I would be hard-pressed to disagree with Amelia on an assertion she expounded upon last week in her story, Summertime and the Living’s Hands Free.
It’s true that going hands-free rules. It is an activity reserved strictly for those committed to fun and sticking their hands in their pockets. Then again, though, it would be foolish to assume that we could manipulate every bag-doting broad across America and beyond into thinking that they should, or could, forgo their leather (or not!) containers all together.
Chiefly, I might add, because as much as I enjoy the art of free-balling (picture what free-balling looks like) and the way it feels to walk around New York City without anything in hand like I’m on a perennial lunch break, or in the comfort of my personal domestic space, I also really like the way the right kind of bag can underscore the irreverently dynamic nuances of an outfit.
You’re wearing jeans and a t-shirt, right? So how do you “elevate” that? Other than by grabbing your breasts and yelling “these are real!”? With some version of a minaudiere, which if you’re lucky can hold your keys and cell phone and maybe a credit card but that’s probably it.
They’re like a hi-lighter to a term paper, only no one gets graded.
So here you have it: a selection of handbags for the girl who hates handbags but understands that sometimes, it’s about the accessory, not the utility.