The Ancient Greeks just loved telling the story of Atlas, the titan cursed to hold up the weight of the world. So what? I am a mortal woman in the 21st century, and I carry more tonnage on one shoulder every single day.
Go on. Touch my trapezius muscle. No, touch the other side.
Yeah. I know. I could try out for the Olympics with this one-sided physique, and yet I could not film a Vogue “What’s In My Bag” video because there isn’t enough storage space on YouTube for the contents of what’s inside.
But you know what does have enough storage space? My purse.
I dare you to reach inside my bag. You will pull out exactly what you need. Sunscreen from every country. Cough drops in any flavor. Hand sanitizer in spray, gel, and wipe form. Tampons and pads, depending on your flow persuasion. Three different types of painkillers. My entire skincare routine and the regimen a TikTok dermatologist recommended on my FYP last night. That’s right, I carry the entire apothecary. Safety pins in an Altoid tin, right next to my monogrammed taser. A half-full water bottle. Full-sized Tabasco bottle. Band-aids and old band-aid wrappers I haven’t bothered to clean out. Two courtside Knicks tickets for tonight’s game. A reusable shopping bag. A non-reusable shopping bag. Three-and-a-half different outfits in case I change my mind after leaving the house. Five nail polish bottles in various shades of ochre. Funnily shaped ice cube containers. And if you unzip the zippered compartment, you’ll find the eighth wonder of the world right beside my limited edition Hubba Bubba gum, miscellaneous receipts, an old fortune cookie, and stray one dollar bills.
I will never be in want. I have never known lack.
I have a universal adapter, every charger cord known to mankind, and backup battery after backup battery. But let’s just say you use up all of the power in my bag, and your phone dies while you’re on the move? That’s okay. I have a Kindle with the entire Amazon library downloaded on it. And everything that was in the Library of Alexandria, too. (I also have AA batteries and battery-operated Walkie Talkies. One for me, one for you.)
Women boast the virtues of dresses with pockets. Please. There are not pockets big enough for the things I must carry. When Succession coined the phrase “ludicrously capacious bag” in season 4, I lost my damn mind. And then found it. In my ludicrously capacious bag.
What else is in this ludicrously capacious bag? Cutlery—a knife, spoon, fork, spork, knork, knoon. Snacks. One of every granola bar brand from the CVS on Smith Street. (They're a little smooshed because they've sat at the bottom of my bag, but I promise these are still edible.) I have several Lean Cuisines in case I get busy while I’m on the go. I also have a portable microwave, just in case there isn’t one wherever I’m going. I also threw in the entire Paris Hilton Walmart cookware set and necessary dishwashing supplies. There is nothing more embarrassing than asking to use your host’s facilities. I wouldn’t want to be a bother!
But you will never find me asking anyone for anything because I already have all of the answers. (In my handbag.)
You might call me the “mom friend,” as if it is my responsibility to provide and your birthright to receive. I resent this label. “Mom friend” reduces me to an archetype, like I’m the wise sage with no storyline whose sole purpose is to coddle the protagonist and let you achieve your destiny.
Well, screw that! I am the fully equipped protagonist who carries a large purse! What do you even carry? Oh, a frayed Michael Kors wristlet from 2012 that can’t doesn't all of your credit cards? I laugh at you, and I wipe away the tears in my eyes with one of my 36 double-sided foldable Kleenex value packs, which is one of the many things I carry in my giant bag. Talk to me when you can manage the comings and goings of a medium-sized rucksack.
Keep rifling through my bag. No, I know it’s rude to go through a lady’s purse, but just this once, I give you a pass on behalf of all women. Go on, and open up.
What’s that? Why, it’s Jimmy Hoffa’s body and the lost colony of Roanoke! Bet you weren’t expecting that! I have everything in my purse, you fool! EVERYTHING.
I know what you’re thinking. How can she claim to carry so much in a bag that small?
Well, you’re pathetic. No one questions how Atlas can carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, and that is unarguably more confusing than my situation. I bet nobody questions this logic because Atlas is a MAN.
In fact, I’m more impressive than Atlas and Sisyphus and any other tragic myth combined. Not only do I carry the crippling weight of the world in a handbag, I also walk around with it. I bet my purse weighs more than Sisyphus’s boulder, and I bet I jog at a steeper incline when I take to the treadmill at my gym. (Speaking of which, you do NOT want to know how heavy my gym bag is.) This purse weighs me down, but I am stronger.
Anyway, what were you saying? You’re going to the grocery store for a quick run? Sure, I can go. Let me grab my bag.