Published
JK Rowling is to blame for my scoliosis. Not only does that woman have quite some apologizing to do to the trans community, she owes me a lot of X-ray money. In fourth grade, being a cool kid, I insisted on picking a hot pink tote bag as my backpack for the year. Like most of my fashion choices as a child, my mom resisted but I persevered. The Harry Potter books I stuffed into my tote each day kept getting bigger, yet my weak frame remained the same, and habitually wearing the tote on my right side took its toll. The result was uneven shoulders and a permanently curved spine.
You’d think the two years of compulsory roller backpack-hood that followed would have taught me my lesson, but unfortunately, my habit of overloading on stuff is still very much alive.
There is a specific type of New Yorker I desperately yearn to be. It’s not a New Yorker who can gracefully Citi Bike in a mini skirt and heels, nor is it one who has a rent-controlled pre-war apartment overlooking the park. I long for something much simpler, and that is to be a city dweller who can navigate the mean streets with unburdened shoulders and unstuffed pockets, bag nowhere in sight. I dream of going bagless.
Despite my best efforts, I’m consistently lugging around a laptop, headphones, miscellaneous chargers, three kinds of lip balm, an Anaïs Nin book, a journal to reflect on said Anaïs Nin book, and so forth. I’d love to be effortlessly cool enough to take on the city sans bag, but I can never seem to leave these emotional support items behind. Ever the over-packer, I didn’t realize how prevalent this curse was until moving to the city. It’s much easier to live a pack rat-on-the-run lifestyle when traipsing around in a vehicle.
It’s imperative for both my back health and my potential carefree alter ego that I shed this weight and strike out alone.
You may be wondering what sort of bags I’m lugging around. I’ve tried them all. Canvas tote bags, the Telfar Shopping Bag in size medium, a Gucci Jackie bag from The RealReal that turned out to be fake, etc. Until recently, my work bag was a thrifted Doc Martens backpack in an effort to appease my scoliosis. However, I decided that the adult backpack lifestyle wasn’t for me, for obvious aesthetic reasons. Thus began my strenuous search for a chicer something to carry around my work necessities.
From what I’ve observed, there are a couple of schools of thought on living life bagless and fancy-free. It’s obviously important to consolidate the necessities and forgo the little luxuries. For instance, I could swap my clunky wallet for a sleek phone case with a cardholder. But what about my miscellaneous Canadian loonies, fortune cookie fortunes, and my sister’s senior picture? Surely those can’t fit in a phone case and therefore this option is unavailable to me. (And don’t even get me started on Apple Pay, as there’s nothing I despise more than the friend who only uses Apple Pay, never has a wallet, and leaves me footing the bill because they’ll Venmo me later.)
There’s also a key situation, as I’m accidentally becoming a person who has an abundance of keychains. Easy solution: get rid of the tchotchke stuff and buy a carabiner like any other lesbian. However, I don’t know if I’m a carabiner girl. I’m a classic femme-for-masc type of gay and adding a carabiner into the mix could throw off the delicate balance that is the sapphic dating world. Unfortunately, carabiners are off the table.
Predictably, I still carry a book with me most places I go. I used to have a rule that I would never buy a purse or other receptacle that was too small to fit a standard paperback.* Such an importunate habit has resulted in a collection of big bags that enable my mobile hoarding. If you’ve ever loitered in Dimes Square and observed a skinny guy hand-rolling a cigarette, you’ve likely noticed that the back pocket of your jeans can be resourcefully used as a place to store your latest McNally Jackson purchase. Not all pants pockets are suitable for such displays of literacy, but once I find some pockets big enough and figure out how to comfortably sit with a book on my butt, I may take up the practice.
*Delightfully and surprisingly, the BAGGU x Sandy Liang Mini Bow Bag fits a slim paperback!
Luckily, the popularization of slumpy jorts and big baggy pants allows for more treasures to be stored on the go. I have a friend who can hold a full wine bottle in each pocket of her thrifted jorts, though she’s admittedly one loosened belt buckle away from having wine-stained shoes. All pants pockets, especially women’s, should be made bigger, but I have a theory that Big Purse is keeping them small so that we’ll continue purchasing their overpriced sacks of leather.
Rather than falling into Big Purse’s evil plan, after much research and tactful Instagram ad surfing, I decided on a two-toned oversized bucket tote for my new work bag. I figured if the brand is cool enough for Ella Emhoff to follow, it’s good enough for my MacBook to rest in during the trek from Park Slope to Chelsea. While I’m quite happy with my purchase, the tote is encouraging me to do the exact opposite of going bagless this summer. It fits a ridiculous amount of stuff, meaning I fill it with frivolous things that are completely unnecessary to tag along to the Noguchi Museum.
I started the summer with high hopes for a bagless future, that by the end of August, I’d be well-versed in sauntering around town without a stitch of canvas or strap of leather in sight. A mere month in, I fear that I’m a veritable Sisyphus, forever doomed to walk up and down Canal Street while shuffling under the weight of my oversized load. Now, I must decide if I’m to accept my fate, or if I’ll rage against my nature and stick it to Big Purse.
Completely unrelated, I’m looking for chiropractor recommendations, so please pass them along.