The Gospel According to Dooney

When I was in the fifth grade Dooney and Bourke purses were a big deal. I mean, a big deal in the way that young girls can make a purse a big deal: you had one or you didn't. You were in or you were out. Auf wiedersehen. Pack up your things and go. Out.

Who the hell gives a fifth grader a couple hundred dollar purse?! 

I, of course, did not own a D&B purse. I was not a stage five clinger to the cool kids, but I did envy their obviously expensive and beautiful purses. I was wise enough to know, however, that there was no way in hell my parents were going to buy me one and carefully selected a twenty dollar knockoff bought with my own money on an outing to Baker's shoes. I was happy with my enormous blue purse and filled it with all of the important things that go into a fifth grader's purse: a brush, chapstick, and school supplies.

Then, one day, it happened. My aunt gifted me her old Dooney and Burke purse. It wasn't like all of the other girls' purses: it was an older model with a few miles on it, but it still ran beautifully. I could barely contain my excitement. I couldn't stop staring at it. This purse wasn't just a purse. It was a key to a whole new level of cool. I was in.

I remember bringing my new purse to school the next day. I slung my overladen backpack onto one shoulder (because wearing it on both shoulders was a major faux pas second only to tucking your sweatshirt into your underwear). I carefully placed the purse across my body from one shoulder. There. Perfect. I spent the whole day at school carefully unzipping and reclosing my new purse in order to maximize its coolness potential. Oh, you need to borrow a pencil? Here, just let me open my Dooooonnneeey.

Later on that afternoon in the carpool line (who buys a couple hundred dollar purse for kids young enough to be in a carpool line?!) I overheard some of the 'cool' girls talking. A few down the nose glances were pitched my way. A few not so hidden sneers at my purse. And that's when it really hit me in a life changing way: all that shit doesn't matter. 

I glanced down at my prized possession seeing it with new eyes. That traitor. Purse, I was told you would make me cool, what the hell happened back there?! I knew deep down in my gut that it wasn't the purse that was the problem. It wasn't me that was the problem. It was then that I fully realized in a life-altering way that what my parents had always been teaching me was true. I just had to be myself. If I tried keeping up with the Joneses, I would spend my whole life just pedaling to keep up. I like me. Why the hell shouldn't other people like me? I like me. So who even cares if other people like me?

Yesterday I went to a parents' orientation at C's school. I clearly stood out from the other moms in the classroom. My pineapple tee, blue suede shoes, old man glasses, and purse made from a leftover bit of a man's Turkish turban (how cool is that?!) clearly set me apart as different from the other moms. I felt like Olivia, "Why do they all want to be the same?" All of the other moms appeared to have been cut from the same cloth. I remember them as merely a blur of big hair and matching bedazzled purses. I felt good in my outfit, happy I'd chosen something that I like regardless of it's cool factor. 

At the reception I entered the room only to find that everyone was already grouped. I didn't recognize one face in the room. Had Luke Brandon been there with his parents I would have rushed over and thanked him for loaning me the 20 quid, but alas, not one familiar face was to be found. I stood on the edge a few minutes, considered hitting up the dessert table just for something to do, and then retreated to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and Kellyed* myself up: I stood up a little straighter, ran my fingers through my hair, and reapplied my lipstick. I marched out of the bathroom ready to make some friends and headed straight back toward the reception.

And then I thought, "aw screw em," plopped down on a nearby bench, pulled out my knitting, and enjoyed watching the rain.





*The use of Kelly's name as a verb meaning, basically, to pull yourself up by the bootstraps. To look in the mirror, like who you see, and expect other people to like you too.