As the global smart set decamp to a vineyard (Martha’s) and a cape (Cod), to a valley (Napa) and a château (Marmont), one accessory has the power to signal more virtue than Joan of Arc at a Planned Parenthood rally: the media-branded canvas tote bag. Swinging on your elbow as you traverse dunes or dock, it may have arrived free with an annual subscription, but there’s never been a better signifier of your true personality.
NPR
You live between the Upper West Side and Litchfield County, Connecticut … or the Berkshires. You’ve been to the Mount—Edith Wharton’s house—at least twice and can correctly pronounce “Soterios Johnson.” You can still rattle off every 60 Minutes anchor from 1997, and you still get sad when you think about Andy Rooney. Your tote most likely contains a half-complete New York Times crossword puzzle and three loose Xanax pills.
The Paris Review
Once, during the coronavirus pandemic, you finagled your way into one of the Paris Review office parties as a plus-one, or maybe it was the Spring Revel and you nabbed a gift bag for the Aesop hand cream within, but—whisper it—you’ve never actually read an issue. However, you’ve almost certainly featured the tote in at least two grid posts on Instagram. You’ve never heard of George Plimpton, but you shed a tear when Joan Didion died.
How Long Gone
As if you can even get your hands on one of these totes (they’re never not sold out). But, if you do, you fly JetBlue (Mint) between your Neutra house in Silver Lake and your Tribeca co-op. You almost never go to San Vicente Bungalows in West Hollywood but are already on the list for the as-yet-unopened one in the West Village. You somehow manage to wedge “bi-coastal,” “Bode,” and “Jacques Marie Mage” into most conversations, and you just can’t deal with Erewhon anymore.
AIR MAIL
The beat-up Birkin of the tote eco-system. You have an unplaceable accent and at least two passports. Devastatingly, you have too many initials to ever dream of monogramming your passport holder. Via Carota and the Waverly Inn are your commissaries. Your tote contains a dog-eared P. G. Wodehouse novel, a rolled-up copy of this week’s Paris Match, four loose euros, and a half-smoked pack of Gauloises. Oh, and sand. Lots of sand.
The New York Times
You’ve never read a word of print journalism in your 24 years of life, but you’re committed to keeping your two-year Wordle streak alive. To you, the “Gray Lady” is the septuagenarian Polish woman who has called the cops on not one but two of the house parties you’ve thrown in your Avenue B walk-up.
New York magazine
If spotted in New York, then you’re painfully au courant, never miss a Cut article, and talk about Caroline Calloway and Dimes Square like they were Gertrude Stein in fin de siècle Paris. Or you may be a Tribeca mom who is never caught without a matcha latte. (Caveat: if you’re spotted outside New York, then you’re very likely a closeted Angeleno with impeccable taste.) You voted for Bernie in 2016 and will write him into the ballot in November.
Vanity Fair/AD/Vogue
You’ve seen every episode of Sex and the City, and you tell people you’re a Carrie, but you’re really a Miranda. Your tote contains subway flats, and gym shoes, and work heels … and you can’t help but wonder if you should invest in a Foot Locker franchise.
The Drift
Cross the street when you see this tote coming. You went to Gallatin and are the type to corner someone at a party and interrogate them about Israel and Palestine, or Judith Butler, or both.
The Free Press
See above.
A24
You’re constantly posting screenshots of your highly active Letterboxd account. God help anyone who gets you started on Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis. You’ve been to Cannes (Lions, sadly, not the film festival; you work at Meta, after all), and own more Metrograph paraphernalia than you care to mention. Although you do mention it. Quite often, in fact.
The New Yorker
The Old Faithful of tote-world. Much like a Subaru. Or Joe Biden 10 years ago. You’re aspirationally middle-class, live in Williamsburg, and still go to SoulCycle, though you get the strange feeling that they are not quite what they were. You’re either too young to have voted in 2016 (but would have voted for Hillary) or too old to remember where you put that damned New Yorker tote …
Harrison Vail is the Communications Director at AIR MAIL
