This is a canvas tote. Look at it, you can see it right? It’s canvas. And it’s a tote. I’m going to assume you know what a tote is. Some people carry supermarket totes, presumably to advertise how ecologically woke their preferred supermarket is. Other people carry vintage record shop totes. This displays that they not only like music, but also insist on awkward antique formats. Others carry totes featuring slogans of the sort you might find on your mum’s Facebook page – sentimental truisms so profoundly useless the waste of words actually contribute to their carbon footprint.
This tote, on the other hand, is plain. It’s in a sort of sandy colour and it costs £325.
It’s from Visvim and is available over at End. I enjoy the absurdity of a £325 canvas tote. Especially the grammatical dexterity the retailer (in this case End) has to exhibit, in order to suggest £325 for a canvas tote sounds even mildly unstupid.
Of course, it’s not unusual for End to use flowery vocabulary to describe their wares. You know the sort of thing, dropping in ’embodying’, ‘ethos’ or ‘aesthetic’, when a much less grandiose word would suffice. And that’s the game, right. But even with this in mind there are still some choice moments in the description of this tote. “Constructed from a durable cotton blend and realised in neutral khaki“. Realised? REALISED? It’s a couple of squares of cloth with handles.
This is my favourite though: “… the bag… wears simple carry handles to round off the no-frills aesthetic.” This bag literally ‘wears’ its handles. Does a car wear its tires? Perhaps an iPhone wears its apps.
It’s ridiculous. But I kind of love it. If I’m going to spend £325 on a canvas tote, it better fucking wear its handles. At that price, I’d also expect it to be proficient in political debate and erotic massage.