I fell in love when I was in France. It was one of those moments when just the right amount of beauty and sparkle catches your eye from all the way across the room and your jaw drops and you try to prevent yourself from gasping, but you can’t.
My heart was beating fast as I started my approach that was quicker than a walk, but still slower than a run. I had spotted a Lancel BB handbag for the first time in Marseille’s Gallerie du Lafayette mall. It was more beautiful than any French men or boys I had seen in the country thus far. It was the perfect shade of pink, which went perfectly with the white accents on its handles and edges. I was in heaven. I needed that bag.
Then I made a devastatingly tragic mistake. I checked the price tag. Nine hundred and eighty Euros. This handbag was $1,000. I had to do that thing you do at stores when things are too expensive, but you don’t want to admit that to the saleswoman that just saw you practically run over here.
I desperately tried to come up with something that was wrong with it, some reason that made it not worthy of what until now I thought was a rather expensive and impressive collection of designer handbags that I already own. I came up with nothing and had to resort to Plan B: pretend to be distracted (“Ooh look! Marc Jacobs!”) and run away.
I snuck back later and took a picture. If pink’s not your thing, they have a huge variety in other color combinations, each one equally perfect. Google at your own risk.
Oh, and the BB? It stands for Brigitte Bardot, of course. They’re obsessed with her over there, especially in St. Tropez. And when reading UC Cosmo on the plane I saw the phrase “Bardot beautiful” used at least five times.
Anyway, I’m keeping the picture for myself. Someday that bag will be mine.