Images from here and here
Considering the topic of the "must have" accessory for the upcoming seasons, the first thought that occurred to me seems risky given the latest Carnival of the Couture is hosted by the eminent Bag Snob.
My necessity is an anti-accessory that I will wield in the cause of health, beauty, and freedom. I must have a pair of pocket snippers sharp enough to cut away the blight of gigundous bags currently weighing down natural loveliness all over the borough. As creators and consumers wallow deeper and deeper into a trend, some inevitably reach the outer extremes which are also invariably ridiculous. Remember the mutton chop sleeves so propped with starchy facing as to block one's earholes and grant young beauties the profiles of glitter-plaid vultures?
As if I needed to be reminded how boringly "done" so much of the current look is, I just watched the 1978 hit movie Foul Play. In it, Goldie Hawn wore the floppy long bangs, the peasant-style dress, capelet wrap with fabric flowers, halter dress, and printed skirts. She played a librarian, so these were toned-down, movie-stylist versions. Not too offensive really, and usually cute on her. The only big difference was that unlike today's desire for several visible, lacy layers of foundation, beneath her diaphanous fabrics, at least on top Goldie was girly commando. Rocking the pertness old-school.
Goldie carried a hobo bag, too, but it was sensibly sized. Probably the last one that existed. I expect the warmer seasons of 2006 to bring more (yawn) derivative boho, and ever-increasing bloat of the busy, bedazzled, studded, multi-flapped, draw-stringed, chain-linked, and dangling object-bedecked suitcases that are already dragging down delicate arms, giving nubile youth a deluxe sneak preview into sagging shoulders and arthritic elbows.
The mass of bags, slings, and packs have gotten too darned big, ya'll. I'd happily employ a pleasant hovering robot to carry my stuff while I perambulate and skip between destinations, as light in heart as my loafers. But I'm not shlepping the entire contents of a desk, closet, and vanity on my back or forearm. Perhaps that's just my super Kung Fu talking. After all, I routinely dare the hardships of urban Manhattan for hours with merely a wallet and lip gloss.
On today's colossal accessories, ornamental metal armaments are clanking hazards, bruising the owner and fellow travelers on the sidewalks and subways, and the gals can't find merde in the cavernous recesses. Half the time, the narrow shapes in stilettos I see struggling under them are already as unsteady as Lucy in a showgirl's headdress. This isn't elegant liberation, it's subservience. If you are lucky enough not to have to haul water or food for miles for daily subsistence, please rejoice. Carrying even a very expensive potato sack makes you look like an overworked peasant doomed to die young of the consumption.