Celeste was a fashionable lady, with impeccable taste. At a young age, she cultivated a deep appreciation for what some may regard as the small stuff—the stitching detail in a seam, the texture of premium leather and just how color marries structure to create an iconic accessory. She never followed trends blindly but had a timeless style which still echoed deep within her personality that she wore effortlessly as an extension of herself.
The way her closet favored a tale of purposeful decisions. She used each garment, accessory and pair of shoes to play a role in the puzzle that identified her as Nicole. Yes, she kept some trendy pieces for a mix now and again, but most of her closet was classic. Other friends often described her as someone who could walk into a room and command it without saying anything. But this was about more than just her clothes—it was about the peaceful confidence that came from knowing that she lived in a style of dress suited to her life.
To Celeste, a handbag was more than just a receptacle for the things she needed on a daily basis. It was a mood ring, an emblem at the time of aesthetics and identity. There was one that had been a constant, among dozens through the years, and like all classic cars each possessed its own not-so-secret history. Another layer was how, on an emotional level, this bag meant something to her.
Cara remembered the day she had first sight of her miu miu designer bag It sat in a boutique window during one of those trips across the ocean, looking as if it had been arranged only for her gaze. And as soon as her eyes touched it, she experienced that magnetic pull that shoppers describe when they find something they know simply must be theirs. She went into that boutique, felt the smooth finish of the leather and looked at how every single stitch was placed. In unique design one minute she knew in luck, somewhere stuck between the elegance and versatility this was what was supposed to be a part of her.
To her, owning it was more than just gaining yet another accessory. Almost as soon as Celeste got the bag she incorporated it into her schedule. It had been her constant companion, accompanying her to meeting upon tapingsleepover brunches and sketches at the park… as well as mornings when she was too perfect for it. It was the perfect conversational piece that added to any outfit, turned it from too much to just perfect and remained versatile enough to be worn AM or PM.
Running through the day, her schedule was always a mystery and things would never go as planned, yet the bag proved its worth on such days. She loved how you could keep all of your phone, keys, makeup and work things divided in physical compartments. The straps were soft and well-proportioned to the rest of the bag, they fit nicely onto her shoulder even when she had a larger load for the day. Still, for all its practicality, it never lost the elegant appeal that had first captured her eye. A rare marriage of form and function, that she tried to maintain in all aspects of her existence.
And Celeste started to realize how often people were complimenting her decision. Strangers at coffee shops, coworkers in the office and even travelers she met on trips would mention it. These moments would invariably transition into discussions about fashion and workmanship and the merits of investing in long-lasting items. Although she loved these conversations, she never waved the bag around to brag. No, she brought it because it was part of her.
The bag quickly became essential as I travelled across. It had been through the country-side with her on trains, to lively cities while in flight and down a coastal road drive. And such, no matter where it traveled, the warmth and taste of it were undeniably from an expert hand. And Celeste used to think how hard it was to find things that not only could weather the abuse of daily living, but also keep up with the rigors of travel and still look as good as they did when she bought them.
It was an acquired taste for her. The more she had it, the more she found herself studying its finer details—the way it was easy to find small objects in the interior lining; the way the light danced around its metallic touches; a slight patina began to form with use, giving it a bit of personality. She did not view those changes as aging; she considered them signs of a life lived together.
Keeping the bag in top condition was a task she actually looked forward to. She would clean it carefully, keep it in a dustbag when not in use and to condition the leather once every blue moon. It was not that she feared breaking it, but treated it tenderly for the sake of something which had worked so hard for her. This is the way she conducted relationships in her life—consistently, attentively, and with gratitude.
At her previous gig as a creative consultant, Celeste hopped back and forth between casual brainstorming with her fellow consultants to client’s meetings. That the bag moved seamlessly from one of these locations to another. She wore it over casual linen trousers and soft blouses on dressed-down days, and over her more structured dresses with a defined heel during the work week. It was like that bag somehow detected the room and shape-shifted to fit.
She also appreciated its part in building her brand. As said, in an industry where image and presentation matter, the right accessories could say a lot. Her bag whispered she was a woman of quality, discerning with detail and unafraid to invest in pieces which connected with her soul. It was a quiet, but important way of sending the right message.
It was in the evenings that she most cherished it. She went to the opening of a new art exhibit, had dinner at a trendy restaurant or even met the friends for a rooftop thing with certainty that her accessory was being the finishing touch on her look. It took on a sort of baby-voice cadence to it and it became one her consistent style musings— low-key, but undeniably classy.
The bag, over time, became a symbol for the collection of memories. Existing when professional highs like winning a big project and personal moments, such as rejuvenating weekend trips had happened. When she saw that picture—no matter how many times, she remembered where she was, what emotions flowed in her veins…
Celeste liked to imagine the bag years down the road, maybe worn in by another one of her relatives. She liked the idea that it could hold her stories, as well as her belongings. She once said that the best accessories were not objects but lived on in memory like heirlooms.
Her friends frequently asked her if she was ever going to get rid of it or put it away for a new one. She might. She would say, “Not until I wear one that feels as good, and that is indeed rare. She wouldn’t continue to lug that bike around out of habit or stubbornness; she simply knew when something felt as deeply a part of your life as if it were your skin, you don’t forsake it.
It turns out the bag, with its unicorn crystals on meth vibe, or whatever it was that had drawn her to it and subsequently disgraced, had taught her something about herself. That was why she preferred items that married artistry with everyday utility. She had an eye for beauty, but not to the exclusion of functionality. This balance spilled over into every part of her life—from the way she decorated her home to where she chose to travel.
In hindsight, she understood that the buy was more than a purchasing decision. It was a promise to invest in herself and her own joy. Whenever she used it, a little content smile hovered in the back of her mind somewhere; because she had ultimately picked up something that makes her happy everyday.
Fashion was an industry in which styles appeared and vanished like breath on a mirror, but Celeste took satisfaction in the consistency of her decision. It kept her grounded that way, in the idea of style as not this all-consuming thing that required us to keep up with every new release but something which was about buying gems that you loved and would stay the test of time.
In years to come she might own other fine bags, knowing the way she keeps change in her purse and things like wrinkles under control on her face. This particular one was challenging—not just with her eyes, but her heart. Somehow, it was not so much about the bag itself but rather the life that she lived with it by her side. The hallmark, she realized, of style for Celeste.