Naturally neither you nor I are the type to brandish ostentatious handbags that flaunt their brand provenance in a showy-offy manner. That wouldn’t do at all, would it? We wouldn’t dream of being so brash. Latching our tribal identity to the shops we spend money in? As if!
Except… wait a minute. I’ve just looked down at the bag sitting under my desk in the office. Not my handbag, but my overspill tote bag. This morning it held my water bottle and a dress to drop at the dry cleaners; on the way home I’ll need it when I pick up bits for dinner. The name Ginger Pig is emblazoned in flamboyant script across its sturdy, oaty linen. The Ginger Pig is a posh butcher’s shop. In smaller letters, it proclaims “Butchers & Farmers of Rare Breeds Reared on the North York Moors”, which sounds a lot fancier than the vegetable curry I am actually going to cook tonight.
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And if it wasn’t the Ginger Pig, it might be a Daunts Books bag. I’ve even got a Guardian one somewhere. There goes my smug theory. The tote bag is to the 21st century what the button badge on the lapel was to the 20th. It is a declaration of values for an age when principles come with merch. This is citizenship as consumerism. You either pay for a branded tote bag, or you are given it because you bought something else. A bookstore tote tells the world not only that you read books, but also that you have excellent taste in retail establishments. A museum bag is a memento of a cultural expedition – but more specifically, the time you spent in the gift shop.
The tote bag is to the 21st century what the button badge on the lapel was to the 20th
The cultural capital of a tote bag can be straightforward (the undyed-flax vibes of the Waitrose one trumps the garish orange of a Sainsbury’s one) but it can also be mind-bendingly niche. The Daunts Books bag is a classic, but make sure you get the right colourway: just like with Hunter wellies, olive green is the cognoscenti’s choice, so don’t be fobbed off with the grey.
A hot new title from Sally Rooney or Hilary Mantel arrives in stores with its own tote, a limited-edition trophy for early adopters. As for my personal favourite of the niche tote bag flex: shoutout to the man I saw on the 73 bus with one bearing the legend “National Portrait Gallery Member”, with the last word in red to make sure no one confused his level of commitment to art with that of non-card-carrying plebs.
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Tote bags have become ubiquitous as handbags have got smaller and working days longer. Now that your diary, address book, travel tickets, loyalty cards and newspaper are stored on your phone, the bag that keeps your valuables close can be smaller and lighter, which is great, except there’s nowhere to put your gym leggings or packed lunch or the birthday cards you buy at lunchtime. Which is where the tote bag comes in. They have become an essential part of daily kit, now that a plastic shopping bag marks one out as reckless and irresponsible.
Yet a 2018 study by the Ministry of Environment and Food of Denmark challenged our assumption that tote bags are an environment-friendly choice, concluding that a cotton tote, being water-intensive in production, would have to be used 20,000 times to offset its own impact. That’s every day for 54 years – a big ask, considering most of us have a drawer full of the things.
But I suspect that their downgraded eco credentials will not be enough to kill off the tote bag. Because these bags are about identity, not just carrying stuff. Hang on. Did the It bag just get greenwashed?
