man-bag, my bag?

Man-bags; handbags for men - real men? It seems the modern man has realised a need to un-stuff those pockets, and organise their belongings a little better by donning a bag. Gone are the days when husbands would hand over to their wives their wallet, car keys, and any thing else they could pawn off to unsuspecting females. Now it seems men are lightening the load and are sharing some of the back pain - at least that's what the British Chiropractic Association noted. Apparently, in Britain, 66 per cent of men experience back pain. So? Well, 60 per cent of British men also happen to carry a man-bag. Man-bags are spreading like the shoulder-pad epidemic of the '80s.

He carries his own wallet, keys, and whip.

Except, it seems, the man-bag is here to stay. David Beckham is the pioneer of the modern man-bag, since paving the way in the early '90s. As man-bag users only continue to increase, I fear men will soon learn the hard way, the very thing women often refuse to face, that: the bigger the bag = the more useless things you cram in = the bigger the back pain.

I happen to love a good man-bag, and come from a family and a group of friends where man-bags are celebrated. As they should be - hanging a piece of leather over your shoulder does not make you any less of a man. Man-bags make sense, and so do real men. Take Sean Connery, the ultimate man's man:

Goes hand-in-hand with a manly mo'

Why shouldn't a man have the freedom to use one; women throughout history have long worked androgynous fashion; Coco Chanel did and Kate Moss does, so it seems only fair, wouldn't you think?

Saying that, I was a little surprised to be stopped in the middle of the street by a man who wanted to know where I had bought my bag from! He was pretty disappointed to learn that my deep burgundy-brown, hard leather satchel was in fact from a tiny store in the Marais, Paris, which no longer existed. I assured him there were plenty more fish in the sea, and not to get down because one got away.

And there are;

Gucci





Mulberry




Zara




Man-bags: are they a do or a don't?

the day after

Love, these days its seems, is no longer red hearts and pink flowers - at least thats not the way it was demonstrated at NY Fashion Week. As Suzy Menkes described, the designers added a grungier, edgier feel to their collections, which were paraded to the soundtrack 'Addicted to Love'.

If fashion has taken on a paradoxical exterior, a combination of delicate and harsh, then perhaps we too have changed our perception of love. Are we trying to become less Brangelina and more like the couples from The Kooples ads? Those couples who somehow manage to avoid the haze of Valentine's day, not out of complacency but rather out of appreciation for the understated, the raw moments, the simple aspects so often overlooked.

Keep it real with the small details;

rose tea

for singles or doubles

simplicity

xyz and chocolate milk .

Calling all Webbers, Xiaos, Youngs and...Zhengs out there! Your spending patterns can now be explained thanks to a TIME business article. It notes one recent study which found that "people whose surnames start with letters late in the alphabet may be the fastest to buy".

And, apparently, of course, it's all to do with childhood. Kids at the end of the lunch line always missed out on buying chocolate milk, says the article's author Sean Gregory. As a comfortable 'G' in the alphabetised hierarchy, no doubt Mr. Gregory never missed out on his share of choc milk. So it seems, this is a defense mechanism...a survival technique, one with now dangerous (oh i exaggerate), or at least costly repercussions. 

My surname falls into that category, in fact, being a 'Z', it should epitomise it. So, has my inability to buy chocolate milk shaped the woman I am today? Probably not, no. Except, when I think about it further, I do notice a slight trend; I can walk into a shop, and by strength unbeknown scan the racks, and pick out a winning piece within minutes...seconds sometimes. And it's no rushed or regretted pick either. In other words, I'm no dawdler when it comes to buying.

But in life? I do aggressively eye the queues at the bank in lunch hour, keen to get to the newly opened counter first; I do tend to be the first to cross the road when the little man is still red; and shamefully, I do seek out the best possible standing or sitting room on the MTR.

Can I overcome the 'obstacles' faced with being a 'Z'? Should I attempt to defy the theory? I think not. I'll still try to get that chocolate milk, and in the meantime, I'll settle for these:




see's candies 'scotchmallow'



swedish hasbeens

tom ford's 'warm sable' lipstick

a secret .

So, this is my first blog entry and a daunting one at that. Hello is a good place to start. And then?


I stumbled upon PostSecret this morning; a few giggles, some deep philosophical pondering and 5 minutes later, it got me thinking - how personal is too personal?  How much should one reveal in a blog?


 

Henry Rollins - your dirty secret?



Called PostSecret, the site divulges the socially undivulged, namely secrets…your secrets. Described as “an ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a postcard". Every thought, perception or evaluation people keep within is unveiled. Simple as it seems, relief & forgiveness gained from just one side of a piece of card. The website serves as both entertainment for those non-secret revealers, and as a platform for those who do opt to come clean…anonymously, of course.



 I identify with some of the secrets (yes, I am guilty of judging you based on your McDonalds order), and others thankfully not (no, I don’t fantasize about Henry Rollins). But, Big Macs and macho men aside!



A greasy confession.



Anonymous or not, one can’t help but pass a little judgment on the obscure ones (it takes a car accident to rid you of your sporting commitment…really?) and feel empathy for the touching ones (texting your deceased husband, and retaining some hope for a reply).

I can’t help but query how authentic some of the entries are, or question whether they were created in hope of 5-minutes of (anonymous) fame and self-gratification. Or, has the internet become our online therapist? It’s always there to listen, never talks back, and it feels good to get it off our chests. But, once it’s off your chest, it can’t get off the net. A catch 22…

I’m intrigued – anonymous secret posting: is it cathartic?

Tell me, would you do it? 

Shh, I won’t tell.