Girl With the Green Bag

I recently made a HUGE decision. One that probably only other working women will understand. I decided to jettison the colour black from my commuter ensemble - in particular, to break with a lifelong accessory, The Black Bag.  Everybody on the rush hour train has one of these. Women try very hard to pull off a Black as Fashion Forward Item statement with their work bag, but we all know the truth. And the truth is, that if you get up at the crack of dawn, and particularly if you have to get others up with you, recalcitrant kids or partners included, or equally if you are the only person getting up early and have to dress in the dim light of your bathroom so as not to disturb your snoring partner, then black is just the only option. Any other colour requires you to make decisions about colour-co-ordination, or tactical colour clashing, and frankly we are just not up to it at that hour of the morning. Most mornings in my working past, if I have managed to put my knickers on the right way round and chosen black tights instead of navy blue, that is a major result.  But recently I have been sitting in the tube looking at everybody's black bags - usually black Radley or black Fiorelli if I'm being brutally honest about my fellow travellers here - black Prada only to be found in the Chelsea cafe by women who wouldn't dream of working for a living - and wondering how it is possible for me to be so assertive in my personality busuck invisible in my outer clothes. With a birthday coming up this felt like the perfect opportunity to challenge myself to jump right out of the commuter comfort zone into the world of strong colour, the type of colour that would be noticeable but not headache-inducing, strong but not overwhelming. And the bag still had to be serviceable, so none of your frippery pink/denim mini bowling bag efforts. This had to have pockets, compartments, a zip for security, it had to be big enough for the IPad and a drinking bottle, small enough to sling comfortably over a shoulder in case I found myself in a commuter mishap (trains cancelled, fire in the tunnel, terrorist threat, electrical fault - you name it, I have been there, and trust me, if you are not wearing shoes you can run in on the tube you are asking for trouble). And it had to be distinctive. With expectations like that, a bag with that much asked of it would find itself in Bag Therapy before the month was out. And yet, just a week or two after making this decision, I found it. Kate Spade, in the sale, humungous amounts off its original you-cannot-be-serious price tag, in the most brilliant shade of green. Bottle green, but not a dark bottle. Silver chains attached to the bag strap. Black and white striped interior with all the right pockets for essentials, and roomy enough for my commuter requirements. I coquette around the shop in it, leave without it, obsess about it for 2 hours, drag a friend back in to ask her opinion (this, by the way, is a total fallacy. Any female friend whose advice you ask knows for certain that you have already made your mind up and what you want is emotional support, not an honest opinion. Of course you should buy it, it looks fabulous on you! - means absolutely nothing beyond, I'm your friend, I love you, and you deserve to treat yourself. Impartial judgement it ain't.) But in this case my friend is right - I have made my mind up, and I take the bag to the counter and I buy it. All the way home I cannot quite believe I have done this. A green bag for work. I'm going to stick out like a, like a....green Goblin. I take the bag up to my room, fish out my black workbag, transfer tissues, Oyster card, mobile phone, pens, emergency make up, water bottle, business card holder, notebook, IPad, keys, more keys, emergency lipgloss, Vaseline, and travel sanpro, into the green bag. It all fits. Next morning I put on my black coat, black tights and black boots, pick up my green bag, and go. In the train, bag on my lap, I feel as if I am cradling a belisha beacon. I feel eyes covertly on me. I try to look as if I have a different colour bag for every day of the week. On the way home again, a woman leans over and says, I saw you this morning. I remember the green bag. This makes my heart leap. The next morning I put on black coat, black tights, black boots, green bag, and decide at the last minute to reject my black gloves for tomato red leather gloves. Alighting at Charing Cross a woman stops me and says, where did you get that bag? I glow. Unfortunately I can't glow green as I am not really The Green Goblin. But I am morphing with ease into The Girl With The Green Bag. Commuting will never be the same again.