So uh, Sweet Peas, Aunty ain't really always serious. I can prove it. Nobody happened onto mah porch today, so I jes' sat out there wif my ownself and looked at bags. Purses. Hobos. Totes. Online ya can find eve'r sort of shoulder candy thar is.
When I goes to a shindig, I doan akshully care a fig fer who's enhanced, lifted or lypo-ed. I doan care what buggy they drive. But iffin' they got a gorgeous bag? I'se noticin'.
In mah dream life this is what would hide in mah closet:
This first one is a tote from Zac Posen, but hey--get this, it's jes' 400 smacks and it all goes to a teacher charity. But mercy, ain't that red and yaller tote purty?? Sassy.
Then there is the class act--oh yeah, them venerable Bottega Venetas...
..oooh oooh oooh. Santa can stuff my stockin' wif this here cocoa beauty! After all, only Santa is likely to have the 2400 clams.
I'se not much partial to those bags with loops and chains and a quadrillion pockets on the outside--motorcycle mechanics bags is what they looks like...but handsome hardware do set a bag off well, doan'cha think?
Ah, but the SWOON, comes from this Christmas green Hermes (ya'll ain't old enough to know the price) bon-bon! Sleek and discrete. No billboard logos. The pangs of desire flame high over this one, chickens.
I'se right fond of Fendi, but gick! NOT the garBAHge they send to the US market. All those FFFs slathered over the bag? Nope. In Italy Fendi is a whole other animal, mah pets...trim and elegant.
Matter o' fact, I'd make a rule not ter buy no bag what is copied
for the sidewalk hawker market.
Onc't I seen a wee silver link bag that was from 300 A.D. The coin purse of a well to do chile whose daddy pampered her...in a musem along wif' her ashes. It were crafted wif' flowers and jeweled clasp....very endearin'. Guess we ladies have always had a thang for bags.