This is a brief musing on the Boston bag. I used to feel ashamed a bit of being from Boston, there is a part of Boston culture that has a slight inferiority complex because of its proximity to New York. I think of New York as Boston's internationally acclaimed younger sibling. Most people reference baseball lore when they discuss the tension between these two cities. If that's your cup of tea, google 'The Curse of the Bambino." I've met someone who believed "the curse" surpassed athletic performance.
Bostonians often refer to New Yorkers as ostentatious, New Yorkers often refer to Bostonians as dour. While New York scales up to Dubai, Boston scales down to New Amsterdam. Boston is historically anti-fashion and anti-trend, New York boasts itself as the capital of both. The two cities are a bit like two siblings that desperately need to feel different from each other. The relationship it similar, to me, as New Hampshire and Vermont.
The boston bag is travel luggage worn incorrectly. The glamor of the Boston bag was how its a misworn accessory associated with a leisure class activities, often paired with a matching irreverent attitude. You could emphasize a boston bag's sensibilities by wearing smoking slippers outside the home, using a scarf to cover your hair during a storm, or with some '&%$) you' / madras pants.
My favorite boston bag is my old herbag cabas which was what I'd use at the farmers marché before it got stolen from me last fall. This is a boston bag in the style of the Boat and Tote by LL Bean. My robbery was actually the perfect wakeup call about all the things I had taken for granted in my life, all the blessings and the comfort I just had and was dissociated from in a way. I truly worshipped my objects when it really should have been the other way around. All the fine cashmeres and silks and leathers that I coveted and acquired and lost.
I used to feel sad even when I was happy, now I feel happy even when I'm sad.
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