this week's topic for gay shame thursdays (wherein i talk about things that regular gay dudes like that i also like which in turn brings me great shame and suicidal tendencies): bags. first off, i refuse to call them man-bags or murses or european carry alls because that is some lame-ass will and grace type humor right there. WILL AND GRACE IS FAG MINSTRELISM! HATE CRIME! HATE CRIME! (look, a will and grace joke that didn't involve a pun).
i fuckin' love a bag. it started in high school when i really really wanted a satchel b/c all the douchebags had northface hiking bags (and the poor douchebags had jansport bags (and the really really poor kids had eastpak bags (as compared to now where only the richest of rich japanese avant streetwear kids wear raf simons x eastpak, but i digress)). also, at that point i was really into c86 indie pop shit and all the kids of detroit's burgeoning "secret international pop society" who i would see at the record stores talking about momus b-sides had them so, obvs, i had to have one, so i could look like a 35 year old dude with a combover and a perma-press denim jacket b/c that shit was sooo hot in '96.
but then, but two years later, we were smack-dab in the middle of prada-sport/miu miu/helmut lang utilitarianism rip-stop draw-string balloon looking faux-ergonomic fever and i had to have some kinda gray nylon thing with lots of exterior pockets that wrapped around my body and was totally useless. i was secretly jealous of the knock-off prada triangle body bag that my friend joyce had gotten at club monaco in toronto (before club monaco had come to the states and was still really exotic and awesome). it looked like a black, nylon sari and i was totally enamored. (i'm trying to find a picture of it online but am totally vexed). i think banana republic ended up ripping it off a couple months later and then every girl everywhere had one and i didn't want one anymore.
then, when i moved to new york for college in 2000 and "discovered myself" i saw all the cool dudes carrying around canvas totes so i went to the crafts store in queens and emblazoned a canvas bag with iron-on letters spelling out my nickname i had given myself (which then ended up being the only thing anyone ever knew me as for the next 4-6 years and which people mistook for my REAL NAME b/c people are idiots and b/c everyone thought, 'only a real asshole would put his self-given nickname on a bag he carries everywhere'). after that, everytime i'd go home, i'd go to the thrift store and come back with some ridiculous variation on a tote or old samsonite 60s bright-colored luggage or a special olympics gym bag (pre-AA).
when i moved back home for claw school, i was generally over bags for a while, but now that i've moved back i'm kinda obsessed again. i have about three bags in regular rotation: a white leather and canvas over-sized duffel/gym bag that i got at an acne sample sale, a really sweet beat-up leather IRA-style doctor's bag that someone left in adam's lobby on the free table, and my work bag, a relic from me alma mater:
because i'm a lawyer and should look totally professional at all times, right? anyways, i could talk about bags for DAYS, and for the most part, i'm cool with lots and lots of different kinds of bags gays like (the leather terrorist weekender, messenger bags, AA gym bags (for that butt magazine, queer art loving asshole)), but THIS kind fo bag bag i am NOT down with. this bag is a plague on homosexual men. it is basically bag aids:
only the shittiest of the shitty chelsea gay dudes carry these. but THEY ALL CARRY THEM. why a bowling bag?! i know you are not carrying your hello-kitty bowling ball to bowl-mor for lychetinis with the "boiz." you are carrying around your aviators, a von-dutch hat, the new issue of the h|x, a tube of astro-glide, and an extra pair of camo cargo shorts in case the ones you're wearing get soiled at the backroom of URGE tonight. ugh, and when you wear them on your sleeveless shoulder with your muscle-milk enhanced arms YOU LOOK LIKE A LADY AMERICAN GLADIATOR out on the town. you are basically SIREN on her way out the stage door to her jeep cherokee to go speak at a deaf lesbian convention at an airport holiday inn with a bunch of brochures on living with deaf lesbianism. basically: i hate you and your stupid bag. hate hate hate hate hate hate HATE. anyways...that's it for now! K.I.T.!