What Are You Really Buying?

Souvenir shopping and my new favorite jacket 🧥

An adorable shopfront in Delft, Netherlands.

As I sipped my coffee last Saturday morning, I thumbed through the Cuyana catalog that had been sitting on my kitchen table.

My eyes gravitated towards the leather goods in citrusy colors, contrasted against a backdrop of turquoise hues. 

This photoshoot is making me drool, I thought to myself. It’s doing its job in making me want a leather bag in a bright coral color that is extremely seasonal and therefore not that practical. 

With that conscious thought quickly coming to mind, I skipped past the ideal of being the woman who has a bag for every season.

But then I saw the two leather phone bags they were featuring—the Concertina Phone Bag and the Easy Phone Tote—in classic, neutral colors. Oooh, I thought again, my interest piqued.

I pivoted to my phone so I could google the product details and look at more photos of them in action online. I quickly decided the Concertina was better, because it looked like it fit more and had more positive reviews.

My mind flashed back to our Europe trip two months back. This is the purse I wished I had, instead of the black Patagonia fanny pack I carried.

While the Patagonia served me well (it always does), there were days it felt too casual for my outfit or the occasion. Take my boyfriend’s birthday dinner on our last night in Amsterdam, for instance. I dressed in a midi black and gold knit sweater dress with my trusty pointy-toed black Marc Fisher boots, feeling ready for the five-star place I was taking him. But when I slipped on my fanny pack as we were leaving the Airbnb, it instantly downplayed the chicness of my outfit. 

I’ve become accustomed to the miniature bag mindset over the past few years, and now find it cumbersome to carry anything bigger. I especially love a small bag while traveling so I don’t feel weighed down. The Cuyana Concertina bag would’ve been the perfect solution. I envisioned myself strolling the cobblestone streets of Copenhagen with that on my person, thumbing its beautiful pebbled leather, instead of the casual nylon fabric of my fanny.

The price point alone stopped me in my tracks. I’m not one to impulse buy, especially when it comes to online purchases. I keep tabs open in my browser, sometimes not coming back to them for weeks, if at all. I usually forget about them. But this phone bag felt like the perfect combination of practical and chic, and therefore almost necessary.

It was then then I recalled this post from

Leslie Stephens

at

Morning Person

. “What would I really be buying with this bag?” I asked myself.

The answer was instant. I would be buying the image of the international traveler I aspire to be—dressed chicly yet practically for every occasion, slightly up-leveled from my daily wear here in Portland because it is Europe after all. The motherland of so many of our fashion trends.

But why does that matter? Why do I hold that ideal for myself? I wouldn’t want the leather bag if I were going on an outdoorsy-vacation. The Patagonia would be perfect, in that case. That's just it then—context is key.¹

I ultimately held back because I'm not someone who buys a fancy leather bag on impulse, and the trip had passed. Instead, I pulled out my laptop and typed these words as an ode to the purse, serving as a bookmark should I choose to reevaluate it in the future.

—

There's something vastly different about buying something for a specific occasion versus buying something to commemorate that occasion. 

Whenever I travel out of the country, I like to get myself a souvenir (or several) as a way to remember my travels. When I studied abroad in Italy during my senior year of college, my first time ever visiting Europe, I came home having purchased a second suitcase to accommodate all my souvenirs. Granted, a lot of them were gifts for my family, but the majority of things were for myself—a shot glass and a postcard from each of the 8 countries I visited, a pair of teal Italian leather gloves, and a smattering of art prints I bought at street markets, to name a few. (I'm so grateful to my past self for passing on the studded Valentino heels I tried on at the airport the day I flew back to America; I nearly convinced myself I needed them, likely out of sadness to be leaving Italy behind.)

While I've since outgrown shot glasses and postcards as mementos (I should’ve known that blindly taking that recommendation from someone else likely meant it wasn’t authentic to me), clothing and art still speak to me. 

The cutest food shop in Copenhagen’s Nørrebro neighborhood.

On our recent trip to Amsterdam and Copenhagen, I kept my eyes peeled for cute shops. To my dismay, I didn't stumble upon many in Amsterdam. The best shopping I found was in the neighboring town of Delft, where my eyes couldn't get their fill of the storybook shopfronts. I snuck away into a clothing boutique while my partner waited outside; there I spotted a beautiful latte brown chore jacket from the Danish brand Mads Nørgaard. There was only one and it sadly wasn’t my size, but I took a picture to remember it since I figured I could check out the brand's flagship store when I visited Copenhagen the following week.

