Clutch My Heart

There must be a way to stop my impending downfall via the clutch.  I am obsessed! This is completely dissimilar to my almost-downfall via the manual transmission on my first car. I speak of the holy category of vintage purses that are strapless, compact and hand held. Oh never mind that you cannot place more than a drivers license and a compact in one. Shut down any concerns about leaving your clutch unattended a la the lack o’ strap on. (That came out right, actually, despite how it may seem).
The love of a clutch will keep it near to your heart at all times. Totally impracticle in every way. Says things like, “I’m so chic today” or “Good thing I don’t need a maxi pad today”. Blessedly, it does not say that last thing out loud. Ok! They don’t talk! Does that keep me from cooing at them during moments of alone time? No.
Patten leather. Plaid. Jeweled. Beaded. Just know if a clutch is in my hand, we’re going home together. This is very much like when a groupie is backstage and she gets her mitts on a roadie who might introduce her to the band. She is going home with him tonight, she just has not realized it yet.
I collected Kelly Purses first. That was wonderful for all non practical purposes too, just the way I like it. If you think fashion is practical, you’re a man…without taste. (I KID! I KID! Kinda.) The Kelly Purse holds one lipstick, your plastic, a compact and, unbelievably, a flask. I don’t know for sure. I’ve just seen it done. At the movie theaters. Which I would never do. This week. Maybe Kelly Purses hold an allure for you too.
I could be going through a clutch phase. A phasity-clouded-judgment phase where I white knuckle my clutchy possessions while making up words. My feeling is, that I will, under no circumstances, revert to the shell of a woman I was before my first clutch.
Little pearly twist knobs to open. Snaps. Diamondesque clasps. Crafty little zippers. Just no straps. I really made that rule up for myself. Plenty of people like the option of a removable strap. My only challenge with that is; it is the rare clutch that comes with a removable strap as well as discreet strap loops. They always seem bulky. Loopy if you will. Little pieces of what-not screaming “YOU KNOW…THERE COULD BE A STRAP HERE…IF SHE WANTED.” Shhhhhhhhh purse! I am strolling along strapless. You give away my secrets like you’re the National Enquirer with your strap-ready hardware. If I must have a strap-on option (I promise I’ll stop doing that), then I just want the option to be under the radar. They do exist. I own three. Finger splayed and on the move, clutch-blessed by the clutch gods, makes for one happy bunny!

While we’re spending time together, let us see if we can’t find one neither of us owns yet, but both of us will love. Yes?

Divine Art Deco Vintage Clutch Purse

Thanks to Pawdee98, who had this listed (here: http://www.bonanza.com/booths/pawdee98) as of October 18th 2010 for an insanely reasonable price. Do not be surprised if it, um…goes away, but look how gorgeous!

Wool Men’s Bathing Suits Got Me Itchin’ For More

I must thank my fabulous friend Tawnya Griffith. She is an amazing stage actress (you can Google her I’m sure) with a personality that is larger than Carrot Top’s eerie muscles and hair combined. That’s saying a lot.
Ms. Tawnya gave me a beautiful collection of Victorian era items to drool over and fuss with. She did include a few items from the 1920s. Two of the greatest pieces to hold in my hand from the ’20s were from her dear Uncle. His bathing suits. To think that men strutted around in wool bathing suits, and clearly women did too, is such a foreign idea now. For whatever reason, I can look back on photographs of the men in these suits and see the dapper fellow’s innate beauty rather than any foolishness. Trends change, obviously, or we wouldn’t be so in love with fashion. I love the rare piece, that despite being outdated and left behind, doesn’t strike me as silly or very odd.
I will say if given the choice, on any given day, whether to behold a Speedo or a wool men’s bathing suit, I’d be in the wool bathing suit column. Triple-fold. (By now it’s obvious I’m American. But I have to believe that somewhere in Greece there is a Grecian woman scrunching up her nose at a poorly worn speedo; as the masses of wearers generally wear them poorly. That will suffice the sweeping generalizations for now).
Ms. Tawnya gave me delightful details of her uncle preening and fawning over himself just before taking a dive in to the pool from the heights of a majestic diving board. He was wearing the brilliant blue and black wool suit that I now own and love. I shall never part with it.
So, if it were up to you, and we’re including the general American public. What do you vote for (ladies encouraged to speak up) Speedos or Woolen Throwbacks?