A year ago, my friend Erik and I had the same backpack. Then he replaced his with a leather messenger bag. Now he's engaged to a stunning and otherwise lovely woman.
I still carry that backpack. Single as ever.
Coincidence? Maybe. I'm not saying my preference in bag dictates my romantic success, but this situation got me thinking about the stuff I wear, carry, and otherwise own. The conclusion: I accessorize like a 12-year-old.
Pop Quiz: Is this present-day me or me circa 2003? (Try to ignore the beard.)
There's the backpack, which makes it look like I'm going on a hike/to social studies class. Not to mention:
I wear the same boxers my mom bought in middle school. Because boxer briefs feel, let's just say, restrictive.
I have never, ever worn a watch. Meanwhile, my friends have girlfriends who buy them watches. I'm oh-for-two.
I carry a wallet made out of parachute material. My dad bought us both one several years ago, which, spacious and lightweight, plays enabler to our mutual card-hoarding tendencies.
I've worn the same glasses since 2002. They've needed replacing long before Warby Parker monopolized the optical market for quasi-hipsters.
I received my current pair of sunglasses at a bat mitzvah. I'm guaranteed to lose or break a pair of Oakleys in about 20 minutes, so thanks again, Rachel: I truly did "have a (beach) ball!" at your party.
And these are just my juvenile accessories, even beyond my stunted taste in fashion (high-school powder puff T-shirts) and cuisine (PB&J for lunch all day, errday LIKE A BOSS).
So, what does this say about me?
Of course, there's the financial aspect: as a writer, I'm not in a position to splurge on custom monogrammed belt buckles, if that's even a thing. It's also a matter of pragmatism: My backpack is waterproof and hands-free, which means I can hold a balloon and a lollipop and splash in puddles all at the same time!
