By Dani Katz
Dude, if you wanna carry a bag, carry a bag. What’s the big fucking deal?
Oh, right. You’re still hung up on old school gender roles, and you think that if you carry a purse, it means you’re a pussy or a homo. ‘Cause the decision to load your precious things into a handy-dandy vessel so obviously speaks volumes of your hormone levels, as well as your aptitude with maps and power tools.
Wake up, people!!! None of this shit is real. Western civilization is make believe, as are all the “rules” that come along with it. Women, with their mammary glands, their spare X chromosomes, and their ability to give life have no monopoly on bags, or purses, or murses, or whatever stupid name the marketing idiots who exist only to get us to buy more shit decide to call them.
Man bags, man purses, man-n-purses – whatever kicky tag or lame-ass hyphenate the machine-feeders christen vessel X to assure us that the inanimate object in question is indeed masculine, is indeed hetero, is indeed indicative of a big, hard dick, and a whopping sperm count – are just as appropriate for women, and for trannies, and for extradimensional travelers, as they are for the manly, ever-so-manly, men to whom they’re marketed. Know why? Because it’s a thing, and if it’s a thing you like, then treat yourself to it. There is no clitoris, no prostate gland, nothing that actually renders a bag gender-identified.
I endeavored a cursory modicum of research, lest we only focus on the inanity of the inquiry, and never delve into the rich, meaty depths of the accessory itself. And so it was that I learned that the mass media machine has decried the following design details dude-appropriate:
Thy body hath always be square.
Thy strap hath always be long, and worn diagonally across thine torso, hanging equidistant to hip, and possibly lower, though never, ever higher.
Clutches, once relegated only to the undersides of the fat, mushy arms of little old ladies, and to the thin, yoga-toned versions belonging to movie starlets posing on crimson carpets, are making their way onto the bourgeoning man bag scene. Dude clutches are, allegedly, black-tie appropriate, so long as they’re blinged-out and/or emblazoned with those telltale designer initials which serve as iconic shorthand for “I’m rich, this cost a fortune, and is by default, fashionable.”
And, lest the world brand you a faggot because of your bold fashion sense, it’s best to arm yourself with a colorful array of synonyms such that you can gracefully maneuver your way out of any He’s carrying a purse! – based mockery: satchel, briefcase, murse, patrol case, prop bag – take your pick. If all else fails, tell everyone you picked it up in Europe, or better yet, Marakech.
This concludes our overview on the awesomeness of man-bag. Now, let’s get to evolving, shall we?