Goodbye, Chanel and Alexander McQueen

I’m depressed today. The reason I am depressed is so fucking stupid… because it’s just *stuff* …tomorrow I have an appointment to sell/consign the last of my luxury handbags.

In a past life, I used to run a little business that sold vintage and second hand high-end luxury designer handbags. It didn’t work out. This is actually a huge point of contention between me and British Husband. I sold off all the really expensive bags to Fashionphile years ago. We literally recouped any loss we took when we closed the business with that sale.

However, there are about 10-15 bags that were for *my own personal use* that I decided to keep. Mostly, because they were my insurance policy in case of… well, in case of financial hardship or divorce. Or, both. But, also because I was hoping that I could hang onto them long enough that they would increase in value AND/OR that Peej would come of age and be able to have her pick of a fancy bag for her 21st birthday.

These are bags I hunted down like I was Dog the Bounty Hunter on the trail of some fugitive. That I bartered and negotiated to get at a good price (like, the pre-2010 Alexander McQueen Brittanica clutch pictured above… the seller wanted $1650 for it, I got them to sell it to me for $800 cash.) That I coveted (like the Chanel WOC) and collected (like my cute collection of Whiting & Davis bags dated 1892-1963) or I traveled to find (like my 1960s Christian Dior doctor’s bag – thank you Portabello Road Market.) Bags that were gifted to me by friends (my cool little 1980s Fendi leather crossbody bag, my python Diane Von Furstenburg convertible clutch.)

These are bags that -no matter what my size or situation I was in- made me feel fashionable and special. I have carried these bags to weddings, on the streets of San Francisco, Los Angeles, London, Dublin, and Chicago. They are “grown up” bags that aren’t very practical, but they are special to me.

I can’t use them anymore. None of them, except the CD doctor’s bag, fit a diaper or any of the associated stuff I have to carry with me every day for Peej. And, top handle /clutch bags and toddlers don’t go together.

But, I loooovvvvvveeee them.

It’s like my cool vintage clothing that fit me 10 years ago or the really uncomfy high heels I used to wear when I was a PR “clacker.” I can’t part with them because I love them, I love how it made me feel to wear them… I love how it made me feel to carry these bags.

It made me feel cool.

And, powerful.

It’s so stupid, I know. I need the money. Badly. I know when I am in a better financial situation I can splurge and buy myself a brand new Chanel or McQueen. But, it won’t be the same. Part of my youth is gone. I’m happy to get rid of it because it will help me provide a great life for Peej.

At the same time, I’m sad.

Goodbye, Chanel and McQueen and Louie and DVF and Fendi and W&D and Bottega and Dior and Théory and cool little vintage bags and all the others in the purple box… until we meet again.

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