Embracing the Murse

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man, regardless of fashion sense, staunch enthusiasm for preparedness, or rigid will to ignore social convention, may not reasonably endeavor, by any acceptable standard, however alternatively framed with respect to history or tradition, to carry a bag in ordinary society, for in so doing, his appearance, mannerisms, and movement so closely resemble that of the opposite sex that the humor harvested by ridiculing him never seems to lose its flavor. In modern times, many lines can now be crossed that were, in previous eras, impassable to one or the other gender. Of course, the male practice of carrying a purse is hardly novel. And yet, in the annals of social more, there seems to have been a point at which the paraphernalia of the average guy was deemed pervasively negligible or less burdensome than that of the average gal. For me, the appeal is one of utility. As a young man, I found myself constantly forgetting things; I happen to have been “cursed” with a somewhat uncooperative memory and a mind prone to wandering, neither of which is conducive to being prepared, comfortable, or prompt.
What’s more, I do admit to having a somewhat meticulous disposition. And so, the idea of having a side-kick to tote stuff around in and to keep a reasonable level of comfort in different situations has a lot of appeal. How annoying is it to have chapped lips and no lip balm, or to find yourself without earplugs in the middle of a high school assembly in a gymnasium where the chamber of cheering voices and blasting music is enough to make your eardrums bleed? And what about that supremely irritating sliver of apple rind or popcorn kernel embedded near the base of a molar, and not a strand of clean dental floss for miles? Of course, I find myself at the crossroads of convention. Were it socially acceptable for a man to carry a purse, I should be completely at ease in my partiality. But of course, there is no such convention, and as previously mentioned, derisive intolerance continues to be healthy and prevalent.

In my own life, carrying a bag inevitably summons a roll of the eyes, a shaking of the head, or both from a best friend who views it as so emasculating that as long as I bear this coquettish accoutrement purporting so authentic a semblance of womanhood, in the world of beleaguering comradeship, as they say, all bets are off, and the masculine harassment that ensues is acute, to be sure. A guy who brings along anything besides a wallet or whatever might otherwise fit in his pockets just isn’t tolerated to avoid a volley of mockery that seems to go on indefinitely from one occasion to the next. Were I to go out with a bag at my side, I believe the first words to drop from my best friend’s lips, besides the immediate tisk of disappointment, would be any of the following, marked by a distinct air of comical smugness:

• “Do you need to powder your nose before we leave?"
• “I’m not so sure that matches your outfit, at least not your shoes.”
• “So you’re not gonna attempt to appear straight, then?”
• “Hey, seriously, nice accessorizing.”
• “So are there two Mrs. Moyas now, or are you still miss?”
• “I don’t know which is worse, this or a fanny pack.”
• “Dude, you are the next Top Model.”
• “You know, you can fit a few tampons, lipstick, and your Prada wallet in something much smaller.”
• “Hey what’s your favorite Bette Midler song?”
• “Should we meet up later, after you get your nails done?”
• “Dude, if I had known, I would’ve brought my Gucci bag and we could’ve gone to the outlets.”
• “Hey, you remember that date you were telling me about? What was his name?”
• “It’s good to see you aren’t ashamed of your transsexuality.”
• “Hey, you didn’t tell me you were a friend of Dorothy. What else don’t I know?”
• “It’s amazing how a single addition to an otherwise normal ensemble announces with total certainty, I have a vagina.”
• “You know, you don’t have to be like a woman to like men.”
• “I swear, if androgyny were an art, you’d be Rembrandt.”
• “Dude, yer gay.”

Despite the size of the bag or however little it may resemble a lady’s purse, I find it a potent propellant to the wit of just about anyone of my acquaintance. My own mother occasionally refers to my “man-bag,” and the tone of which turn of phrase, though she may intend no injury to my pride, still seems at least moderately jocund. A close circle of my own colleagues offered the term man-purse, or murse, which calls to mind a Season 6 episode of Seinfeld called “The Doorman,” in which Kramer and Frank Costanza have their dueling portmanteaus in referring to the male-targeted support undergarment as either the “manzier” or the “bro.” It also brings to mind a Season 9 episode called “The Reverse Peephole,” in which Jerry makes use of J. Peterman’s “European carry all.” Unfortunately, these endearing comedic parallels only seem to further enhance the derisive tendencies at work—however I might posture myself or attempt to downplay what appears so conspicuous to the general population—by providing my friends a broader base of analogous humor.

