Pockets Rule

I like chick lit. Even though it's all in first person, the top books in the genre have made me more tolerant of that, and I really like the voice. Unfortunately, despite insistence from editors since the beginning that it was about voice, not content, they still put out far too many books featuring heroines obsessed with shoes. The market got glutted, and changes were made.

To handbags.

Seriously, it seems most of the chick lit I've read more recently (not that I've read that much) contains heroines obsessed with purses. Designer ones, of course. And while such a thing can be put to good use in the course of a fantastic adventure novel (Julie Kenner's The Prada Paradox), in others it means boring pages of shopping.

I don't want to read about shopping at all, never mind shopping for purses. First, I find most designer purses ugly. Second, I have no idea who most of the designers are and what makes one more desirable and worth the money than another. And finally, I don't carry one. Ever.

I hate carrying a purse. The closest I'll get is a woven Guatemalan pouch I bought on the street in DC when I worked there, and that's more like a wallet on a string, and I only use it when I don't have pockets.

I have a metal card case I got at Linens N Things for my license and debit and insurance cards (and my bookstore club card, of course *g*). It's just the things I use most often or would need in an emergency. All my other cards are at home.

The case goes in my back right pocket, which is where receipts also go when I've been shopping. Phone goes in front left pocket, keys in front right. My keychain only holds my car key, house key, rape whistle (that is now 18 year old), and Planet Fitness and Giant (grocery) membership tags. Minimization is best.

I watch women walking around with handbags that have short handles and no shoulder straps. I couldn't stand to shop like that, with only one hand free, constantly having to make my valuables vulnerable by setting it down.

With a purse, you are always at risk of losing everything. One snatch and your entire identity is gone, along with your quickest chance to save it (cell phone), probably access to your bank accounts, and who knows what else. Oh, yeah. Money. At least if someone picks my pocket, they only get one thing that may or may not be useful to them. My debit card won't exactly buy them a plasma TV.

So I will be happy when chick lit continues to morph, as a whole, and heroines maintain their outlook on life, their snarkiness and courage, and ditch the accessories completely.