Upon arriving in Copenhagen empty-handed, I was very pleased to find that our Airbnb was located on quite possibly one of the best shopping streets in the city. My heartbeat quickened with excitement as we strolled along its cobblestone lining our first afternoon there. My head turned left and right to gaze at all the storefronts, and back again, as if I were watching a tennis match. I resolved to dedicate some time to checking them all out at some point later in the week.

On our last day there I finally set out, hopeful that something would strike me enough to purchase. Having gone into a handful of shops and seen nothing that inspired me, I was starting to feel a little hopeless. Time was running out. 

I wandered into an art shop of some sort, the prints in its windows catching my eye. The selection was small, but I was enjoying perusing what they had to offer, thumbing through the different prints like files in a drawer. At some point, I struck up a conversation with the man working in the back. I’m not sure if it was he or I who spoke first—I seem to recall asking him a question—but in our conversation I learned that all the art in the store was produced via linocut, and that this frigid week we were having was uncharacteristically cold for Copenhagen this time of year.

While our chat probably wasn't more than 5-10 minutes long, it was enough to convince me to purchase the tennis player print I'd been eyeing. I was drawn to it due to being a tennis player myself, naturally, and I appreciated the almost undetectable nod to its Danish origin, the caption reading quite simply “Serv” (Danish for “serve," if you couldn't guess 😉). As he packaged up my print in bubblewrap and we bid farewell, I felt satisfied to have found something.

With a little more time to spare, I stepped into a chic-looking clothing boutique a few doors down. The saleswoman warmly greeted me in Danish; I fumbled hello back in English, my shyness rearing its head when greeted in a language that isn't my own. But I had nothing to worry about, as she seamlessly switched to English and we chatted like old friends as I rifled through the clothing racks. Then I spotted it—the chore jacket I'd seen in Delft! I excitedly told her how I’d discovered the jacket there but they didn't have my size; she explained to me that due to the small square footage of their shop, they only kept one of each item hanging, so the Delft store was likely the same case. That just goes to show you how valuable it can be to talk with a salesperson!

She brought out two sizes for me to try on, and fortunately one of them was a winner. We gabbed for a while longer as she meticulously wrapped my coat in tissue paper, while rattling off recommendations for good food and other shopping streets. She even went so far as to write her suggestions on a postcard for me, despite me telling her it was our last night and we likely wouldn’t have time to take her up on them. (You bet I saved this postcard for next time, though.) I walked out of there feeling like I'd won the lottery, both with my jacket that was meant-to-be, and conversation-with-a-local gold.

Donning my new Danish jacket the week we got home.

When I reflected on my experience later, it dawned on me—would I have felt as compelled to purchase the art print if I’d stumbled into the boutique first? Would I have even gone into the art shop? It was like my subconscious knew that the art print wasn't exactly the souvenir I was looking for. I’ll admit that I bought it partially because I wanted something to show for the trip.

I also think that I wouldn’t have bought it if it hadn't been for my conversation with the friendly shopkeeper. I felt more invested in the art as he explained to me the technique of linocut and that this artist in particular was a woman (yes to supporting female artists!). He showed me all her different tennis-related pieces, some of which I wouldn't have seen if it weren't for him. I appreciated that this shop acted as a collective of sorts, the fellow linocut artists helping to promote each other’s work.

What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good story and a good conversation.

One of my most cherished possessions is this beautiful, handmade beach tote I found in Mexico City over five years ago. I met the artist, Montserrat of Muyita Mia, at a Mother’s Day makers’ market and struck up a conversation with her and her partner in the most heartfelt Spanglish. Her English wasn't very good, nor was my Spanish, but I was able to pull enough out of my high school Spanish memory bank to communicate with her and learn that she spent a dozen hours making each bag by hand. We were about the same age, yet I looked up to her in awe as I heard what dedication she poured into her craft. Every time I look at my bag, it brings me joy and I'm reminded of the special connection, however brief, we shared.

My Muyita Mia tote.

So what is it I'm really buying then, when I look for souvenirs abroad? 

I think it’s the memories—the story of the hunt, or the connection I made in finding these items. Artifacts of the people and place I’m leaving behind.

I never know what exactly I'm looking for, but I’ll know it when I see it.

---

Tell me, do you have a favorite souvenir? A thrill-of-the-hunt story? I’m all ears!

---

1. I’m thinking about writing on this topic more (why we choose to wear the things we do) - would you be interested?