I found this bag in the bottom of my closet the other day and I couldn't believe it. Some time ago I loved it and wore it every day and now, I have forgotten its existence. When I saw it, it felt like I was buying it all over again, it felt like it was new. I put it on then, and went out, and felt like it was the newest thing ever. And then my weekly urge of shopping suddenly went away. I felt that my craving was satisfied for this week, because I had found this bag. It felt that my bag was new and exiting and shouldn't be overshadowed by anything else this week.
This post could be just about that: how we don't need to buy new things if we look closely in our closets. But I think there is an interesting Freudian analogy creeping underneath this simple thought. Perhaps what we do with clothes, we also do with people as well: we love new people, they are exiting and new and we don't know whether we are drawn towards them because they are exiting or because they're new. Resisting the urge to go find new shiny people to hang out with then, this post is about old friends, who are the coolest, exiting-est, shiniest people in our lives and who cannot be overshadowed by any new and shiny ones. Because old is the new new and because old friends are the best.
2 comments:
The bag is the cutest thing ever. And it's endearing because whoever knows you also knows that you're the kind of person who would wear it.
To old - new friends, I'll drink to that.
Yes, a very good thought: I feel that all our lovely material possessions (clothes, bags, shoes, jewellery, make-up, music, etc.) should be like a massive theatre back-stage... you simply need all of them THERE, at your disposal, ready to mix and match whenever needed -- according to whims, trends or whatnot. Because precisely that freedom of variety and selection allows you to become your own trend...
OKAY: another excuse to go out shopping, Christina, once you get over your rediscovery of that fucking amazing bag!!!!!!! Love it!!!!!!
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