I used to have a bag that looked just like this Coach knock-off (until the cap came off of a dark blue fiber point pen and bled through the leather to the outside making a 3″ round splotch. sad face.).
I saw this yesterday in a Lands’ End catalog and got all excited. I’d be willing to plunk down $248.00 (no I wouldn’t) for what I consider to be the perfect bag – understated, well-crafted, timeless design. But when I went to check it out on their website this morning, I see two giant red flags in their bulleted selling points:
- Interior lining wipes clean
- Polished gold metal hardware
Interior lining wipes clean? That’s a selling point for a $248.00 handbag? Maybe it is for a diaper bag or an insulated six-pack bag but not for a leather lady bag. That’s the show stopper right there.
And what, I wonder, is “gold metal” hardware? Is it gold metal as in the 14K type or is it metal that is gold color? If it’s gold metal of the 14K type then $248.00 is a real bargain.
So I guess there’s not much to be excited about after all.
Bonus information! Category: Parisian Whorehouse Now that I have a name for it, I just never realized how very P. W. my bedroom already is. As soon as it was identified, I knew that I had to move two putti from my dining room buffet up to the bedroom dresser. these belonged to my mother and I date them to probably 1975 for arrival into her house. I can’t imagine what got into her – her taste tended to lean towards more simple things and clean lines and when these things came on board, they might as well have been illuminated in a red spotlight for how much they stood out. She always kept bunches of soft plastic grapes in the bowls.
Don’t be distracted by the paint test spots, the old picture hooks or the Christmas decorations in the urns – imagine those pine cones and needles are roses and ranunculus – and just focus on how very at home these things would be in an actual Parisian whorehouse.
My mother was the most careful person on the planet so I imagine she was downright sick when she dropped one of these while dusting them and the whole head and the urn snapped off. She glued back what pieces she could find and frankly, no one even noticed the damage despite fairly large chunks obviously missing. I surmise that no one really wanted to lay eyes on these in their place at the bottom of the living room steps that we went up and down a down times a day.
FYI – we never referred to these statuettes (I guess) as “putti”. We called them “the angel statues” or “Those things over there”.