The Women's Daily Irony Supplement

Unless you have been orbiting in a NASA space shuttle and thus shielded from earthly fashion trends, you know that designer purses have been the absolute bon ton. This was of no concern to me until I realized that my fifth-grade daughter had become purse-crazy. When I caught her pronouncing the name Louis Vuitton with a perfect Parisian accent, I knew things had gotten out of hand(bag).

I tried to discuss this with her but she was surfing Internet stores, ogling a profusion of purses so expensive she’d need a lifetime’s worth of allowance to afford one. “Oooh, look at this Dooney & Burke!” she gushed.

“Why do you care?” I asked. “You’re only 10 years old. The only purse you have has Winnie the Pooh on it!”

“Mom, signature purses are the in thing. Don’t you know?” She shook her head in resignation. Just her luck to be born to a mom who buys signature-less purses at off-price retailers. But my daughter was determined to educate me about these café society, uber-chic bags, so off we went to the mall.

I admired a smart black Burberry in Macy’s but could not touch it, as it was locked securely behind a glass case. By craning my neck I could just make out the price. “This purse costs $650.00 – and it’s on clearance!” I sputtered. Living in a retail world anchored by Sears on one side and Kohl’s on the other, I was in a state of shock.

My daughter rolled her eyes, “What did you expect? Come on!” She pulled my hand and we strode purposefully to a Louis Vuitton store. Of course, our only purpose was to gawk, but such was the price of mother-daughter bonding. When we stepped into the hushed reverence of the store, I was alarmed. My vast experience as a consumer had taught me that generally speaking, the denser a store is populated with merchandise, the cheaper the goods. I shop at stores where clothing is mashed together so tightly I must use a small crowbar to dislodge the hangers to get at the goods.

But in the Louis Vuitton store, I saw no merchandise at all. I presumed that the purses on the wall were some kind of museum collection, hence the armed guard at the door. Then I realized with mortification that these rarified pieces of baby blue suede goatskin and ostrich leather were the merchandise. The rest of the naked store was meant to intimidate, with its presumption that only the great unwashed of humanity shopped in places with actual merchandise splayed hither and yon on the premises!

Using their retail radar, the two elegantly dressed saleswomen sensed immediately that I was way out of my league in their cash-cow confines. They sized me up as an interloper and exchanged furtive looks that conveyed the withering message: “She shops at Target!” They tried to hide their contempt, but, being French, they failed.

“May I help you?” asked one woman, whose make-up was marvelously applied. My daughter tugged at me and whispered, “Don’t ask anything stupid, Mommy!”

Suddenly, I felt a righteous indignation. How dare the saleswoman presume that I would not plunk down obscene amounts of money on a purse! Her first clue might have been the cheap pen marks on my own handbag. You simply don’t allow these things to happen to purses crafted from crocodile leather.

I politely asked to see a handbag enthroned on a gleaming glass shelf. She showed it to me reluctantly, never quite letting go of it entirely. Despite my own palpable fear of sullying it with my plebian hands, I took it from the woman and examined it. It was painfully obvious that if I had to ask how much something cost in this place, I couldn’t afford it. But I couldn’t resist asking anyway.

“This one is $770.00. The matching wallet is $440.00.”

Without stopping to process my thoughts, I blurted out, “Is it hard for you to say that with a straight face?”

“Not at all,” she said. I thought I heard her grind her teeth. “These purses are all hand-made in Europe.” Well, if they were making that many francs sewing purses, no wonder they were knocking off after a 30-hour workweek! “Besides, this is our more affordable line. Purses in our limited edition Tromp L’Oeil Fabuleux line sell for more than $7,000 and there’s a waiting list to get them. Not ten minutes ago Uma Thurman left the store with the last one I had in stock. Now that Uma’s got one, the waiting list will become months long.” She sighed. “If you saw it, you’d understand. It’s extraordinary.”

This was not the first time that Uma had beaten me to the punch with a fashion statement, and frankly I was getting tired of it.

“I’ll just add my name to the waiting list . . . next time I’m here,” I said, fearing that I might suddenly collapse in a heap of bourgeois humiliation. “Thanks for your time.” The saleslady smiled smugly as my daughter and I beat a hasty retreat.

We devoted the next hour pretending to have a serious commercial interest in Farragamo bags that are ironically called “hobos” and cost $600.00. When is that last time you saw a hobo toting around a $600.00 purse? For the first time in my life, I carefully examined Kate Spade, Coach, and Dooney and Burke bags. They were beautiful, except for the orange ones, and certainly unlikely to have the zipper break a week after purchase. Many came with lifetime warrantees, care-and-feeding instruction booklets, and Lloyds’ of London insurance policies.

In the Coach store, I inquired of a far nicer sales clerk if she thought someone dressed like me could pull off carrying around the Coach Bridle Classic Enamel Tank or the Hamptons Houndstooth Satchel without causing the public to mock me.

She furrowed her brow in concentration. “It depends how daring you are. And how badly you crave public approval,” she answered.
“Tell me,” I asked, appreciating her candor. “Why do middle-class women splurge on purses this expensive?”

“I have no idea, but they bust their bank accounts doing it. Of course,” she added, “they are magnificent, aren’t they? They’re not your cheapo $25.00 designer knock-off.”

“Indeed they are not!” I laughed, as I slipped my own $25.00 cheapo designer knock-off around my back and out of sight.
Our foray into the world of private label purses, clutches, satchels and wallets unnerved me. Until my daughter had brought it to my attention, I was happily oblivious to these purses for princesses. But now that I had seen them up close, I felt myself falling into the dangerous clutches of purse-envy. I began to rationalize: Just because I had to fly coach, could I not carry Coach? What kind of law said that only film stars could carry Farragamos? Could only Kate Moss carry a Kate Spade? I begged to differ! It was not beyond my means to buy such a specimen of purse, though it would force me to nip into my offshore account in the Cayman Islands, which I was loath to do.

I tried to nab a bag bargain on eBay, but gave up when the best deal I could find was a “Sexy Violet Hermes Birkin Bag” for the astonishingly low price of $12,499.00. Other Vuitton bags were a paltry $7,000-$8,000.00, but the seller warned me to act fast, as supplies were limited.

I wrestled with the decision of whether to pop for a chic tote. But I stopped when I realized that even a $250.00 bag, pretty much the bottom of the barrel in these things, really would end up costing me much more. A signature purse would require a complementary signature wardrobe. Otherwise, it would just look sloppy. Updating my wardrobe would take at least $10,000. And a glamour purse would also require glamour wheels. I’d have to dump that old Ford and get a Range Rover to really make a smashing ensemble. That would set me back another $80,000.00, not including taxes and dealer prep charges. Naturally I’d have to ditch all my cheap pens so they wouldn’t bleed over the fine satin inside my purse. A proper, upscale pen would cost at least $40.00. I was sobered by the thought that accessorizing my purse would cost me $90,290.00. Frankly, I could buy 3,612 of my regular cheap purses for that kind of dough, and I can’t imagine needing any more than 1,500 throughout my lifetime, even if I live to 100.

The next day, I was delivered from purse lunacy by a museum catalog that landed on my doorstep with the mail. There I found a fine tapestry bag embroidered with books all around! It had a roomy interior and cost only a fraction of a Coach. Okay, so the lining was polyester, not satin, but the straps were real leather. If I couldn’t look like Louis Vuitton or Burberry was my bag, at least I could look literate. Best of all, this bag didn’t have a waiting list, and I’m pretty sure I’ll have mine before Uma Thurman gets hers.

I can’t wait to get it.