It is such a joy to walk to work. I believe a new toast is in order, to wish loved ones good luck. “May you walk to work under a clear sky. May the flower stalls smell of lilies, every day.”
However, this routine does require a few adjustments. While my Beautifeel shoes are doing their foot bit, it turns out I could use a new bag.
Throw me in the briar patch.
I do love my Louis Vuitton Monogram Vernis. An extravagant purchase, yes, but I’ve carried it for two and a half years. No bag rotation, no seasonal switchouts. still, while I have aged the bag has not.
However, balance is all. A half hour vigorous walk, carrying a large shoulder bag, throws one off-kilter, and I need a backpack. Of course, I have a backpack. As one does. But I bought it for a different Use Case. In the old days of suburban commuting, I carried my laptop back and forth between home and office, or on airplanes, in a black nylon pack. I kept personal items in a separate bag. Now, in the era of cloud computing, laptop lugging is no longer top priority.
I need a backpack for walking to work, and carrying the usual personal gear. It only needs to accommodate a laptop, just in case.
Our friends the Style Archetypes each take a different approach to this situation. One might wonder, does the Grande Dame ever carry such a utilitarian object as a backpack? Yes, yes, she does. As long as it’s the iconic Prada Vela, in black. Her white one saved for Aspen, Florida, and Los Angeles. The Grande Dame brings her iPad to the museum, and emulates David Hockney.
Of course the Artsy Cousin brings packs home by the score, of ikat, of kente, of Panamanian embroidery. The Urban variant goes for studs from Sonia Rykiel, or anything from Timbuk2. Timbuk2 sprang from the world of bike messengers, a source of frequent small revolutions out here in San Francisco.
But what about Sturdy Gals? We know, once we pass 21, that the time has come to ditch the trusty Jansport. If only because our sister tells us so. We understand that it’s best to leave our son’s 6 random backpacks where they lie, strewn across his bedroom floor. Most often, we pick up something from Briggs and Riley, or Tumi, or any of the luggage makers whose gear lines airplane aisles like gargoyles.
But sometimes we want to revert to heritage days. Polly Elkin brought Duluth Pack to my attention. Made in, correct, Duluth. Or at least somewhere in the United States.
A secret about the Sturdy. They love unicorns. Not the gussied up sort, not the be-crystalled, but the real ones who could only be caught by a Gal with a pure heart.
Finally, every now and then, the Style Archetypes unite and sing choruses around a backpack we all love. For example.
Subtle reference to Hermes orange, made in Denmark with a reverence for brass, simple, straightforward, perfect. The Mismo flap pack from Barneys New York, at $555. It even appears to have little feet. Mismo’s tagline is: Refined Classics For A Vibrant Lifestyle. A big thank you to the Danes, I like their adjectives rather a lot and hope to remain always yours, vibrantly refined, and walking in balance to work.