Unquiet
Things

You might have read the title of this post and assumed I was setting up something snarky or satirical. Not so! I have always loved the “What’s in my bag” blog posts and videos. There’s something gleefully voyeuristic about peering into someone else’s bag. Not voyeuristic in any creepy way, but just in that sense of being allowed access to a space that’s usually kept private. Your bag is one of the few places left that isn’t curated for public consumption; it’s not your Instagram feed or your carefully arranged bookshelf that guests will see. It’s just the real accumulation of what you actually need, think you might need, or forgot you were carrying.

That said, while I love people showing me what they keep in their bags, I would never want to reach into someone’s bag uninvited. The thought of digging through a stranger’s purse and encountering mystery crumbs, sticky lip gloss tubes that have somehow gotten hair and wrapped around them, crumpled tissues and wrappers of unknown origin, or worse, finding something wet and unidentifiable lurking in the bottom corner, makes my skin want to crawl desperately right off my body. No thank you!! I’ll take the controlled reveal of an organized dump-out over blindly groping around in someone else’s portable petri dish.

The intimacy feels safe because it’s accidental. No one sits down and thinks, “How can I reveal my deepest self through my choice of lip balm?” But that’s kinda what happens. The person carrying three different books tells a different story than the one with seventeen bobby pins or the one whose bag contains only Labubu dolls and antidepressants. We reveal ourselves through these portable ecosystems without meaning to, which makes the revelation feel more genuine than anything we might consciously share.

These mundane objects become accidental portraiture. Your wallet choice, whether you keep things organized or let them rattle around loose, what you think you might need versus what you actually use,  it all adds up to an unintentional autobiography. The broken sunglasses you keep meaning to fix, the receipt from an embarrassing impulse purchase, the lucky charm you’re too superstitious to remove. These aren’t calculated reveals; they’re just the debris of daily existence.

Maybe that’s why I find myself watching these videos with the same eagerness and enthusiasm I’d have when promised a good piece of gossip. The ritual of emptying a bag and cataloging its contents reveals more about someone than they probably intended: their priorities, their neuroses, their small preparations for an uncertain world. We call it these dispatches “content” – that most awful of internet words – but no matter how much I hate the term, that’s what it truly is: the contents of someone’s daily vessel, the small survival kit they carry through their ordinary life.

My bag is the Seneca Leather Crossbody from Will Leather Goods in black with cognac trim. I have to carry a crossbody; a clutch is out of the question because I would set it down somewhere and never see it again, and over-the-shoulder bags never work for me. Whether the strap is long or short, they’re always uncomfortable, with short over-the-shoulder being the absolute worst. I received this several years ago when I asked my Facebook friends for their recommendations for everyday bags. Shout-out to Tenebrous Kate for this one! It’s served me well and shows no signs of giving up. (I’ve got a nearly identical one in the cognac color that I am happy to let go of for half the cost, if you want it. Let me know!)

So here’s what’s actually living in my bag, along with the small stories each item tells.

A small leather wallet – I finally downsized from the grandma HOBO monstrosity I’d been carrying for years. I saw a Japanese YouTuber with a tiny wallet and thought, “I want that!” However, this was a very too-cool-for-school fashionista with access to Japanese brands that I can’t get my hands on, so this was as close as I could get. I found it on a site that, oddly, sells horse riding equipment, but I don’t recall the name of that site. The label indicates it’s an Embrazio wallet. Discovering the perfect wallet in the most unexpected place was quite cool, like finding the perfect countertop compost bin at a Goodwill shop for $2 because someone had thought it was a lunch box and marked it accordingly (true story). Being able to fit my wallet in normal-sized bags again feels like a small victory.

A pouch from Betsey Olmsted – This is where I keep everything organized because I don’t want my stuff rattling around loose. I fell for an Instagram ad for her watercolor patterns and an eccentric naturalist aesthetic.  Also pictured is an additional little pouch for loose change. This was a gift and I am not sure where it came from!

A small notebook for ideas and lists – Going back to at least 2012 and contains ideas for playlists, Christmas lists, ingredients for recipes, interview question inspirations, and funny things I’ve heard strangers say. Having a dedicated space for the random thoughts that pop up means I actually capture them instead of losing them to distraction, or mental fog, or that one person who always interrupts your train of thought with the dumbest thing at the most inconvenient time. I think this notebook came from IKEA.

A pen that actually works – I keep at least two that work because there’s nothing worse than needing to write something and discovering every pen in your vicinity has given up and you’re left standing there scratching and clicking uselessly like an idiot.

Travel-sized perfume – I carry fragrance the way other people carry lip balm. Though I, too, carry lip balm. Just one, though. Scents currently in play are:

Folie À Plusieurs Aura – Unfolds like a luminous apparition undulating above an endless expanse of sun-baked desert. The opening is a radiant display of warm, peppery ginger and cool, effervescent citrus in an almost holographic way, reminiscent of the way heat ripples above scorched sand—an olfactory mirage. As the initial brilliance settles, there are the cracked and tangled limbs of aromatic woods, the sun-bleached, tenacious timber that survives in arid climes. Incense weaves through these notes, adding an ethereal smokiness, and the vetiver in the base provides a rooty-woody-earthy anchor, amplifying the overall dryness. Ambroxan lends a diffusive quality, creating an expansive halo that seems to pulse and shift with radiance. Aura is a masterful, mesmerizing study in dryness and light that captures the magic of that liminal space where earth meets atmosphere, the mundane touches the divine, and is a testament to the raw beauty of desolate landscapes and the mystical lights that sometimes grace them.

