samsonite bag. I felt funny and very self-conscious carrying it at first. It turned out to be the most practical thing in the world, and I ended up loving it. I had more to carry then than I do now. In addition to the usual wallet, keys, pen, handkerchief, I had a pocket-sized French-English gastronomic dictionary, my passport, and my work visa. Sadly, when I moved to California, it was stolen from my car.
Bags for men in the U.S. are mainstream now, except where I live, where nothing fashionable is mainstream. And carrying one’s significant other’s bag is common, too. I was in a shop in San Francisco some time ago, and saw a young couple, with the guy carrying a bag that was super cute and quite feminine—a Gucci I seem to recall—but didn’t seem to fit him. I made a remark to one of the salespeople, who told me the latest was for the guys to carry the girls’ bags.
Anyway, even knowing that I’d feel uncomfortable with it for a while, I looked for another Samsonite. Nothing available like what I had in France. I wasn’t looking for a fashion statement, so much as something really practical. Many bags these days are unisex, and I’m not averse to that, though I do have my limits. I think one of the reasons people like my taste is that I do push things a bit, with metro being my final destination. I think that a lot of bags are far more fashion statement than utility-driven. And frankly, I think a lot of them are just dumb. Do you need a bag with pockets on the outside that’s large enough to carry your hairdryer, hairbrush, a change of clothes, a water bottle and a spare tire? That’s strapped to your body with two belts? By the same token, do you want a crossbody wallet? How precious is that? Wearing a bag high up and tight on the center of your chest?
My main reason for wanting a bag is to take the wear off my jeans’ pockets. I have quite a few pairs of jeans—maybe more than the average person. They are my uniform; it’s rare you’ll see me in anything but. But, a lot of them live in cloth bags and are worn rarely—burgundy velvet, black velvet, floral jacquard. I forget what all there is. Jeans are the least-well-stored part of my wardrobe, in terms of being able to view them. That means that I have just a couple or so pairs that I wear with great regularity. And though I treat them well as far as cleaning goes, the wallet in my back pocket and the phone in my other back pocket begin to wear their impressions on the fabric and, ultimately, wear through, pretty much ruining a perfectly nice looking pair of jeans. In the front, keys, a pen and—often—a corkscrew wear through the pocket material. Then I switch pockets, eventually to have holes in both front pockets.
Okay, I’m sort of making a short story long here, but you get the idea.
So…bag choice. I’m fine with a crossbody bag, but I spend a lot of time in a kitchen, and a crossbody there wouldn’t be the best. I’d love one for time in town, or in San Francisco, but not near a stove. So…fanny pack, also known as a bum bag. Most of them are way too large and are just, basically, a bag you throw stuff into. I was looking for something smaller (remember: wallet, phone, keys, pen) and a bit classier. What I chose was a Burberry Lola bum bag. Perfect! Fits everything I want, with just about no room to spare. It also has a little pocket inside (like in case you want to keep your favorite credit card handy rather than in your wallet, or maybe some business cards) and a zip pocket in the back, on the outside. Made of soft lambskin, decoratively (Lola) stitched. And while the bag itself may not be the most masculine, the belt and hardware make up for that. It’s also available in black.
I happen to love Burberry, for many reasons. I’m sure I’ll write extensively about that some day. No, I know I will. But just to give you an idea—the day the bag was delivered, I received an email “Caring for Your Burberry Bag.” Customer service, at least in my experience, doesn’t get much better than Burberry. It reminds me of an opposite experience—the time I was looking at a pair of boots from Gucci. Leather hiking boots with embroidery on them. I wrote to customer service to inquire about caring for them. I got a blank cyber-stare. How can you make and sell a product, and not be able to tell someone how to care for it? I subsequently asked a salesperson in the store, who was apologetic that that had happened, but was also clueless, though volunteered (“don’t tell anybody”) that they use Coach leather products. And so, now, do I.