In the mid-1980s, I carried the hell out of this purse — of course I did, it was pink and green and monogrammed and a clutch. Its insanely high level of preppiness cannot be denied.
Preppy was the style du jour for us gals at Monnig Middle. You know how today boys wear their pants around their thighs and girls wear skirts so short you can see their couscous? Well, back then we wore cummerbunds and knickers to school, I guess like we were playing in a golf game and then going to a formal dance right after.
Thanks to The Official Preppy Handbook, edited and co-written by Lisa Birnbach, we knew all about the principles of prep. As 13-year-olds, we had yet to grasp the concepts of irony or parody, so to us, this was a real guide to how to be preppy and we were deadly serious about following it to the damn letter. To that end, we decided to give ourselves preppy nicknames like the ones described in the book.
As you can see from this photo, I was the self-appointed keeper of the log of who was who, nickname-wise. I was Corkie. Yes, as in the character from Life Goes On, which was, shut up, a terrific show. (Then that doll Kellie Martin went on to play the main character in Christy, which is arguably the last great prairie show.)
I got the purse somehow I really don’t remember. But I made the mistake of washing it and it bled all over itself. I’ve hung onto it all these years in hopes that stain-removing technology would evolve. I, for no reason at all, have always been an optimist.
I recently took the purse to a specialty dry cleaner that was recommended to me, and they assured me that nothing at all could be done about the green-on-pink staining, now or probably ever. To this I said “boo!” and marched out of there in a huff not really I was real nice.
Okay, so the voting here is on the purse, NOT the book. Even with some pages missing and others defaced, I will keep the book forever.