a brief note
on the sartorial joy of the briefcase and feeling "important"
My love of briefcases was born out of a multilevel marketing scheme.
In the late 1980s, my grandmother gave me a pearlescent pink case with gold button snap feet. It had a strap. Inside was a plush white insulated lining and little compartments like shelves. And on the cover, in the bottom corner, a gold signature: Mary Kay.
Throughout my youth, my sister and I occasionally received these cases from Mary Kay, passed down by my grandmother’s friend who worked as a “senior consultant” for the makeup company. The cases’ interiors sometimes varied, with long lines of tube cutouts that once held a vast rainbow of lipsticks or selection of mascaras.
We used our Mary Kay cases for Barbie dolls and their many, many, many accessories. But then I began to realize its true potential.
I cut out the frivolous tubes and plastic pockets so I could fit Very Important Papers, such as my Very Important Novels. By this time I was in the fourth grade, and I was working on two stories: one about a serial killer that lived below the sidewalks of our elementary school and one about a couple of kids on a treasure hunt that involved crossing lava using jungle vines. These stories were (unfortunately) illustrated. But the case kept everything organized the way I needed: no. 2 pencils, colored pencils, a sheaf of lined paper, scraps of ideas.
The case was now charged with purpose. I felt important. I had a job, a drive, a mission to fulfill, and only I could do it. The case became a symbol of my own potential and worth among my peers. Artist! These two novels (each a whopping twenty pages or so) never went anywhere or amounted to anything after the spring of 1992, but I had completed them.
Even though I didn’t know the phrase at the time, I was learning how to be a human who wanted to leave behind a “body of work.”
Over the years, my school and career bags evolved from backpack (marbled notebooks! Love letters! Biology textbooks!) to my grandmother’s wooden plein air box (my snobby Criterion phase!) to structured women’s tote bags (my girl boss phase!) to backpacks again (a laptop! Pockets for all the tech chargers! Coffee shop meetings! Freelancing!)
But even though I’ve gone most of my life without holding one in my hands, I’ve always been drawn to the briefcase.
When it comes to personal style, everyone has gut instincts — when you tune out all the noise, you know deep down what you like, what you want to wear, carry with you, and surround yourself with in your home and life.
I wish I had listened more to my instincts, but better late than never.
When one thinks of a briefcase, they’re probably thinking of the attaché: the rectangular hinged box with two separate compartments. These are sleek, hardbodied, usually made from a wood base. The locks, the lack of a strap…something you don’t just swing around or dump on the floor. A cultural symbol that brings to mind images of diplomatic officers and consulates, Downing Street, handcuffed mobsters, Don Draper, hedge fund managers dripping with money. In short: power.
From the last half of the 19th century and into the mid-20th century, you couldn’t just walk into a store and buy a briefcase. They were made for and used by businessmen (emphasis on -men), lawyers and the like. Then around the 1970s and really cresting in the 80’s, the briefcase became a fashion piece as well as a status symbol. Like all things fashion, we’re once again seeing a revival in designer briefcases, or at least we were right up to the pandemic. Today, the corporate office, cubicle culture, work life and workwear (most notably, the concept of the suit) are experiencing a seismic shift in the wake of the Great Resignation as well as a desire and a need for WFH structures. I’m okay with this overdue interrogation of all-things-work and what society needs to be content, no longer starved or burned out.
I also wonder what ripple effects this interrogation will have on historically work-related objects, pieces that have always symbolized and communicated one’s importance (read: class and wealth). I think the briefcase, what it has always represented, its value in determining who is important in any given room will slowly change over time. Perhaps it will no longer represent Very Important People but rather what someone has deemed Very Important Things to them, and to them only. It will become a beloved object that holds beloved objects.
This is how I use my briefcase.
When I strip away (as best as I can) the inherent power message of the briefcase, I’m left with another historic context: a time when we lived largely offline. An era of punched library cards and telephones with cords leisurely wrapped around our fingers, an hour dedicated to reading the weekday paper over toast and coffee, the thrill of handwritten correspondence, making plans in person with the wild faith that we would stick to them, unfolding an oversized map and ticking our route with a pencil, getting lost in a good novel, rumbling dice over a game board.
Like my childhood pink makeup case, my current briefcase is dedicated to the pursuit of offline joys and building a body of work, namely: writing and living. And it aesthetically reflects that. It’s not about power, but about time. Or if we want to Andre-Aciman this thought and push a bit further, it’s still power but not necessarily financial power; it’s the power of simply taking back our time.
This leads me to my own object of joy: my Ghurka.
One rule I adhere to when it comes to personal style is that I often try to buy objects that are used or vintage and then employ a bit of elbow grease or a tailor to customize them. There are some made-to-measure exceptions. I’ll talk more about the importance of vintage and the circular economy in a future post. But I bring it up here for two reasons:
Briefcases — well made ones — are expensive.
Well made briefcases will last generations and are relatively easy to find at vintage shops, online consigners and estate auctions in a nice condition and with a price tag that will make you feel like you just got away with something.
That was how I felt when I found my Ghurka Expediter No. 34.
Ghurka’s bags are handmade and designed to last, but they have an instant classic look. The Expediter No. 34 was originally introduced in 1979 and retailed for about $1,400. The quality is impeccable. They don’t make the Expediter line anymore (as far as I can tell?) and among all the collections they’ve released, it’s my favorite. I found mine for just under $300. It has slide out handles, a removable strap, a plaid interior main compartment with one leather interior pocket just big enough for a business card case or a bifold perhaps, and two snug pen columns. There are extremely subtle exterior pockets that run the full width of the briefcase on either side of the main zippered compartment, perfect for holding your magazine, passport, and newspaper.
I’m not a fan of waxed canvas or twill or modern nylon nor do I care for a portfolio shape — too soft for my taste (even the Expediter, worn with age, is flexible not starchy, but I forgive it because it’s so darn beautiful). Satchels or briefcases with latched exterior pockets are too bulky. I prefer slim, hard lines but a touch of the worn, a sense of earned ease with slight scuffs on the feet, a touch of story. When I notice someone else’s briefcase on a train or flight or in a shop, sitting at their feet or propped open on the table, and it’s clear that someone has loved that piece because it has slight scuffs or creases but has also been cared for, buffed and repaired, I want to know that story. I want to know where it’s been.
Ghurka’s medallion with its style name and serial number give my briefcase a feeling of ownership with a history I can read on its surface, and I like that. Even though it’s not very old compared to other heritage brands, the way it makes me feel is that I have a clear intention and sense of curation when it comes to carrying this piece.
There are always instructions for the care and feeding of your briefcase. In this busy age, though, I have to write it down on the calendar. At least once a year, apply a high-quality leather conditioner and gently buff the surface. They recommend wiping down the case’s interior once a month and allowing it to air dry. Not so successful in remembering this one. You should never see the interior of my car.
Anyway, I don’t care to match my bags to outfits but rather to function, which is why I am drawn to investing in two objects of the highest quality: a single compartment leather briefcase in a nice rich deep brown, and an Italian leather attaché. I have found one but am still on the hunt for the other. It’s not like I can’t go out and purchase an attaché right now. Of course I can. I’m lucky I can. But the most beautiful moment in any collection journey is that moment of discovery, of stumbling across something. The surprise of knowing 100% that it’s the one, the object that will bring you pleasure every day just by looking at it, let alone using it, something you can define and will in turn define you. The wait is worth weeks, even years.
What I’m reading: A Hedonist in the Cellar: Adventures in Wine by Jay McInerney
What I’m spinning: I’m Coming Home, Baby! by Mel Torme