Purging vs. Posterity
I’m not certain what has spawned my latest obsession — purging versus posterity. Perhaps it is a confluence of events and factors that has caused me to reflect on times past — times of abundance and times of dearth. I have entered my 40s, I have an amazing life partner, I have a beautiful daughter, I am about to complete — once and for all — my formal education. I have a home, a career, all my bills are paid. Overall I have been exceedingly prosperous and fortunate.
So why am I obsessing about things that I’ve owned and carelessly given away? They’re just things! Symbols of consumerism. Maybe even symbols of a time when I paid little attention to the events, experiences, and people who were important, and too much attention to material possessions. But I can’t stop thinking about them and kicking myself in the arse for giving them away in a fit of purging. Some of you may read this post and think that I’ve lost it. Maybe I have. Maybe I’m crossing a threshold in my life and seeking ways to procrastinate and return to simpler times. Then again, maybe as I look into my daughter’s eyes I see all the years I lived before her and how I should have saved some of those items to share with her. For posterity.
I think by the end of this post I will have figured it out. But for now, let me share my regret. There are few things I regret in life: such as never learning to play an instrument and never learning to speak a foreign language. There’s still time! you say. But what about those little possessions that you just let slip away over time. I guess I think about how hard I worked for those possessions. How they were physical artifacts of major events in my life. Maybe that’s what I want to share.
Here they are in no particular order:
Guess Ankle Cowboy Boots
These were VERY hip in the early 90s. I remember I was working at the Naturalizer shoe store in the Villa Linda mall in Santa Fe. I can’t remember where I discovered these shoes, but I can remember how badly I wanted them. They were $125, and I saved for a month to buy them. I remember how thrilled I was when I walked out of Dillards with them. I was 21 years old. Long. Lean. Wearing a slick pair of Levis and a tight and cool chartreusse colored turtle neck and my brand new brown leather Guess boots.
The ones you see here are a blue suede version, and when I found this picture on Etsy.com they called them “vintage.” That just added that extra tinge of pain to my regret of getting rid of them. The funny thing is, I honestly cannot remember when and why I let them go. I know I wore the bejeezus out of them, but they were by no means thrashed. The fact that I can’t remember why I got rid of them or who I gave them to makes me realize that it was probably a spontaneous decision. Still, I loved those boots and often wish I still had them.
Mom’s Vintage Frye Lace-Up Boots
Okay. So these weren’t mine to begin with, but there’s still that memory of how much I liked them and that regret for not being foresighted enough to tell my mom to save them for me. I was probably 9 or 10 when my mom owned these. I think she said they were a gift from my dad. She would wear them with jeans, peasant skirts, and loose and flowing blowses. It was the late 70s early 80s after all. Women’s lib. I am woman, hear me roar. She looked so confident. So free. So cool. I can see here singing Tanya Tucker’s “Delta Dawn” and dancing her awkward, rhythmless dance in the living room of the tiny duplex we lived in. These were the times when my sister and I would spend summers at the Alto public pool, walking two miles to get there, sharing grape Hubba Bubba and Big Hunks. I see women wearing them now and I am filled with longing. They were/are expensive as all heck. Plus, I have been cursed with large calves, so most boots don’t fit right. These lace-ups would be perfect for me.
Alas…I don’t know what happened to them and don’t really feel like asking my mom. The time she owned these was divorce time. Times of hearing Barbara and Neil singing, “You don’t bring me flowers” over and over again. My sister and me being latch-key kids. Times of dearth. She probably sold them to pay rent. Who knows. I don’t want to dig up those old bones.
Burgundy Leather Backpack
This one is a painful one. It was 1996. I had been living in New York City for a year. When I first moved there, I worked for a temp agency, which placed me at some pretty cool jobs: PaineWebber banking firm, the New York Public Library. I learned a lot about the city and about myself in those six months. Then life just sort of jump started. I got a job as a photo assistant at The Associated Press, and a few months later got accepted to New York University’s journalism program. Life was good. I was 26 years old. I was making good money. I was a graduate student at a prestigious university. It was late summer and I was heading to an orientation/campus tour which was to meet near Washington Square. As I walked down 8th Street toward the University, I glanced into a leather store and eyed the most beautiful burgundy leather backpack. It was 85 bucks. I’d always wanted a leather backpack and this was Italian quality and just the right color. (The one you see hear doesn’t match, but is the same style.)
In truth, this pack was not the most practical accoutrement for the college student or NYC commuter. It had no shape, so everything just slouched to the bottom of the bag. Also, the inside would “shed” little bits of suede, which would get all over my computer and my books. The straps were too long, so the bag bounced against my butt when I walked. Still, I loved it. It was a symbol of the next era of my life. I kept it for years without ever using it. When I came back to New Mexico, I went through a huge purging of belongings. I think I gave this and my Herve Chapelier bag to Goodwill. Can you imagine? I’m still kicking myself in the arse.
The Herve Chapelier Bag
This bag was really nothing special. They were very popular between 2001 and 2003, especially for NYC commuters. It was the perfect bag for carrying your iPod, magazines, newspapers, umbrella, wallet, gym clothes — all those things you need to take with you when you leave your apartment — and anything you happen to pick up on your way home — a new blouse, a bagette and cheese from D’Agostino, a bottle of wine. Your urban first-aid kit.
