Another confession: I seriously hate purses.
Like, loathe them. To the point where I just mentally group all of them, regardless of design ingenuity and construction and potential awesomeness, into the same category of LV-logo-printed-things that belong on a cart on Canal Street: junk. Nothing is big enough to hold all my cameras and a notebook and whatever else I’ve got the need to tote around, and if it is big enough it’s too bulky and I can’t even stand on the subway without bumping other people with it, and then the zippers and pulls break, tassles fall off, everything gets dirty, and then another button pops off and then I have to constantly watch out to make sure nobody is stealing things from inside it, and nothing ever looks okay with everything.
But I have a tote bag problem. I buy them constantly, everywhere, compulsively and without restraint — at concerts, at museums, at art stores, at bookstores, at regular stores, at cheese stores (see bottom left, click for higher res.) I have more 9x12 thin cotton bags than I even have things to hold, but it’s starting to build up into a kind of rad collection. Maybe in a few decades I can make a ton of money turning it into a book like Cesar Padilla’s Ripped - which incidentally is pretty rad - and we can all feel nostalgic about Phoenix or something?
