Issue 6: Older, Not Wiser
HANDBAGS AT DAWN // All I see are weddings, babies and purchased homes, as each of those '30 Under 30' lists continues slipping further away. Fuck I'm 29 – what now?
Handbags at Dawn (@h4ndbagsatdawn) is a fortnightly newsletter that lands into your inbox every other Thursday, around lunchtime.
There are books, films and scientific theories written about turning 30. But what about 29? Prior to my latest birthday, I considered the last year of my twenties just another number, like all those past ones that have come and gone. I was never a big birthday person anyway, and rarely considered age a meaningful part of my being. More focused on the shoes I wore or the hairstyle of the moment, I look back at my life through vignettes that are visualised beyond numbers. I see one of my old photos and instead of: “Oh, wow – what an annoying 25 year-old that is,” I think more something along the lines of: “Ew, why did I think I could pull off a Miley Cyrus mullet even before Miley?” Both solid observations, though. But as I entered the final stages of my third decade (yes, 20s are your third decade) just a couple of weeks ago, a sense of urgency started to kick in. All those 30 Under 30 lists I’ve always dreamed of being part of, if only for the pure fabulosity of being called young AND talented at once, are now slipping even further away.
The fascination with youth wasn’t my usual vibe, but I can admit growing old is making me scared in the most basic of ways. Scared of losing my curls and going just as bald – if not balder – than my dad. Scared of my eye-sight becoming even worse, and having to carry around a magnifying glass that will enable me to read how many calories a Bounty bar has. [It’s 276.] On that note, I’m also scared of getting more unfit and end up incapable of physical activity. And finally, becoming a fully fledged 30 YO adult (LOL) also means those I love the most are growing older, too. And that’s, perhaps, the scariest of bits. Honestly, I never thought turning 29 would be such a turning point. But it is – as yet another existential crisis lurks around the corner.
So instead of thinking about all the things that won’t happen in the next 352 days – like me becoming the next Sally Rooney and getting on the NYT best-selling list before hitting the big three-oh – I decided to think about the things I might be able to change in order to feel like a more accomplished person than I already do.
For example, I pledge to think hard about leaving the house with a set of hair that’s not been washed in over two days. Picture this: I’ve woken up about 18 minutes too late after hitting the snooze button twice, before sauntering my way to the shower. The hard choice is only mine to make – to wash or not to wash my hair, which feels a tad greasy but also looks kinda chic in a messy, tousled, Timothée-Chalamet-at-the-Oscars kinda way. So I bite the bullet and save myself the annoyance of dealing with a wet mop so early in the morning. Fast-forward to just before lunchtime and I now look more like Mickey Rourke at the Oscars in 2009 as strands of my hair glued together as if forming a set of artisanal noodles. And it’s now far too late to do anything about it, as I’m in the office and getting ready for a big meeting. Even that dry shampoo magic is just making the whole thing worse. So in the future, I promise myself to just wash my hair anyway. Or at least shove an SOS bandana into my bag of the day.
Onto the next point. I promise myself to try avoiding doing things strictly at the last minute. And I aspire to this change as I type this newsletter well after midnight, just hours before it should be sent out into the world. Being a last-minute person has been part of my professional output from an early age, and I’m still trying to figure out why having the pressure and calmness in the dead of the night helps me focus and create work I’m satisfied with. I would love to fully commit to changing this trait, but I wonder if an easier solution could be in finding a job that requires me to be productive at night? Is this me realising I should be a Soho club promoter? I can already picture the rainbow halls of G-A-Y. Or maybe not.
When shifting this conversation onto my collection of baggage, there’s plenty more resolutions to make. I want to buy less bags I kinda like and more of those that I really, really love. As a birthday present to myself (ew, who the fuck do I think I am?) I bought the JW Anderson Bumper bag in powder blue supple leather with red details and the sexiest black patent strap. This purchase genuinely reminded me of why I love purses in the first place, as I constantly go back to open my cupboard and double check the bag is still there and that no one (a ghost?) stole it. It doesn’t matter if this bag was cheap or expensive, really. I just wished upon it for six months, counting down the days to the moment it would be available for purchase. And with most vintage bags, especially those I scour the worlds of eBay and charity shops for, this luxurious element of passing time doesn’t get to transpire. But as the aforementioned cupboard continues to burst at its seams – or bolts – I aspire to focus more on quality over quantity.
Other things I aspire to achieve before turning 30, not in a particular order:
Get drunk less regularly on workdays.
Work less regularly on workdays. Or weekends.
Fight less over things that don’t matter.
Fight more over things that do matter.
Seriously start thinking about realistic plans for me, a gay person, having a baby.
Finally realise I don’t need to be chic.
Feel more confident about my writing.
Spend less time surrounded by horrible/bitchy/rude people that make me feel shit.
Start reading poetry.
Write a book.
Become filthy rich.
Donate most of the money but buy loads of bags for what’s left.
Start saving for a vintage Hermés Kelly.
Get a vintage Balenciaga City bag.
Survive.
But let’s be real: do I think anything major will happen once I turn 30? Probably not, but the suspense is what keeps it fun. xxx
*PEEK OF THE WEEK*
If being completely honest, I’m not 100% sure this section is working in its current format… but who the fuck cares? This is my newsletter and as long people are willing to share what’s in their bags, then so long I will insist on you reading through my PEEK OF THE WEEK. This time round, we’ve got the charming trailblazer Anita Chhiba (@achhib), who is the talent behind Diet Paratha (@diet_paratha), a social movement that elevates and celebrates South Asian creativity in fashion, arts and beyond. Though I’ve been following her work for a while, I recently had a chance to met the stunning Anita whose sxc New Zealand accent instantly swept me of my feet. We also happen to share an interest in the world of purses, so who better to give us a tour of her hot pink Le sac Rond by Jacquemus…
What does the inside of your bag say about you?
Anita: “This is my new bag and I love it! I initially ordered the same in beige because I got scared of the pink, but I think it’s so gorge. As for what’s inside… I always ram a tiny bag full! I still wear masks and sanitise wherever I go because I’m not trying to catch Covid again! But otherwise, I travel pretty lightly. The orange thing is a foldable tote bag which is an essential, just like the major keychain with safety alarms and an Apple tag. Luggage but necessary: it’s basically a London survival kit. lol”