They were a bit pricey — probably $65 or so — but for durability and practicality it was well worth the price tag. Mine was brown with a red trim and black handle. I just can’t help but regret giving it away! What a score for whoever tripped upon it at the Goodwill. I wonder how much it sold for?
The Coach Leather Slouch
This has been, by far, my most lavish splurge. Sarah Marentette, with whom I worked at The AP, came in one day with a chocolate brown suede version of this bag and I knew I had to have one. I worked at 30 Rockefeller Plaza, within skipping distance of the local Coach boutique, so I trotted on over during my break to check out this bag. I saw a smooth light leather version so I picked it up and glanced at the price tag. It was a staggering $385. I left outta there and did some serious soul (and pocketbook) searching. At the time I was one of those “I work hard and I deserve it” kinda gals, so I quickly rationalized spending nearly $400 on a purse (something I would NEVER do today). So next pay period I bought it.
Again, this was not the most functional bag — all things sunk to the bottom of the bucket and the strap was not long enough. When I wore it across my chest, the bag was up in my armpit. When I carried it as a shoulder bag it was too long, hanging down below my hip. I used it for a long time. Got lots of compliments. But then it just went into my bag drawer. I think I was short on cash and eBay had just become the new thing so I sold it for $200. I think the woman who bought it lived in Racine, Wisconsin. I felt good about letting it go to her — girls in Racine might need some style. Still, I miss it.
The Trashbin Backpack
One of my favorite things to do is inherit other people’s throw aways. I love Goodwill, Thrift Town, yard sales, flea markets. In New York City, you didn’t have to go far to find chic trash. My basement, for example, was a good place to start. At least once a week I’d venture down to dump my kitchen garbage and find the end-result of someone else’s purging fit. I got a good pair of jeans, a nice sweatshirt, some soft and well-worn t-shirts, and a sweet black leather backpack like the one shown here.
This was a good little sometimes bag. It was compact but roomy enough to carry the NYC essentials (see Chepalier above). And it was quality leather with heavy duty zippers. This was a bag that wouldn’t quit. Again, I can’t remember when or where I disposed of it. Maybe someone was just as excited to trip upon it as I was.
The Kate Spade “Ill-Gotten Booty” Bag
Every bag has a story, and this is the story of the ill-gotten booty bag. I have owned Kate Spade knock-offs, but never splurged for this particular extravagance. The business manager where I worked was famous for buying every new Gucci, Coach, Dolce & Gabbana, Kate Spade, you-name-it-high-priced-couture bag that hit the market. I think she’d had this bag for a while, because it was nicely worn-in red leather. I admired it and told her how much I liked it, especially since it had silver buckles and zippers — not the gaudy gold-plated junk you often see on high-priced items like this. When I came back from teaching my class it was sitting on my chair, empty, with the matching wallet inside. I walked into her office with an incredulous look on my face. She said, “I wanted you to have something nice.” Now, this woman was famous for spoiling people…people she considered her friends. I was shocked, and grateful. It was a sweet gift and I was, deep down inside, thrilled to have inherited it.
Turns out, however, that this business manager had been embezzling money from the school at which we worked — somewhere to the tune of 250 G’s. After she was unceremoniously fired, and as she was being investigated, I started to think that this great bag was probably bought with money that was supposed to go to public school children’s books and computers and pencils and stuff. So I just couldn’t hang on to it and feel good about carrying it around. It had bad karma. To carry it was to carry fuku. I had to get rid of it.
I remember carrying it with me when I went to visit my friend Kari at the store she works at in Santa Fe. She admired it and I said, “Yeah, I think I’m going to give it away.” She grabbed the purse as it dangled on my arm and screamed, “You’re GIVING AWAY a Kate Spade bag!!! Are you NUTS!?!?” I ended up giving it away to someone I don’t talk to anymore. I should have given it to Kari, but that would have been passing off fuku to someone I love. I couldn’t do that. Still, I miss the idea of it. Maybe I should have brought in a curandera and had it blessed. Then I could have kept it.
Purging vs. Posterity
So what was it about these things? Honestly, now that I’ve talked about them I feel much better. The longing and the loss of them seems so trivial and insignificant. And the lens through which I view them is much clearer. Like I said earlier, every bag has a story. Perhaps it is the stories of the eras of my life that I am not wanting to forget. To talk about these times is one thing, but to have that artifact as a spring board for the story is something else. To have that item is to realize its value, its symbolic representation of times past, times important, times of abundance and times of dearth.
I would love to have these things to show and tell my daughter, “See this? This is what was going on in my life when I owned this. I was working my first job and learning how to fend for myself. I was in graduate school. I was living and surviving in New York City. I was working for the world’s largest news agency. I was digging through the trash for treasures. I was realizing that there are people out there who have no scrupples.” Maybe these things represent lessons learned, wisdom gained, and friends lost.
Maybe these things are there to remind us to hold on to what we value. To respect the hard work we did to attain them, whether they be actual physical things or people, friends, lovers, children, ideas, principles, failures, theories, and successes. Some of them come at a high cost. Some of them are nice to look at but impractical. Some of them were cast away by others, but were useful and important to me. Some of them represent the worst in people, some of them represent the best. Some represent difficult childhood memories, hang ups, and resentment. Some of them represent positive things to come. Whatever they mean, what is most important is to recognize when to hold on and when to let go.




