My adventures in Hermes-land . . . published at Pursebop.com.   http://www.pursebop.com/no-kelly-for-you/

No Kelly for You

I want a Kelly.   It has taken me a long time to utter these words, but here I am.  The Hermes fund is full and contact made with a sales associate. Yet I feel no closer to getting one.

The reality that I cannot just waltz into a store and buy my Kelly perplexes me.  Isn’t the end goal of a store to sell its merchandise?  I understand the laws of supply and demand and if they’re “sold out” I can’t buy until there’s new supply, possibly at a higher price. Economics 101.

The kicker is, from what I read and hear, that while there may be none for me, Ms A or Mr Z have their pick of the limited lot.  They get “offered” bags.  The concept alone is mind-boggling.  Is my money a different green than theirs (preferably Hermes bamboo which is stunning . . . but I digress)?  Do I need to slip cash into the palm of a sales associate, as though I’m seeking a faster or better table at a chi-chi restaurant?  Or must I declare my loyalty to the H brand by purchasing thousands of dollars of merchandise I may or may not want?

Or worse, am I simply at the whim of the Hermes deities?  Trying to buy a Kelly is like an episode of Seinfeld – where the soup nazi decides who may purchase soup.  George and Elaine are denied because they fail to follow proper soup-ordering procedures and annoy the soup man.  Perhaps my Kelly is really lobster bisque.

Thus far I am not one of the Chosen people.  My sales associate was lovely and took down my information, but I have no confidence she will call.  I remain intimidated by the Orange and think twice before crossing the threshold.   I also do not have the luxury of time or the inclination to be a frequent visitor . . . or as I call it, a nudge.

The longer the wait the more likely my shopping itch will be scratched elsewhere.  I tell myself that I don’t really want a Kelly.  Maybe that will work.

-Maura Carlin

No Soup For You

Please Hermes Gods, may Maura have some SOUP? (and I’ll take another serving too…)

Love PurseBop
XO

Bagged

Another post on the infamous Pursebop.com

• NEWS, WHAT'S TRENDING

on February 26, 2015 

Part II: Ode to GST

Dear friend Maura gives us an update to her Part I: Ode to GST
To GST or not to GST, that is the question… 

Breaking news:  We interrupt the Hermes coverage with a special Chanel report…

The GST is out and about, having been freed from its boxing and wrapping and released from its secret hideaway.  Tags were cut and plastic protection removed.  The GST is in Maura’s custody moving from home to car to Whole Foods and the like.

But seriously, why it’s taken me so long to use it probably should be the subject of a different post.  After all, the decision to keep the bag was made weeks ago when store points were redeemed as payment.  For now, suffice it to say I try not to highlight my purse purchases at home.

So far, so good. My GST with gold hardware radiates class and beauty. As I predicted, it’s also spacious.  I easily transferred stuff from my Hermes Evelyne and there’s significant room to spare. Careful packing of my belongings was unnecessary.  The long key chain attachment allowed me to open my front door without detaching the keys.  My phone comfortably occupied the outside pocket. The bag behaved nicely and stayed on my car passenger seat, both buckled and unbuckled (yes, I sometimes buckle bags so they don’t fall and empty on the floor).  Most of the time the bag stayed well on my shoulder over my bulky coat.

With the maiden voyage behind us, I’m optimistic that this is the beginning of a very satisfying relationship between me and my GST.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming…

Maura Carlin

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Love PurseBop
XO

http://www.pursebop.com/part-ii-ode-to-gst/http://www.pursebop.com/part-ii-ode-to-gst/

APP - Another Purse Problem

Honored to have my article featured on the fabulous Pursebop's site.  

No Birkin

In honor of the unofficial Hermes week we’re celebrating here at Pursebop.com, my dear friend Maura Carlin contributes a hilarious take on the Birkin craze. Maura is a journalist and writer in NYC. You can find her musings on everyday life at mauramusing.blogspot.com

Ten years a Birkin fund . . . and still no Hermes Birkin.  Lest you suspect I can’t save money, think again.  I’ve squirreled away sufficient cash many times over only to blow the wad on something else . . . usually Chanel.   So, why is it still called the Birkin Fund and why don’t I have one?

On some level, the Birkin is simply an aspirational concept. My girlfriends refer to the B as the unattainable big gift they will never receive and, frankly, they wouldn’t buy even if given the chance.   Perhaps it’s the equivalent of the childhood dream-gift pony (one I never shared as my ideal present doesn’t poop). 