“Embrace the purse,” said Sally, a friend and colleague whose energetic advocacy and youthful wisdom inspires great trust and an almost poetic individuality. I’m inclined to follow her aberrant directive, despite any objection from my other compatriots. And yet, I still find myself secretly transferring important items to my pockets and leaving the murse in the car. Is there no recourse for the modern heterosexual male who enjoys having convenient access to personals? Some might say yes, but at the same time, classify said male as metrosexual, a newfangled cultural stereotype that includes modern straight men with keen aesthetic sensibilities and who tend to be fastidious with respect to hygiene and lifestyle. It seems that social evolution has me at an impasse, to which only one point remains: do I care?

Yes and no. I’m left with a state of comfort that depends in part on setting and society. And yet, as much depends on the bag itself. For a while, I thought I was content with the Pacsafe metro bag, though the word metro seemed suspiciously euphemistic. Not that I should be deterred by the name, but ultimately, I found myself wishing it could hold larger stuff, particularly paperwork, something that typically leads to the use of a business brief of some kind. And for a while, I owned and carried various briefcases, all of which seemed a little too professional for ordinary settings, namely any besides traversing the distance from doorstep to car and car to office. In fact, for a while, I carried both the metro bag and a briefcase, the metro bag reserved for smaller things, like wallet, phone, camera, coupons, and so on, and the briefcase reserved for office-related items, such as paperwork, flash drives, and the like. This got old quickly; carrying two bags seemed to make even less sense than carrying one. Plus, due to its size, the metro bag seemed even more like a purse than others I had used, and thus was more inflammatory with respect to the aforementioned derision of family and friends. For a time, it seemed the answer was a bag of moderate size with broad functionality and an almost symbiotic vein that seems to harmonize the casual with the professional. I’m speaking, of course, of the messenger bag. Now, the top flap does present a greater challenge to accessing the main compartment than the average briefcase, which can typically be accessed through some kind of buttoned or zippered top opening. But this seemed a fair trade-off next to the stylistic fusion and universality enjoyed in the effort to simplify one’s lifestyle. I wrestled with the style and color for a while before coming to the realization that black is simply too common. That might sound silly coming from a guy with a professed desire not to stand out, but just as I don’t care for being lampooned, nor do I prefer to be a drone, a carbon copy of every other male fashion robot that fills the pages of a department store catalog. For a while, I settled on a really nice messenger bag made by Lowepro with an alternating pattern of brown and off-white.

At length, however, I came back to the question which had preoccupied me for some time: what about a backpack? In truth, I had tried to use a backpack several times. For all its convenience in the freedom of movement it provides, beyond things like hiking, camping, or schooling, if the murse seemed too feminine, the backpack seemed almost too adolescent, though it’s certain that few are likely to ridicule a guy for carrying a backpack, whereas carrying anything remotely resembling a purse means the gloves come off, socially speaking, and any and all raillery are fair game. Then, one evening as I was doing a little electronic “window shopping,” I happened upon a backpack in the same quasi-professional style and color of the messenger bag I was already using. Simply put, it is Lowepro’s backpack from the same family of bags known as the Factor series. Oddly enough, it does include a top flap. And it’s wonderful, combining the styling and utility of the traditional urban messenger bag with that of the dual-compartment backpack. Okay, I had better stop right here, lest I go on to sound even more like some ridiculous web-fomercial or one of those catalog ads I would so wish to contradict. Let me simply say, I plan to make full use of this new “murse,” which, despite the ridicule I may endure on occasion, bears no connection to my gender or sexual orientation. Yes, I have all of my male equipment. Yes, I like women. Yes, I carry a murse. End of discussion. Well … sort of. Friends can sometimes be as unscrupulous in jest as enemies can in deceit. But I like to be prepared, and in the words of Sammy Davis, Jr., “I gotta be me.” And so I say, friends, Romans, countrymen, do your worst. If imitation be the sincerest form of flattery, what reverence awaits the walking punch line?