So, someone brought up that Gucci Bamboo handbag I used to have the other day. It’s funny, isn’t it, how a simple thing like an old bag can just open up a whole flood of memories? Makes you think.
Getting My Hands on That Thing
I remember when I first got it. Wasn’t brand new, nope. I found it tucked away in this little consignment shop, kind of a lucky find, or so I thought at the time. Paid a bit for it, but I figured, “Hey, it’s a Gucci!” My big idea was that it would make me look super professional, you know? I was about to start this new job, the one at that flashy marketing agency downtown. You might remember me talking about it – the place that talked a big game but mostly just gave you a headache and long, long hours.
The ‘practice’ of it all, if you want to call it that, was me trying to basically be the kind of person who would own that bag. Sounds a bit daft now, looking back. I’d spend what felt like ages making sure my clothes didn’t clash with it. I even went out and bought some fancy leather cleaner, the expensive stuff. Watched a load of videos online about how to keep the bamboo handle looking pristine. I was totally committed to the cause, or so I thought.
- Wipe it down practically every other day.
- Keep it stuffed with tissue paper so it wouldn’t lose its shape.
- God forbid I ever put it on the actual floor!
And Then Life Happened, As It Does
That job, though. What a rollercoaster. They had us working all sorts of crazy hours. I’d get home so knackered, I’d just sling the bag onto the car seat, paperwork and who knows what else spilling out. Then there was this one time, I was legging it to a meeting, late again, of course. My coffee cup, one of those cheap travel ones, decided that was the perfect moment to leak. Everywhere. All inside my precious Gucci Bamboo. I nearly burst into tears right there in the office car park. Not really about the bag, if I’m honest, but it just felt like the tipping point. That job was just draining every last bit of energy from me.
It’s a bit weird, ’cause around that same time, my younger sister was having a rough go of it. Her old banger of a car finally packed it in, and she was desperate for some cash to get something halfway decent to get to her college classes. She was trying to get her nursing qualification, bless her, juggling that with a part-time job at that greasy spoon diner. Talk about a tough gig. And there I was, so wrapped up in my ‘important career’ and my ‘designer bag image,’ I hardly even registered how much she was struggling.
Anyway, after the great coffee disaster, I did my best to clean the bag up. But it was never quite the same, you know? A bit like me after I left that job, actually. I walked out a few months after that. Just couldn’t take it anymore. Best thing I ever did. Ended up selling a load of my old stuff, including a bunch of those ‘professional’ clothes I’d bought, to give my sister a hand with her car deposit. Didn’t even cross my mind to sell the bag then; it was all stained and sad-looking.
That bag? It’s probably still lurking in the back of a cupboard somewhere. The bamboo handle’s a bit wobbly now, and you can still see a faint coffee mark on the lining if you look close. It’s a bit of a reminder, really. A reminder of that whole chaotic period, and how much your outlook can shift. What seems like the most important thing in the world one minute, like a handbag, just… isn’t, the next. These days, I’m much more into things that are actually useful, things that last, not just things that look a certain way. Funny old world, eh?
