Let me tell you a story…
Most of us like stories. Personally, I love them, they give people, places and posessions context; they dig a little deeper, open up new worlds and give you a chance to learn and experience the richness that makes up the intricately interwoven tapestry that is our lives. Some people are enraptured by history, others love movies, all of these essentially encompass stories, be they fictional or not. This story takes us from Lagos, to London, onto Rajasthan in India, a quick pitstop at Warwick university (love you alma mater) and then to Kuala Lumpur, not necessarily in that order and with a few return trips in between. The everyday stories I enjoy encountering are often heard and told through objects. This isn’t a story about materialism, in fact the object itself is immaterial, it merely acts as a portal to the opening chapter that hooks you in.
This story takes us from Lagos, to London, onto Rajasthan in India, a quick pitstop at Warwick university (love you alma mater) and then to Kuala Lumpur, not necessarily in that order and with a few return trips in between.
This tale concerns a python skin bag. Said bag, amongst a few others from the same collection, had been gifted to my late-mother by her sister back in the 70s. My mum had used one of these bags till the bitter end (like mother, like daughter) as evidenced by the much-loved, battered beauty I found in her wardrobe one day (this hoarding behaviour is unfortunately a Chong family trait, sigh).
Myself, many decades later, discovered this collection and immediately fell in love with its timelessness, its versatility, its oblique quality, the mere fact that many of these bags were in pristine condition after close to 40 years spoke to that. I love that in the same way that my mum had worn and loved and woven that battered bag into her life, I was now giving them a new lease of life, incorporating them into my everyday, carting around my essentials, giving them a tale or many to tell.
This bag has come everywhere with me: from my first internship with a legendary shoe couturier who educated me on their value and was hilariously shocked at my 17-year old self nonchalantly swinging it around on the tube, to more places a python skin bag should probably never go (namely my university student club, the opposite of sophistication, eek)!
Bedtime at the wedding in India on the last night of celebrations. Each night we would come home to a beautiful present from our hosts, the cutest!
In the midst of this small little bag traversing continents and clubs it began to accumlate stories and start conversations that wove people together within the fabric of life’s ebb and flow. I was in India for a wedding and travelling with one of my best friends when our guide took us to an incredible pashmina shop containing every colour, texture and style imaginable.
The owner knew his stuff and taught us about the craft and composition of an authentic, well made pashmina, which of course, the fashion-geek in me was absolutely loving. Suddenly he noticed the little python skin bag I was carrying and conversation turned to its origins and craftsmanship. Having found mutual bonding ground (namely our obsesssion for fabric, materials etc.) we started having a real conversation which went beyond small talk. It was amazing to be able to bond with this lovely Kashmiri guy, sipping chai tea in the Northern region of India. He opened up to us about the long distance relationship he was in with his fiancé who was still living in Kashmir which then led us to speak about all the apps anyone with a smartphone in a long distance relationship knows all too well! It was so funny to find intimate talking points with someone who had relatable experiences from a completely different walk of life (I was also in an LDR at the time). The bag had bridged the conversation, one of many it had started over the course of our adventures together.
Every colour, texture and style imaginable…
The colours of our hotel wardrobe in Udaipur: borrowed, pre-loved, scoured from a vintage store rail and kindly donated by dear friends and family.
Fast forward to one summer later and a full circle incident occurred when I was in Malaysia with some of my family. It was back in Kuala Lumpur eating mangosteens around my auntie’s kitchen table when the bag was finally seen again by its gifter. This was the same aunt who had bought the bags for my mum back in the 70s, and they originated from Lagos, Nigeria where she and her family were living and working at the time. She laughed as she recognised the bag which had literally crossed continents and decades to reach that moment resting on her kitchen table and I guess could only have imagined the path it must have taken to get there. Its prescence opened up conversations about life in Lagos, my cousin’s childhood as they then moved to Hong Kong and their eventual settling back in Kuala Lumpur. Who would have known that so much history, love, movement and family intricacies could be contained within this small, crossbody bag? All these stories provoked by that one object, crafted with care and attention.
Through a nostalgic lens, that coat you love, the bracelet you inherited from your grandmother, the shoes you wore on your 21st birthday are not just objects, they contain life. To get a little philosophical (literally) Heidegger wrote about the ‘fourfold’ and how objects can often contain mini worlds and microcosmic universes as when you use something manmade you imbue it with life. The perfect balance of dwelling within the fourfold which refers to the earth, the sky (the beyond or the future), mortals and the divinities is found by being aware of all four; in other words the past and present, the future, our humanity and finally the divine, whatever that may mean to you. Treasuring craft, provoking memory and encompassing both the living and eternal is what that python skin bag did (and may continue to do if I pass it onto my unborn daughter)!
If this story was to have a moral, which it doesn’t need to have, it would be to invest wisely. In this day and age, not many items that we buy would be able to tell a story four decades later and beyond. So maybe this story is in some ways about anti-materialism, slow fashion (as opposed to fast) and how something can only tell a story if it was made to last and withstand the passage of time. Heirloom items and generational dressing inherently require excellent quality. More on this in chapter two…
Bisous for now,
P.S: I am not an advocate for the use of exotic skins in fashion, however my brief philosophy with vintage fur/skins is that if they’re not being used in the modern day then any suffering was entirely futile.