Okay so my friend Emma has this theory that’s basically ruined my ability to exist normally in public spaces. She swears you can tell literally everything about a British woman just by looking at her handbag – like more than you’d learn from stalking her Instagram for three hours, which obviously I’ve never done but hypothetically speaking. The first time she brought this up, we were waiting in line at some overpriced coffee place in Shoreditch (because of course we were), and she subtly pointed to this woman clutching a tan Michael Kors bag with all those gold bits that make noise when she walks. “Bet you anything she’s from Surrey, drives something practical but expensive, has kids with posh names, and her husband does something in the City,” Emma whispered. I rolled my eyes so hard I practically gave myself a migraine, but then the woman answered her phone and literally said “Tell Archie I’ll pick him up after Isabelle’s piano lesson.”
I mean. What are the actual odds?
That moment basically turned me into a handbag detective, which sounds way less cool than it probably should. Now I spend half my time at fashion events or just riding the Tube trying to decode people’s entire life stories based on what they’re carrying, and honestly? It works way too well for comfort.
Starting with the Mulberry Bayswater woman because she’s everywhere in London and always has this very specific energy. She bought that bag sometime around 2008 when everyone was obsessed with it, probably spent a month’s salary on it, and has been conditioning the leather religiously ever since like it’s a vintage car or something. She’s definitely in her late thirties now, used to work some high-stress corporate job but went part-time after kids and now spends her free days dragging them to museums and organic farmers markets. Lives in one of those trendy family areas like Clapham or Richmond, drives a Volvo because it’s practical and safe but still kind of expensive. The bag is always in a classic color – black, tan, that deep red one – and while she occasionally flirts with trendier options, she comes back to the Mulberry like it’s her security blanket.
Then there’s the micro bag girl, and honestly I have feelings about this choice. Her bag literally cannot fit anything useful – we’re talking smaller than most phones, which makes no practical sense whatsoever. She’s either 23 and works at some trendy PR agency, or she’s 35, works in fashion, and has achieved this impossible level of minimalism that makes me feel like a hoarder. Either way, she’s mastered looking effortlessly put-together while actually living in a constant state of inconvenience because where are her keys? Her wallet? Her emergency lip balm? I know this because I tried the micro bag thing last summer and ended up leaving my debit card at three different locations in one week. Some of us actually need to carry stuff, apparently.
Canvas totes are their own universe of social signaling. The plain canvas tote woman is performing this whole “I’m too intellectually evolved to care about fashion” thing, which is actually its own kind of fashion statement when you think about it. She’s got some fascinating creative job, probably in publishing or art curation, lives in a flat filled with plants and mid-century furniture she can actually name the designers of. That tote definitely contains a book by someone who just won a major literary prize, a reusable coffee cup that’s actually being reused (unlike the collection gathering dust in my kitchen), and probably some kind of fermented snack I’ve never heard of.
But the branded tote woman is playing a completely different game. That New Yorker tote? She wants you to think she reads it cover to cover, but really she just likes the aesthetic. The Daunt Books bag specifically from the Marylebone location? She needs you to know she shops at the original, not some basic branch location. I’m not judging because I literally have four different literary festival bags that I rotate based on which part of London I’m going to – we’re all performing something with our accessories, some performances are just more obvious than others.
Designer bags get really interesting from an anthropological perspective. The Chanel quilted bag owner is never who you’d expect – she’s usually not the wealthiest person in the room but the one who saved up longest for her “investment piece.” She probably has a spreadsheet tracking cost-per-wear (currently sitting at £4.23 and dropping), treats this bag better than most people treat their pets, and has very strong opinions about how the brand has gone downhill since Karl died. Will absolutely tell you all about this after two glasses of prosecco at any work function.
The Bottega Veneta Cassette girl is a completely different species. She works somewhere intimidatingly cool like Net-a-Porter or represents luxury brands, lives in some converted warehouse in East London that’s probably featured in Architectural Digest, and wears these minimal Scandinavian brands I haven’t heard of but know I’ll be seeing everywhere next season. Gets her hair done at one of those salons with no signage that costs more than my rent, drinks exclusively natural wine, and maintains this perfectly calibrated level of expensive-but-effortless that makes the rest of us look like we’re trying too hard.
