I wish I could be the type of woman who grabs her clutch and goes on her way. I wish I could be the type of woman who, when asked for a lighter, can immediately and effortlessly pull one from my purse. But I’m not. I’m the type of woman who has a purse inside of a purse and I’m still not sure why. I’m the type of woman who will tell you that yes, I probably do have a lighter you could use, just give me a minute to fish around and – no, that’s chapstick. I swear it’s in here somewhere, it – okay, no, that’s the same chapstick. If you would just – here it is! – Oh. That’s a curler. From the curler set I have never used on my hair.
The way you store your items can say a lot about you. The clutter in your room points to the clutter in your life and the state of your car is a window to your mind. Me? I have an entire closet worth of clothes in my back seat. A shocking number of Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee cups obscure the floor of my ‘94 Buick Regal.
In high school, it was popular for girls to dig through other girls’ pocketbooks. I’m not sure why, but I recall the intense anxiety that I felt whenever someone asked to snoop through my purse. I would say yes and then pray I got rid of that half of a pop tart I threw in there two Sundays ago.
It’s been awhile since my purse has been snooped through, which is why I dumped my purse out for you, Internet. We can parse my life together.
Tweezers: Every 5 weeks I would drive to a mall 30 minutes away because I liked the eyebrow threading place better than the one housed at the mall 15 minutes closer. The former brow beauticians were kind, quick and offered to rub lotion on the places on your body that just had hair torn out by the root. The latter ladies often left their kiosk abandoned for 10 minutes at a time, gave me a month long “OH MY GOD, I AM VERY SURPRISED AT WHAT YOU ARE SAYING RIGHT NOW” look and did not even offer to gently and lovingly rub baby lotion on my mutilated eyebrows. If I’m paying you $12 and giving you a $3 to $5 tip, the least you can do is offer to massage my freakin’ eyebrow region. And yes, I realize exactly how suburban, spoiled and disgusting that complaint is.
Now that I’ve matured and realized how poor I am, I only get my eyebrows threaded every 10 or 12 weeks. I maintain my eyebrows intermittently with tweezers. A lady tip you learn yourself is that you always need to keep a pair of tweezers with you wherever you go in case you find an errant hair. God forbid we let others know we’re mammals.
Revlon Colorstay: I was a Clinique junkie for years and thought it was well worth it to drop a cool $65 on concealer, foundation and powder about 7 times a year. Two weeks ago I bought the exact same formula in the exact same shade from the exact same Clinique counter and it was several shades too dark. Since it is biologically impossible for me to get any paler than my nearly transluscent Irish skin already is, it must have been either an old or mislabeled bottle. Running low on time before work and refusing to be the type of person who walks outside with an orange face and a white neck, I made my way to my personal Mecca, CVS. Which is how I rediscovered drugstore make up. Revlon Colorstay is, unarguably, a BOMB purchase for its price. The staying power isn’t revolutionary, but it works well enough for me to continue buying it to save hundreds of dollars a year.
Make up brush: A make up tip that was kept secret from me for years is that you should never use that white pad that comes with powder compacts. I recently traded in that little, white pad for an actual make up brush and it makes a world of difference. The make up is applied more evenly, it feels more airy on my face, and my make up doesn’t get caked down with the oil from my t-zone that transfers from the pad to the powder. Gross — I know. Oily ladies, holla at me, I know you have the same problem.
Fish antibiotics: I don’t want to talk about it, but I swear I’m carrying it around for a reason.
Loose gum: I am a disgusting individual. I can’t tell you the number of times gum has gotten lost in my black abyss of a purse, only to be found bound to 37 cents worth of change and some strands of hair.
A pad of paper: I’m a blogger, of course I carry around a pad of paper. What happens if I have a very important thought and forget to blog about it? Carrying around a pad of paper ensures that all of my important thoughts will make their way to the Internet where they belong. God forbid I have a thought and don’t share it with thousands. I blog, therefore I am.
Pictured is the first page. I wrote it in a parking lot of a grocery store, scribbled it out and wrote the F-word in giant letters. Believe me, that one word was more intelligent than everything else penned on that page.
Nail polish: You never know when you can give yourself a manicure. I’m a little disappointed in myself with this display of purse polish; normally I carry around a base, at least one color and a top. Pictured here is Essie’s Eternal Optimist, which is a nice neutral for fair skin, and Hard Candy’s Matte-ly in Love. Dudes. Dudes. DUDES. Get on the matte train. One quick drying coat over your nails turns any common, shiny manicure into a cool, modern, flat look.
My dog’s rabies tag: 3 months ago, with two dogs in the backseat and my cat on my 8 year old brother’s lap, I made my way to the rabies clinic to get my animals up-to-date with their shots. On the way back, my cat pooped all over my brother. All. Over. My. Brother. It was hard not to laugh between the gags, but I suspect in a moment of feces-induced panic to find paper towels, I threw this rabies tag into my purse.
Not highlighted: the numerous bobby pins and hair clips, the loose change and dollar bills (why waste all of that time using the wallet that is already inside your purse?), a second purse within my purse (INCEPTION), a bottle of water, a copy of Mary Roach’s Stiff, several different kinds of cosmetics that either get used daily or not at all, sunglasses, a busted eyelash curler and a piece of one earring.
What’s in your purse, Gigglers? How accurate do you think it represents your life?