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Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
Swinging freely beneath my arm is a curious thing with two straps; it’s made of organic cotton and is hand-embroidered with little bluebells. Cozied inside is a fresh copy of the latest paperback I am reading and in a little corner to its left are the knots of my dated but functional earphones, my house keys hanging from a plump crocheted avocado ring (a flea-market find) and, last but not least, my gel sunscreen. The dotted freckles on my cheeks are a testament to the fact that the concluding item on this list barely gets used.
My steps are brisk, my linen pants are crisp and the summer sun is ever golden – its streaks peeking through the fresh leaves. However, the object that abundantly amplifies the joy of all three things is the one I am carrying on my shoulder: my beloved tote bag.
Life is difficult enough but that doesn’t mean you should be devoid of the pure delight that comes from being the proud owner of a fabulous and locally produced tote bag. Which is exactly why I own approximately 60 of them.
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Others will tell you that tote bags are an accessory that you need not own multiple sets of. They are wrong. As a tote-bag enthusiast whose closet boasts numerous tote bags of varied patterns, shapes, sizes and fabrics, and who co-ordinates them with her daily outfits, I can tell you that I find them to be both functional and fashionable.
They are chic enough to run daily errands in, irrespective of whether they are impromptu or critically devised grocery runs largely manufactured to run into your neighbourhood crush. No matter the objective, my point is, the opportunities offered by a tote are vast and boundless.
Whether it’s a simple cotton carry-all with a quirky quote or a fancier one with bright summer colours, they add an instant oomph to my less carefully curated clothes. The outcome? Visible change transforming a clueless young professional into a slightly less clueless young professional with an elevated taste in totes.
Walking with my tote is a charming activity. For instance, my idea of an ideal weekend is walking to the nearest park, securing a spot on the soft grass and reading my favourite book, gently cushioned by my tote underneath.
For me, they are fun, flirty and frolicsome.
So whether I am oozing mystique by looking for titles in an old dusty bookstore or rechecking the ingredients of cheese to ensure it’s halal (for the twelfth time), the presence of a tote on my shoulders acutely adds a sense of comfort to my being. Something familiar, something pretty, something effortless.
Because of their light weighted-ness, they are less likely to overwhelm my petite structure and more likely to disguise the fact that I have successfully carried the weight of fulfilling my weekly crying sessions stemming from the frequent feeling of being left behind. With my tote, I have more control over what I get to focus on.
My tote is an affirmation and an ode to the things that make me feel more like myself. I feel less like a dysregulated, overstimulated and chronically anxious stranger in my own skin and more like someone put together. Like someone who perhaps hasn’t yet figured out her entire life in her 20s but is brave enough to keep moving. Moving toward the chocolate aisle, but moving nonetheless.
I still remember my first tote. To this day, it remains my most special one. I got it from the Shakespeare and Company bookstore in Paris when I visited with my parents. She was a rusty old thing; simple but sturdy in design, with blue ink illustrating the bookstore’s cozy architecture and name. Several totes have followed me home from stores since then and have significantly impacted me and my bank account. If it’s a unique print, exuding cottage-core energy or an eccentric bohemian or whimsical style, rest assured it won’t hang from the store shelf for too long.
Collecting totes is an art. An homage to feeling safe, feeling comfortable, feeling emotionally secure. A tote doesn’t ask for much from you. It isn’t inquisitive. It doesn’t ask you to clarify the “hows” and “whys.” It doesn’t force you to think if your passion for your field will compensate for the lack of fulfilling remuneration. Or the cupcake it’s carrying inside will add that extra pound you have been trying so relentlessly to lose.
It doesn’t leave you questioning if the strands of grey you saw dominating your mom’s forehead over FaceTime last night were present the previous week. Instead, it allows you to shift your energy to slightly less disturbing thoughts. It hangs by your side, tightly, while you find the courage to stride on and brave the world.
Tasfia Tasneem Rafa lives in Ottawa.