The tote bag, overlooked in many end-of-decade lists, speaks volumes about the values of our generation.
The tote bag esthetic was unisex, utilitarian, and unfussy - an antidote to the gaudy handbags adorned with chains and logos which, earlier on in the decade, could house a cell-phone, a hair-straightener, two small dogs, and thirteen varieties of lip-gloss at any given moment. The tote bag’s blank surface and portability also made it a great marketing tool. Consumers would carry the brand around town in any weather - something t-shirts and sweaters never achieved - and the bags even remained relevant indoors, hanging off bar-hooks or slouched on couches and chairs.
Tote bags could be handed out at check-out counters in lieu of paper or plastic, and were consequently applauded by the ever-growing class of environmentally-conscious shoppers. Organic cotton, free-trade canvas, cruelty-free wool, vegan hemp - the possibilities were endless, but the prints always evoked simpler times with bold colors, kitschy fonts, and punky, jagged designs. They eventually became tackier and more elaborate, yes - pockets, key-chains, re-enforced straps and embroidered initials in the corner; they even bordered on ridiculous when the infamous “I am not a plastic bag” tote turned into an overpriced celebrimodity. But despite all the hype, the tote bag remained decidedly casual, and this is what ultimately allowed it to thrive. If the obsessive, nerdy 90s brought us hoards of pins, bumper stickers, and home-made t-shirts, the 2000s provided an alternative for the fickle and commitmentphobic. We could dangle an arm over the logo, turn the bag over so it became blank, or simply abandon it in a corner without a second thought. By that time, its meaning had faded, and we’d acquired another.