The Celine devotee – and yes, she will correct you if you pronounce the accent – is still mourning the Phoebe Philo era and makes sure everyone knows her bag is “from when Phoebe was still there.” She works in something design-related, lives in North London, has extremely strong opinions about typography, and her flat contains exactly one statement piece of furniture that cost more than a decent used car.
Meanwhile, the Louis Vuitton Neverfull woman is basically keeping the entire city of London functioning. She’s juggling some high-pressure sales job with an equally demanding social calendar, and that massive bag contains solutions to everyone else’s problems – spare phone chargers, paracetamol, safety pins, probably snacks, definitely receipts from the last six months of her life. She organizes the office Christmas party, plans hen dos, always knows the best restaurant for any occasion, and gets her hair blown out religiously every two weeks. The bag has to be enormous because she’s essentially carrying around a mobile life-support system.
The Loewe Puzzle owner is the dark horse that nobody sees coming. Appears quiet and understated, works in tech or finance or something equally unexpected for someone with such good taste, holidays in places I’ve never heard of and comes back with stories about befriending local artists or discovering hidden jazz clubs. Her Instagram grid is minimalist perfection but her Stories are chaotic and hilarious. You want to hate her for being so effortlessly cool but can’t because she remembers your birthday and gives gifts that are somehow exactly what you didn’t know you needed.
Vintage designer bag women are my people, even though I’m constantly outbid by mysterious eBay accounts that I’m convinced are actually fashion museums in disguise. She’s spent hours scrolling through Vestiaire Collective, can tell you the exact season and provenance of her ’90s Fendi Baguette or ’70s Gucci bamboo handle, gets genuinely emotional about certain archived pieces. Either works in fashion or desperately wants to, knows more about runway history than most fashion journalists, lives surrounded by towering piles of magazine back issues that are definitely a fire hazard but she can’t bring herself to throw away.
High street bags tell their own stories. Mango or COS usually means university lecturer or works in media, lives in some gentrified South London area, wears really excellent glasses and statement jewelry from independent designers she discovered on Instagram. River Island or the dearly departed Topshop suggests someone younger, first or second proper job, sharing a flat in Zone 4, carefully researching her eventual designer bag purchase with the dedication of someone writing a dissertation.
The most terrifying category is the No Bag Woman. How does she exist with just a phone and card in her pocket? Where are her keys? Her lipstick? Her emergency snacks? This woman has transcended normal human anxieties about being prepared for every possible scenario, which either makes her enlightened or possibly not human. I’m keeping my options open.
Looking back at my own handbag evolution is basically like flipping through a personal development timeline – the fake designer bag from Camden Market at 16 (aspirational but broke), the massive Cath Kidston tote at university (trying to seem quirky and English-rose-y), the structured work bag for my first proper job (attempting professionalism despite having no clue what I was doing), the succession of increasingly expensive but still not quite designer bags throughout my twenties (financially questionable but fashion-adjacent). Now I’ve got this whole rotation system – one actually expensive bag for important meetings, one practical everyday bag, and approximately fifteen canvas totes from various events that I can’t throw away because they “might be useful someday.”
What would Emma say my collection reveals about me? Probably that I’m still figuring out who I want to be, still balancing practicality with aspiration, still crafting the version of myself I present to the world. Which honestly feels accurate.
That’s what makes this whole handbag anthropology thing so fascinating – it’s not really about money or status or even fashion knowledge. It’s about how we choose to show up in the world, what we think is important enough to carry around with us every day, what story we’re trying to tell about ourselves through these weird functional accessories we’ve all decided are essential.
Next time you’re standing in yet another Pret queue (because that’s where half of London spends their lives apparently), take a look at the bags around you. Each one represents someone’s personal history, their background, their aspirations, their anxieties about running out of lip balm or not having the right cables when their phone dies. Just maybe try not to stare too obviously, or you’ll end up like me last week pretending to admire someone’s Gucci bag while actually trying to confirm my theory about women who carry that specific style. She totally fit the profile, by the way. Frighteningly accurately.
Brooklyn’s a 24-year-old content creator from Austin who lives where fashion meets TikTok. She covers Gen Z trends, viral styles, and the messy reality of making fashion content for a living. Expect energy, honesty, and unapologetic fun.