The fact that Bs are not readily available to just anyone with bank likely heightens the desire.  Trying to purchase a Birkin can be an intimidating process, even for a savvy, experienced, sophisticated shopper, fostered by rumors that you must linger on a list in the hope of some day being offered one.  That’s right, the scuttlebutt is that you must wait for the opportunity to plunk down thousands on the spot. 

I don’t know whether this urban legend is fact or fiction.  I have never tried. Even with a fully funded secret stash, nerves come over me upon entering the H promise-land.  The word Birkin gets stuck in my mouth.  But that’s not the only problem.

I’ve not actually carried a Birkin.  I’ve seen them, touched them, and held them.  None of that compares to putting in your necessaries and walking around opening and closing the bag (which I am known to do before buying any other purse).  Rumor has it that you can’t do that in a Hermes store. It’s a heavy bag empty, let alone loaded, and I don’t know whether my aging body can handle it.  The clasp may be too difficult for soon-to-be arthritic fingers.  And I do like my shoulder/crossbody option. 

Maybe I’m more like Grace Kelly than Jane Birkin. Does “Kelly fund” have a nice ring?

Love Maura (&PurseBop)
XO

25 Years Later, The Husband I've Always Wanted

After 25 years of marriage, I finally have the handy husband I always wanted . . . Me.  Without any training or aptitude, I have become family tech support, light bulb changer, leak diagnostician, appliance trouble shooter and all around handy-person.  I'm the go-to gal when the internet, cable, computers, television and mobile devices frustrate rather than function.  I shovel snow, chop ice and defrost cars . . . while living in a house of men.  I alone hold the magic to changing the temperature in the house . . . hubby still doesn't know which thermostats control heat and A/C and the kids don't even bother to try.   I may be the second shortest in the family, but I'm the one climbing on cabinets and standing on chairs to reach stuff and change all but the highest bulbs.  I also must have the best eyesight despite the strongest prescription glasses - no one else notices that lights are out or items broken.    

Get a Handle on It . . . Literally

My contribution to a fashion site.  Read my piece and follow my friend pursebop.com for the stories and photos.

http://www.pursebop.com/ode-gst/

Beauty From the Outside

I do not like being photographed.  I hide my body behind my children and find a way to camouflage my neck.  My glasses stay on my nose to cover my wrinkles.  That's my grand plan.  Rather ironic, don't you think, for someone who does a weekly live interview on public access television.

My digital appearance is rather weak.  Blog and Facebook photos are cartooned. Twitter still has the egg and Linked In is blank.

This weekend, I bit the bullet and had head shots taken. I can't believe the results.  Amazing.  With a hair stylist, makeup artist, good lighting, professional photographer and photoshop, even I look good.

Take the Good, Take the Bad, The Facts of Death

As my teenager prepares to attend a service for yet another friend’s deceased parent, it hits me that my children have dealt with a lot of death in their short lives.  Much more than I did in my youth.  And it makes me wonder whether I was just protected (I was) or have there been more untimely demises.  I think the latter.

It is true that my parents prevented me from attending funerals as a child and I had to argue to go to those I did.  But I believe there were fewer.  I just counted . . . I recall the neighborhood girl who lost her mother to breast cancer, a playmate whose somewhat older father passed away, a popular student/brother hit by a car and a teammate’s father who died of a sudden heart attack.  Perhaps there were others and again I was shielded.  But in those years, divorce seemed much more prevalent . . . death of a different kind. 

My children, on the other hand, are quite aware that children lose parents.  By age six, my eldest knew a boy whose father (my dear friend) died suddenly.  In elementary school, my elder two had classmates whose father perished in 9/11.   A horrific accident on vacation claimed the mother of one large family, among others.   Another father drowned on vacation.  Four years ago, four more parents died.  Even my 11 year old knows two families who lost moms to cancer.   

This post—9/11 era, as I call it, is filled with angst, international turmoil and multiple mass domestic shootings.   I suspect that my boys still believe in the natural order of life and death and, if asked, would expect my parents to predecease me.   But I also guess that they would not be as shocked as I, if it did not happen that way.

And so, matter-of-factly, my son readies for another memorial. He needs to support a friend.  I, however, grieve for this boy whose mother I never met and for my son’s loss of innocence.  I also wonder if and how I could have protected him.