Look, I know what you’re thinking. ‘Amy, you do know that forming judgements about strangers based on their choice of handbag is incredibly middle class, technically racism, and makes you “that person” at parties.’ But hear me out. My friend Emma has convinced me that you can deduce more about a British woman from her handbag than from three hours scrolling through her Instagram (deep dive, ask me how I know). We were stood in the Pret queue yesterday (queue: where British women spend most of their lives) and she nudged me towards a woman ahead of us holding onto a tan Michael Kors bag with those giant gold grommets that slap against each other whenever she takes a step. ‘Purely hypothesising,’ Emma hissed, ‘but I bet she has children with weird names, lives in Surrey, drives a Skoda and her husband does banking.’ Okay, so maybe she tossed my boyfriend chocolate afterwards (he’ll forgive me – promise) but she also watched that woman answer a phonecall from her husband and say: ‘tell Archie I’ll pick him up after Isabelle’s ballet lesson.’ WHAT.
ARE. THE. CHANCES.
Anyway. Story made me a bag spy.
And, no joke, whenever I’m at fashion week or just sat on the Tube I spend my days analysing people’s bags to work out their lives.
And you know what?
She was right. It’s actually way too easy.
Let’s break them down: The Mulberry Bayswater woman: You can find her wandering around Shoreditch or popping into Whole Foods anywhere in London. She purchased her bag back in the must-have-it-all period of 2008 and spent approximately half a month’s salary on it. She’s religiously condition the leather since day dot and maintains it as religiously as her child-free social life.
She’s in her late thirties now, works in advertising/marketing/public relations (her plus ones are always called ‘Tim’) and had her career cut out a bit when she became a mum and now solely fills her days shuffling her babies from gallery to gastropub. Lives in North or West London, definitely owns a Volvo. Colour-wise will always go for black, tan or that dusty burgundy Mulberry do.
She’ll dabble with It bags but always comes back to her trusty Mulberry. The micro bag girl. Do I even need to say anything about this?
If her bag can fit a phone, she doesn’t own one. Girl is either 23 and works in a dank Soho ‘digital marketing’ office or she is 35, works in fashion and will judge you if your bag can fit your life inside it. Bonus points if she can manage to look put-together whilst holding half her life in her hand.
The canvas tote woman: white or lined. Slaps when she’s talking about her job in a hushed voice so no one can hear what she says but trusts me, it’s something creative. Paints/tiny drawers/art exhibitions are regulars in her flat.
That tote definitely holds a well-thumbed copy of whatever book everyone is talking about at the moment, a Keep Cup that she actually uses (unlike the one in my cupboard that collects dust) and something else vaguely bohemian I’ve never heard of. Now the branded tote woman. NEW YORKER tote?
Girl wants you to think she actually reads thatmagazine. Daunt Books tote? From Marylebone obvs.
If you saw her in Primrose Hill edition you would murder her. Aren’t we all guilty of this though? The designer bag connoisseur: I never know what to expect from these women.
The Chanel girl usually surprises me the most. She’s never the most wealthy person in the room but the person who has likely saved up for the longest for her so-called ‘investment piece’. She will have a spreadsheet open on her laptop right now calculating the cost-per-wear (currently £4.21 and falling) loves her bag more than most people love their dog, and has SO MANY strong opinions about how the brand ‘really isn’t what it used to be since Karl Lagerfeld passed away’.
She will recount this to you after a couple of glasses of bubbly at your next work dinner. The Bottega Veneta Cassette girl, on the other hand? Completely different world.
Works in something super cool (probably owning half of Net-a-Porter? ), lives in an insanely cool, probably renovated warehouse flat in East London and wears Scandinavian brands I can’t even pronounce (yes I’ve shopped there, please don’t @ me). Gets her hair cut at some hipster salon with no visible signage that costs more a month than I spend on holiday, drinks only natural wine, and has nails, a fitness regime and an flat plants game so on point you just want to scream. A Celine girl is mourning the loss of Phoebe Philo still.
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She will correct you if you pronounce it wrong. Works in something creative-related, lives in North London and has very strong opinions about fonts. Her flat is furnished with one special statement piece she probably spent more on than a second hand car.
The Louis Vuitton Neverfull lady, meanwhile, is keeping London going. Running some stressful sales job by day, drinking expensive cocktails until midnight by night and her bag has everything for everyone – phone chargers, paracetamol, pampers, probably food, definitely a collection of miscellaneous receipts she’ll never actually look at. Organises the office Secret Santa, plans hen parties and always knows where to go to celebrate every occasion.
Has her hair blown dried religiously every two weeks. The Loewe Puzzle owner is my favourite wildcard. Silent in conversation, works in tech/finance (basically the complete opposite of what you’d expect from someone who dresses so tastefully) and spends her holidays in places I’ve never heard of, returning with tales of befriending locals and finding the go-to jazz spot.
Her Instagram grid is immaculate but her stories are a hot mess. You hate her so much but she remembers your birthday and buys you the most thoughtful gifts. Speaking of which – vintage designer bag ladies are my people.
I will forever be out-bid by some Instagram-selling, antique eBay account (they’re definitely museums with second hand websites, I’ve googled it). She’ll have scrolled through Vestiaire for hours, able to tell you exactly what season and prior-owner her vintage Fendi Baguette or Gucci Bamboo was, and cried over past archival pieces. She either works in fashion or dreams of working in fashion, knows more about fashion week history than half the fashion journalists out there and is probably living in a pile of magazine archives that are slowly crumbling down – but she refuses to throw them out.
Good old high street bags. Mango/COS = university lecturer/media. Lives somewhere saturated with creative-types in South London, wears gorgeous glasses and spends too much money on independent jewellery she found on Instagram.
River Island/Topshop? Still early career; first or second ‘proper’ job. Lives in Zone 4 and scrolling her ASOS wishlist religiously, saving for the one designer bag she’ll cherish for years to come.
Now. The ones who terrify me. The No Bag Woman.
How does she DO it. Just a phone and debit card in her pocket?! WHERE ARE HER KEYS.
HOW WILL SHE EVER FIND PARKING. WHERE’S HER LIPSTICK.
HOW CAN YOU FUNCTION LIKE THIS.
There’s a reason I own about 200 tote bags.
Have done so since university and can’t bear to throw any of them away. ‘They’d be useful one day’ I cry, deluding myself each time. What do you think mine say about me?
Fake leather Coach from Camden when I was sixteen and trying too hard. Huge Cath Kidston tote at uni when I was trying too hard to look ‘quirky’ and English rose-y. Structured black work bag when I got my first ‘real job’ and was pretending to know what I was doing.
Too expensive eBay Finds from when I was in my twenties trying too hard to be ‘invested’ in fashion. Now, I own a ‘seasonal’ one; the one that costs too much but I’ll need for interviews. A day-to-day one; as functional as they come.
And about fifteen Cath Kidstons from attending too many press events that I’ll hang onto for ‘insperation’. Emma would probably say I’m a lost cause. Wondering what I want to do with my life, stuck in the midst of needing a functional bag and a stylish one.
Judging by the bags other women carry around I totally am.
