Saleema Nawaz: All my precious bags have had enough of this pandemic.

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Thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic, styles have changed. Athleisure is king, and old fashion staples have fallen by the wayside. High heels. Underwired bras. Jeans. Many of us may appear less polished than in the Before Times, but at least we are more comfortable.

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Sometimes I look longingly at the row of three-inch heels and boots lined up along the top shelf of my closet and wish I had a place to wear them, but my feet, at least, aren’t complaining.

Handbags, on the other hand, are an accessory that I miss since I stopped having anywhere to go. You don’t need to bring much if you just walk around the block.

I have many beautiful wallets, some new, many saved, and some inherited. (The actual number cannot be disclosed, in the interest of the longevity of the marriage.) Tramp bags. Crossbody bags. Clutches Wallets A Longchamp bag. A colorful plaid tweed bag. A felt bag from Italy. A really lovely set of lightweight leather handbags from Montreal based m0851, before they banned me from attending their annual sample sale.

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Shortly before the pandemic, I bought myself a giant Madewell carry bag, suitable for a full day of coffee travel on a laptop without having to stop at home. But I was only able to use it for two weeks before everything shut down. Since March 2020, my Hershel floral print fanny pack has had more action than any other bag I own.

It makes life simpler in a way, staying home. It used to be a bit of a hassle to transfer all the essentials from one bag to another. But it still saddens me to see all my beautiful bags gathering dust. They were not made to stay at home, day after day. They want to go out into the world, see and be seen, travel to new places … although it is also possible that I am projecting.

Sometime last spring, I did something hopeful and illogical: I bought another bag. An adorable little bucket bag in three shades of grainy raspberry leather, with a twist closure and an extendable strap that converts from bag to crossbody with a clever set of clasps. Elegant and small, important as any bag I carry is always filled to the max.

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“It’s my bag of misconception,” I announced to my family, confusing them. My idea was that this beautiful bag would convince me, an introvert who works from home and with great aversion to risk, to venture again after more than a year of being indoors. While I might be reluctant to expose myself, a purse’s agenda is to go places, and preferably somewhere more exciting than the grocery store.

During the summer my beautiful new bucket bag accompanied me the few times I got to park outings and have a drink with friends in the patios. And the bag, dare I say, was happy.

But on a cold night out on the patio in late October, I realized that I should have socialized more while the weather was warmer. The cold was getting fast and everyone’s schedules were getting busier. I wish I had felt comfortable faster. The bag was not entirely satisfied. It felt like it had just begun.

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Then I was eagerly awaiting my son’s vaccination, my threshold for loosening personal restrictions. Just a few weeks ago, I imagined that by now I could be going to people’s houses, or to a matinee in a nearly empty movie theater, or maybe even meeting someone in a bar for a drink, if I could find one that doesn’t. it was. t too crowded.

I was beginning to have fantasies of a modest vacation during the March break, like a trip to Ottawa or Quebec City. And the bag was almost beside itself with excitement. “You can do it,” he seemed to say. “We deserve to go to a nice place.” Or even: “I want to see you drinking a dirty martini mixed by a real bartender.” As I mentioned, you may have been projecting.

But then almost faster than we could process it, Omicron came in to scare us on the inside, even though some of us barely managed to get out in the first place. The variant climb feels like déjà vu again – having to manage our expectations and prepare for constant disappointment. Trying to wrap our minds in the notion that everything could change again at any moment. That schools could go online in January.

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Over the weekend, I brought the bag in what could have been my last big outing of the year: the grocery store. Soon, we may reorder for contactless pickup. Back to fasten the seat belt through another dark and uncertain winter in which all the little joys and goodness begin to count for a lot.

“Nice bag,” said the cashier.

My eyes lit up above my mask. “Thank you,” I said.

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