Materialism

Yesterday, I bought this bag in a charity shop:

I just stumbled across it while last-minute present shopping and, at £4, even my student budget could stretch to this wonderful purchase. Inside my bag is a red notebook, and a dark blue purse, both patterned:

The red notebook is full of Potential. I also love how pretty all of these things are (pretty notebooks are my achilles heel), and I can’t wait to showcase this bag today.

Some would say that makes me material. I guess I would agree.

But then, I am currently wearing a black polka dot 50’s style dress that you can see me modelling here, aged 15 and talking about here. I was so eager to buy that dress, and so excited when I found it again, on sale.

There’s a picture of me modelling it in my bedroom, because I bought it, never even considering I could wear it in public. I didn’t have the confidence to think I could pull it off.

Now: Here I am. Dressed for public consumption, entirely happy with the way that I look, wearing a polka-dot dress I had once never dreamed would see public eyes. Confidence is one major difference between 15 year old me, and 20 year old me.

So this is where materialism become symbolism. Where a dress stands for much more than a stretch of fabric and buttons.

And where a bag that makes me happy is for something a little less superficial than it originally seems.