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In the fateful month of February 1955, Gabrielle Chanel presented a bag that would forever define the house of Chanel, even sans logo! (It was Mr. Lagerfeld who thought to apply the interlocking Cs to the bag; more on that below.) The exterior was quilted wool, inspired by the saddle blankets at the horse races Gabrielle frequented. Now the bags come in a variety of leathers and the interiors are a burgundy color, allegedly the same shade as the uniforms Gabrielle wore in the convent. (The chains on which the nuns’ keys jangled was another point of reference, inspiring the ingenious chain strap that converted a shoulder bag into a crossbody.) The front lock, now dubbed by the house as the Mademoiselle, is an elegant rectangular closer. In 2005, the 2.55 was famously re-issued by Karl Lagerfeld, who then watched the heritage handbag ascend to It-bag greatness.
The grand dame of It bags really needs no introduction. She’s the Birkin, named after Jane Birkin, and she came onto the scene in 1984. A bag of a very different variety features in the Birkin’s origin story: In the early ’80s, Ms. Birkin found herself sitting next to Jean-Louis Dumas, then-chief executive of Hermès, on an Air France flight from Paris to London. It’s said that after the contents of her straw bag spilled during an exchange with Dumas, the two set about designing Birkin’s ideal accessory on a paper bag provided by the airline for nauseous passengers. Little did they know, fashion history was being doodled that day. Rumors about the waiting lists are true; so too are reports that a Birkin is as good an investment as pure gold. Famously, Ms. Birkin sported her Birkin with travel stickers on it, but most lucky owners of the bag today—which can reach a staggering $400,000 depending on which exotic skin you choose and the size of the diamond you’d like encrusted in the hardware—likely wouldn’t dream of defacing the handbag with their own sticky additions. Nevertheless, it all began with Ms. Birkin’s uncalculated chic.
My first pair of Doc Martens was not Doc Martens at all. They were low-top faux Dr. Martens from Fayva (a Payless equivalent in the Party City shopping center in my Long Island hometown) with a pleathery finish and sole stitching a twinge too orange to be authentic. Real Docs were too expensive, around $100 even then, which was more than my parents wanted to invest in my still-growing feet. Still, circa fifth grade in the mid-’90s, the knockoffs enabled my best friend, Chrissy, and I to copy her older sister, Heather, a sophisticated ninth-grader who wore her Doc oxfords with faded jeans and flannels unbuttoned to reveal a bodysuit underneath. Our not-Docs sent a signal-flare to society: babyish Keds and dainty ballet flats were dead to us. We were angsty tweens now and had the lug sole footwear to prove it.
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