OMG IT'S A BAG POST WHOO HOO!!!
Have you ever heard of the adage that went like 'Go big, or go home'? Yes, No?
Well, I wouldn't say that that particular adage works for every occasion. Imagine this: You received an invite to a ball, let's say the Prince of Hunky-land was the host of this event, conducted today at (let's say, again) The Plaza. His mum, aka the Queen, was trying to 'auction' him off for marriage. You're jubilant. Reason? You adored the Prince so much and dreamt to marry one (and perhaps his royalty and wealth too, but let's keep that hush-hush between you and me). You took out this Valentino dress you've kept in the closet for close-to-a-century-that-it's-almost-vintage and the pair of strappy Alaïa heels, tamed your ferocious mane into luscious locks, caked your face with five layers of foundation, all prepped to head to the grand ball. Then you'd realize you're short of one thing. A minaudière. A durable and dainty, a robust and reliable clutch that could kill any bitch who tried to steal the Prince away from you, and not rupture. You've been following the 'Go big, or go home' mantra too closely, whereby all your purses and too behemothic. You needed something more pursed. You screamed, 'Noooooooo!!!!!!'
Yes, yes, I know you guys are going to tell me things like 'How can this thing called minaudière be good? How can I compress my DSLR into that minute thing?' 'Could that even fit a wallet?' blah blah.. You guys are all wrong! I mean right, in contrary.. It definitely could never fit a wallet, let alone a DSLR. But clutching onto that curio depicts oodles about the person executing such an act. It shows how that person has completely comprehended - a term coined by me and my purse - the quantum theory of reduction.
Sounds baffling and convoluting? Ask someone who hoist a clutch around.
Aka me ☺
Let me put on my geeky glasses and pull up my tie first (I almost choked). A woman (or a man, who really cares) who clutches, sometimes clasps at their underarm region, onto a minaudière shows how much she could subject herself to filtering out only the vital and indispensable component of her life, and eventually downscale it into clutch-able sized instead of bringing her entire life with her. With reference made to the quantum theory of reduction, it simply means that she's able to reduce her whole life into 'bite-sized pieces'. Another adage that went 'less is more' could reinforce on this theory. Who needs to carry your entire wallet out where you can sieve out the necessary credit cards? Who needs to carry an entire make up bag out for a ball when all you need is just that mascara wand and lipgloss? Who needs to carry an entire bag when you can actually teeter around with none?
Lol, jk. You'll still need a mini bag at least. Or a clutch.
'Taxi!', I screeched at the top of my lungs. I was late. Really late. For the ball? Nah, I wasn't attending the ball. Who needs the Prince when you can have Alaïa? And a minaudière? I was, in fact, en-route to a café Downtown as I lived in Upper East Side. So I had to flag a cab, with my wooden box clutch (which happened to be made out of real wood, aka you could really concuss a bitch if she tries to snatch your Prince. Or Alaïa. Or someone who tries to steal you cab).
So apparently for whatsoever reason that there was a shortage of cabs (or did they all went to the ball as well?), I had to make my way to the nearest subway station for an alternative form of transport. I was already so behind time, and god was definitely against me on that day. As I unlocked my purple faux fur purse and dug into the contents to reach for coins, it decided to fall apart.
'Shucks, no no no!', I cried out loud as I saw my credit cards fall into the sewers, 'I need a damn drink.' I made my way to the nearest newspaper stand to reach for a bottle of (alcohol in the morning? Not quite..)
'Guys, I don't think I'm able to make it. Let's reschedule', I phoned my friends to inform them. I made my way to Central Park (god knows why, really), whilst swinging my cobalt blue pashli on one hand, and on the other, I have a bagel. Or a glazed doughnut. Or anything that's food.
I sighted a bench and perched myself onto it. 'Today's a bad, bad day,' I took out a light and some cigarette from my orange perspex clutch. 'I need a new bag.'
P/S: Pardon for my bad story.
(Wooden box from ASOS, Purple fur purse thrifted from a random street store in Hong Kong, Pseudo Edie Parker clutch from Zara, Mini Pashli in cobalt from 3.1 Phillip Lim and Orange translucent-esque clutch from Zara)
Image credits Monochrome Mafia