Fantôme Duende – A craggy, forested floral with entangled elements of tree sap, jagged rocky hills, and purple flowers. It calls to mind Backworld’s song, “The Devil’s Plaything”: As in a ruin where violets grow / In moss-covered fields / On cold marble stone… But it also makes me think of Mikey Bustos’ “Filipino Mythical Creatures Rap.” These, you will surely note, are two very different songs.

Diptique Venise – As if the velvety moss-muscled Masters of the Universe Moss Man toy found himself in a biergarten nestled in the midst of a forest of crooked pines & twining nightshade. Seating himself under the canopy of verdant flora, the green plastic henchman orders a moderately priced sampler of lambics and goses and other sour, seasonal ales (but he’s going to expense it to Skeletor anyway) and as he’s enjoying his tiny, half-filled glass of coniferous resin and lactobacilus-y fermented grains, he notices the plants stealthily creeping closer, surreptitious snaking sneaking vines with intent to strangle. For though Moss Man can camouflage himself in foliage and control all the plants on Eternia, on Earth he’s apparently powerless and our terrestrial vegetation views him as a threat. As the air becomes suffocating with the scent of sap-filled botanical defense mechanisms, Moss Man slips into unconsciousness wishing he’d actually ordered the full-sized stein.

LUSH Karma – Imagine the most potent headshop you’ve ever visited and up the ante with the patchouliest fortune teller you ever met. Imagine this scent driving all your friends and loved ones away. That’s OK, you smell marvelous.

Small Advil pill case – I grew tired of being the friend who’s always asking to borrow aspirin when we’re out. It felt shameful to be so ill-prepared all the time, so now I carry my own.

A little passport for brewery stamps – We met a couple through a friend of a friend (rare for us homebodies), and they introduced us to a passport where you collect stamps from local breweries. When you fill up the book, you send it in and get a… thing? Of some sort? The free thing isn’t really the point, though. It gives us an excuse to explore places we might not have tried otherwise, and there’s something satisfying about the ritual of asking for your stamp, watching them press it into the little book.

Car keys – We have a new car with key fobs instead of actual keys, so nothing goes in the ignition. A few months ago, we drove to Yvan’s parents’ for dinner, and when we got there, he realized he didn’t even have his key. The car started up and drove because I had mine in my purse. Apparently, I’m the responsible one for keeping track of the magic car-starting device, which is ironic since, as I’ve written about extensively before, I don’t love to drive.

Phone – Because I am a modern human person, and even if I’m not using it, it freaks me out if I’m outside the house and I don’t have it on me. (Not pictured because that’s what I was using to take these photos.)

Tablet for reading emergencies – I am a reader. I am always reading. Being bookless in public is a 5-alarm emergency. (Not pictured because it was charging.)

Masks – Because pandemic. I still keep them around even though most people have moved on.

A rainbow fan – Yvan found this at a protest a few months ago after watching someone drop it and disappear into the crowd despite his attempts to return it. It’s plastic and fabric, folds up neatly and small, and obviously LGBTQ+ inspired. I take particular pleasure in breaking it out to fan myself audaciously in places where such displays are least appreciated. Plus, you know, Florida heat.

Hair ties – Because if even a single strand of hair touches my sweaty neck in a sweltering expanse of parking lot between the months of April and October, I will have a full-on meltdown. Also, a few Gudetama barrettes because sometimes you need your hair accessories to reflect your inner lazy egg energy.

A mirror – For checking that I don’t have everything bagel bits stuck between my teeth. This one features a print of one of Rebecca Reeves’ artworks.

A tarot card – I pull one before I go anywhere and tuck it in my bag, a little ritual I’ve been doing for a few years now. Which deck I use depends on my mood and currently it’s the Queen of Swords from David Palladini’s Aquarian Tarot, with its distinctive Art Deco aesthetic and washed-out watercolors that give the whole deck an expansive yet melancholy quality. I’m not a tarot expert, but her sharp clarity and no-nonsense independence seem like good company to carry around. It’s like having a tiny piece of guidance with me, though half the time I forget it’s there until I’m digging around for something else.

Vintage hankies – In case I ever go to the theatre again and a movie makes me cry! Though let’s be honest, a puppy in a dog food commercial makes me cry.

Hand sanitizer – I’m not a germaphobe, but wow, is it disgusting out there. Sometimes you touch something in public and immediately regret it.

An empty retainer case – I do have a retainer and a case at home ever since I got my Invisalign off in 2021, but why I’m carrying around this empty duplicate is a mystery even to me. It’s been living in my bag for months, and I can’t bring myself to remove it.

Bookmarks made for each of the books I have written – So that when I encounter them in the wild, I can slip them between the pages like a little secret.

 Looking at this collection, I see someone who has slowly learned that life doesn’t have to be as hard as I once made it. No more suffering through headaches or sweaty neck meltdowns because I was too scattered to plan ahead. Just the basics for getting through the day without unnecessary misery, plus a few things that make daily life a little more magical. It’s the bag of someone who’s learned that being prepared doesn’t have to mean being weighed down and that taking care of yourself doesn’t have to be complicated.

So tell me – what’s really in your bag? Not the curated version you’d show on Instagram, but the honest inventory of what you actually schlep around with you. What stories do your everyday objects tell?

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