Everywhere I turn, there it is... staring at me... taunting me.
It wants me to buy it, it screams at me to buy it.
I hate you Cole Haan, you suck.
One little ad showing a whole way of life (ripped jeans, comfy shirt, comfy shoes, and THAT BAG!!! It pops up wherever I google, or facebook or read the news online. It stalks me, it knows that I am weak, that eventually I’ll obsess myself into an ulcer at the chance that this could be the “perfect bag” that so eludes me.
I know that if I bought you, you wouldn’t make my job any less tolerable, or my life any less easy. You wouldn’t find me at casual cocktail parties leaning against a wall looking so very cool that caused people to just throw money at me to attend casual cocktail parties to lean against a wall looking cool... or doing anything else other than what I currently do.
I would not exude spirited sophistication. I would most likely resent you after a while, you are so expensive, and I would feel compelled to cram your rich woodbury milled nubuck guts with ramen noodle soup, band-aids, and hands full of pilfered OTC pharmaceuticals from the company medicine cabinet. I would weep when the travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer (that I only use to pretend that I actually care not to spread germs throughout the land) leaks and ruins your vibrant new color. I would feel guilty for spending so much on your soft unlined construction, enough money to feed a family of 60 in third world countries.
I’m seeking a restraining order against you Cole Haan Raleigh Whipstitch tote.