I have to admit, I’m not a fan of the purse. I know purses are supposed to be hot accessories that are de rigueur for the fashion-conscious woman. I know that purses can be considered veritable portable works of art. I’ve heard that purses are such fun to shop for, and that entire evenings can be spent on assessing and comparing the relative merits of Gucci, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, and the latest Target special.
I also know that not all purses are equal. As many types of these trendy gems exist as there are items to stuff them with. There are the classic handbags—the kind that Queen Elizabeth and your grandmother secure firmly in the crooks of their arms. And then there are backpack handbags. And clutches (a.k.a. evening bags). And cross-body bags. And double-handle bags. And shoulder bags. And sling bags. And straw bags. And totes. And hobos. And day-travel bags. And fabric bags. And leather bags. And faux-leather bags. And organizer bags. And satchels. And girl bags (as opposed to boy bags?). And messenger bags. And goth bags. And punk bags. And even ECO-friendly bags. Some purses even have enticing names, such as “Big Buddah Kirsten Bag” and “Superstar Girl Bag.” And the color choices, buckles, sparkles, bells, and whistles that adorn them are sure to elicit squeals of delight from purse fanatics.
But the purse was not always such a couture item. Indeed, according to Farid Chenoune’s definitive tome on the history of purses, Carried Away: All About Bags, the purse—which has been used by humans throughout recorded history—essentially started life as a lowly pouch. Peasants in early rural societies used purses to carry seeds and knucklebones (a token of seduction). And African priests carried beaded bags. In fact, lore has it that in some African tribes, the bag of the wizard supposedly contained a power which allowed the wizard to get in touch with supernatural forces.
While I doubt that a Heavenly Riesling Tote could attract other-worldly spirits, I have seen women so devoted to their purses that they appear to have them permanently implanted on their shoulders. I’ve watched women carry purses everywhere—and I mean everywhere. I even saw a woman determinedly clutching her colossal shoulder bag as she hiked steep, rocky terrain on an Indian reservation in Southern California. Don’t ask me why, since she didn’t open it the whole time. Maybe she thought she could use it as a cushion against a rock falling on her.
Despite how some women wax poetic about the merits of these prized possessions, I just can’t bring myself to carry one. First of all, having something dangling at my side is just plain annoying, and even the tiny bags feel like a lead weight on my oh-so-slender shoulder. And why do I need one? Give me my keys, my (pint-sized) wallet, my cell phone, a pack of Cryst-O-Mint lifesavers, and I’m good to go.
Despite the “man-purse” fashion attempt a few years ago, most purse carriers are still women—and it seems the smaller the woman, the larger the purse. When I see women with gargantuan bags slung across their bodies, I always wonder what’s in there. What could possibly take up so much room and be so important that you have to carry it with you everywhere you go? Is it gold? The family jewels? Paris Hilton’s chihuahua? Really, what?
Sometimes I see a purse that’s so big, it seems that I could dive into it and have an Alice-in-Wonderland-like adventure.
And with singers, it’s even worse. They seem to suffer from multiple-elephant-bag syndrome. Every female singer I know carries two huge bags: one for her music and singing paraphernalia, and the other for . . . well, I wasn’t sure what for until recently, when I went on a hunt to uncover the answer to this mystery that had been plaguing me for so long.
Lo and behold, I found Operamouth’s blog with “Contents of My Purse” in big bold letters. I read it with gleeful curiosity. Among the 32 (!) items listed were used Kleenex, several gift cards, numerous receipts and coupons, earrings, gauze, Buddy Tape (whatever that is), a Philly Pops song book, and a complete Berlioz score (Damnation of Faust, no less).
“Hmmm, interesting,” I thought. “Maybe, if I ask them nicely, my singer friends in points north, south, east, and west would reveal what they’re hoarding in their purses.”
So, I e-mailed, texted, called, Skyped, Twittered, and even knocked on doors to ask my burning question: What is in your purse?
At first, I got the expected replies: checkbook, wallet, business card holder, lipstick, eyeliner, pens, pencils, cell phone, iPod, calendar, notepad, glasses, glass-cleaning cloth, Advil/aspirin/Tylenol, and throat lozenges (an absolute must, I was told again and again).
But as I probed further, the confessions trickled out. One singing friend carries an extra pair of pink woolly socks in her purse because, of course, “the floor of the rehearsal space may be cold.” Another carries various sizes of empty plastic bags “just in case.” Still another swears she needs to carry both face lotion (her voice teacher’s studio has very dry air) and hand sanitizer (you can’t be too careful with your health these days). She’s generous with the hand sanitizer, though. Whenever she’s at a rehearsal, she offers it to everyone in the room. “Hand sanitizer?” she’ll ask, sidling up to you with the determined smile of a woman on a mission to make her rehearsal experience germ free.
On a recent Sunday, I noticed that one of my cast mates had a purse the size of a small refrigerator. I was itching to ask her what was in there and why she needed such a mammoth reticule, but I decided it would be more interesting to just watch what she pulled out, if the opportunity presented itself.
Sure enough, as soon as we took a break, she put the purse on her lap and began to perform the “purse dance.” She bent her head and peered down into the abyss, searching for the elusive item that she was desperately seeking. She fished and fished and finally pulled out a large package of orange-mint Ricolas, daintily put one in her mouth, and then tossed the pack, along with the wrapper, back into the black hole.
Next came a tissue to dab her delicate nose. Following that, she hauled out an Evian water bottle (32 oz. size), and after quaffing her thirst with several deep gulps, replaced it. Then she hunted for and triumphantly whipped out her lipstick to refresh the bright red color that had been ever-so-slightly smeared.
The hairbrush was next to appear and, as she tugged it through her long brown locks, she fumbled into the purse again to retrieve her ringing cell phone. The call must have been about a gig or rehearsal for, sure enough, as she tossed the brush back into the canyon, out came a bible-sized Day Runner covered with stickies (and I wondered if she’d heard of that recent invention, the PDA—calendar, notepad, phone, and so much more, all in one slender device).
While frantically fishing for something to write with, she unloaded, along with many of the aforementioned items, the following: a wallet, a checkbook, a small sewing kit, a large bag of M&Ms, three Power Bars, a pitch pipe, a set of multi-colored highlighters, a Sony digital mini-recorder, a regular-sized iPod (aha! so she does know something about modern technology), a make-up bag, a bottle of perfume, the Schirmer Fifth edition Pocket Manual of Musical Terms, a plastic bag filled with assorted herbal teas and sweetener and, last but not least, a hard-cover copy of Unmasqued: An Erotic Novel of The Phantom of the Opera
.
Watching this display, I was dumbstruck. This woman could open a store with the contents of her purse—and yet, she still couldn’t locate the elusive writing implement that was sure to be lurking at the bottom of her vessel. Suddenly she called out, “Anybody have a pen I can borrow?” Barely disguising my amusement at what I had just witnessed, I plucked my pen from my jacket pocket, sauntered over, and offered it to her.
“Oh, thanks!” she said gratefully.
“No problem,” I said, quickly turning around before the grin on my face gave way to gales of laughter.
But, my curiosity had been satisfied. I now know what’s in her purse. Everything!
Except, maybe, a pen.
