by Sarah Firisen

When I was in my twenties, I didn’t own handbags, I didn’t even have a wallet, I used to stuff my keys and money into a pocket. This was easy when I had one credit card and not a lot of cash. But as I got older, I began to see the sense in carrying some kind of bag, even if I didn’t consider it a fashion choice I was interested in. At some point, I became more interested in the aesthetics of where I put my keys. I started a yearly birthday ritual of buying myself a new nice, practical but not fancy bag. It was usually black or brown so that it went with anything. Then about two years ago that changed. I started a new job, went into the office more, and traveled more. Suddenly, I was open to the possibilities of owning multiple bags, in different colors to go with different outfits. I bought my first designer bag (I was still thrifty about this and went lower end and always on sale, but even so, it was a designer bag). And before I knew it, I had developed a bit of a bag buying habit. I had 4 designer bags and was always forgetting my keys because they were never in the right bag. I was starting to worry about this new buying habit when COVID-19 hit. We went into lockdown and I never went anywhere. When I do go out these days, it’s usually low key and local. I usually don’t even bother putting makeup on let alone worrying about which bag will go with whichever casual and comfortable outfit I have on. And I’m not the only one, “ throughout lockdown, people have been finessing the minutiae of their routines — the preferred shopping route, the ideal outdoor workout — and will likely now shop with these in mind. “Functionally is going to be even more important than it ever was before…She predicts a market for inventive canvas shoppers, lined in something waterproof, or crossbody bags with adjustable straps for hiking or cycling; “geeky stuff like that.”
On one level, there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about this, things happen, the fashion industry responds. But if it turns out that we won’t be going back to offices, or traveling, going to the theatre, or out to bars anytime in the foreseeable future, then this will go from a retail, fashion blip to a moment primed for real innovation. Read more »

Now that a deranged president’s toxic presence will finally—finally!—begin to occupy increasingly smaller tracts of our inner lives, these new days might offer an ideal occasion to celebrate songs that sing of the singular mental spaces hidden inside us all—songs that can help re-acquaint us with ourselves.
Put a small child in a room with a single marshmallow. Tell him that, if he can wait for five minutes, he gets a second one. Leave the room, and see what he does. Can he sit there, staring at that scrumptious-if-a-tad-rubbery mound of goo and powdered sugar and just fight off the urge to grab it, tear it to bits, and, like the Cheshire Cat, leave nothing but a smile?
When we are done rhyming words of hope and history to audacity we will need to wake up. When the much needed elation and good cheer wears off, of getting job one done, defeating Trump then the reality will set in.
think about that. Though others may have one, I lack an analytic framework. The best I can do is to offer some things I’ve been thinking about.

I’ve been airborne since
In the presidential election of 2016, around 45% of adult eligible to vote in the USA did not vote. It isn’t disputed that voter suppression, disproportionately affecting people of colour, was one of the causes. Another seems to be a cynicism, or apathy about the process itself. And there may be other reasons. But however you look at it, a situation in which nearly half of the eligible population doesn’t vote in an election for the highest office in the land ought to be causing a good deal of alarm, and not just for those political actors who reckon to be most damaged by this blank statistic. But then, ‘democracy’ has always been rather more of an unfulfilled promise than an accomplished fact, even in the Land of the Free (as well as in the land that boasts the ‘Mother of Parliaments’, where I live).


When I was a kid, I used to see this little sign everywhere (still see it occasionally): “No shoes. No shirt. No service.” It was on the door of every store, including the store down at the gas station. It used to make me laugh for some reason. Maybe, just the image of this shoeless, shirtless madman storming the store for more toilet paper.


But Och! I backward cast my e’e,