GUYS. I have some exciting news. I have systematically researched, hunted, and victoriously purchased a Mansur Gavriel bucket bag.
I don’t use the word hunted lightly here.
I have never understood the hunter’s instinct – that desire to lie in wait and then attack something – until I somehow stumbled upon the mansur gavriel instagram account. I started following them and their gorgeous buttery leather bucket bags started popping up more and more in my feed. I started screenshotting (is this a word?) all their instagrams and it wasn’t until I looked back through the pictures stored in my iphone and saw that the majority of them were random bucket bag instagrams that I realized I subconsciously NEEDED to figure out what this bag was all about.
The need to get to the bottom of this was all consuming. I started calling all their listed retailers on their website until I found one that claimed to get shipments of one bag at a time, and as soon as it hits the shelf, it always immediately sell out. They thought that the mansur gavriel stork might be bringing one in the next week, but they couldn’t make promises.
I mean, how intriguing is that? They just get ONE at a time. And just like that, bam, it sells! This must be the bag of the season, the bag of the year, the bag of the century.
I demanded to be added to the wait list for the next bucket that would arrive and began to wonder how soon was too soon to call the store back to make sure they had “inslee” spelled correctly and that my phone number was accurate on the list.
I don’t think I have felt this strongly about a purchase since I HAD to have a tamagotchi in 6th grade and my mother and I followed the UPS truck on its route through our neihgborhood in an attempt to get our tamagotchi delivery before it even made it to our house.
Anyway, last night, I was suffering from a rare injury known as lifting the poland spring jug onto the water dispensing machine and I was wondering if I needed a prescription painkiller when the phone began to ring. Like a siren song I was drawn to answer it, unlike my standard practice of never answering my phone under any circumstances, and lo and behold, it was Pas de Deux calling to say that the bucket had landed.
THE BUCKET HAD LANDED.
I hobbled 15 blocks through the biting October cold, clutching at my poland spring jug back injury thinking of nothing but the bucket. I’m telling you guys, I was possessed.
Upon arrival in Pas de Deux, the chicest, most expensive store in the East Village I learned that the bucket had launched to its meteoric rise to fame thanks to Garance Dore. As soon as I heard that, I blacked out. The spasming back pain, the joy of knowing my illustration-fairy-godmother also loved this bag, and the proximity to so many canada goose floor length ski parkas and isabel marant booties was all too much.
The next thing I knew, I was being handed my credit card back and my brand new bucket all tucked away in a stylish pas de deux shopping bag printed with their elegant double peacock crest logo.
All in all, it was a magical night. One full of both extreme pain and extreme joy. Such is the life of the purse hunter.