I really didn't think I was this kind of girl. I thought that bags held stuff, a great vintage find was the epitome of cool, and that if you had a thousand dollars burning a hole in your pocket you should buy groceries and happily send the remainer to the nonprofit of your choice. But all these stylish girls (ok, two) in my program have Coach bags. And there is something about being a poor graduate student with a shoulder injury from lugging all my books around in my (stylish-for-new england, ever-functional, clashes-with-heels) Timbuktu messenger bag that has me on e-bay under the pretense of a school-related look at the sale of Gates memorobilia, hopelessly scrolling to the 29th page of sort-by-price to see something I can afford. Yes, mom, I want a pretty handbag.
