The ins and outs of man-bags

by Simeon de la Torre

If I were in the pub right now, it would take at least three pints before you’d hear me say these words: I’m a big fan of man-bags. And thinking about it, it would take another five pints before I would ever (slurringly) admit that, I’d been a devotee since they first became popular. And no, I don’t mean in Hoxton, London, circa 2001. I’m talking old school: on the continent. In the early 80s.

I’m half Spanish, so most of my holidays when I was a boy were spent in Madrid, where I’d regularly see cool young men walking around (or, upon reflection, mincing around) the city, the sleeves of their jackets rolled-up (a la Miami Vice), and a neat black bag dangling from a strap on their wrists.

To most British males, it was a sickening, almost perverse sight; men, with handbags.

It was a look that didn’t catch on immediately. Admittedly, a few sun-spangled dads returned from their summer holidays on the Costa del Sol and tried to pitch up to the local golf club con una bolsa, but they were quite rightly laughed out of the clubhouse. So, the next week, they’d return, their fan faded a little more, and their pockets once again, stuffed with coins, tees and hankies – looking as if they had a nut-hungry squirrel climbing up each trouser-leg, basically.

And that is precisely why man-bags didn’t completely die a death back then. The fact is, men need somewhere to put their stuff. So, for every man that was laughed out of a clubhouse or bar for nonchalantly fishing his wallet out of a discreet black pouch, an onlooker would have quietly thought: ooh, that’s a good idea.

The man-bag’s ‘Trojan horse’ it turns out, was the Filofax. In the mid-to-late 80s, it was fairly common to see a chap barrelling down the street, clutching a bulging leather organiser. The diary bit inside made it socially acceptable, but we all knew the truth: it was the storage that we coveted. Rigged out with pen and credit card slots, keyring holders, mini rulers, calculators and all manner of useful kit, the Filofax was a man-bag in all but name.

Ergo, it wasn’t such a mental leap to fill the gap around the sides of the binder with a couple of strips of leather that would form a bag. Back then though – and we’re talking early 90s – there wasn’t really a name for it, and I remember one fairly humiliating conversation I had with my girlfriend which went thus:

“You know what, I think I’m going to get myself one of those little bags for my stuff; keys and that.”
“A handbag?”
“No, not a handbag. Just a bag. A small bag.”
“A clutch?”
“Eh? No. Look, I’ll buy it and then you’ll see what I mean.”

Naturally, the bag that I duly bought was always referred to by her as my handbag from then on.

Thankfully, my salvation was twofold. The man-bag first crept on to fashion's radar – and into our vocabulary – back in the mid 90s when a) Prada's unisex nylon satchels became popular and b) David Beckham was at the height of his fame. It was he who stood up and basically said: “Guys, I’m straight, I’m covered in tats, I’m sleeping with a pop star and I carry a man-bag.”

And from then on it was all OK. I, like thousands of men up and down the country had a free pass to go man-bag mental. We slung them over opposite shoulders, experimented with DJ bags, stuffed them with all manner of useless kit or, conversely, lovingly created our ultimate collection of urban survival tools (mine: keys, wallet, sunglasses, iPod, A-Z map), ready to be grabbed at any time.

However, it’s got to the stage now where a mate of mine has been known to take his man-bag out with nothing in it, purely because it’s part of his ‘look’. This is wrong, obviously.

And it’s also worth noting that I mentioned at the beginning of this piece that, if I were in the pub, it would take me a few pints to admit to being a man-bag fan. That’s because, if I do go to the pub (as opposed to a bar), my bag is left at home.

I could walk into my local in the most nonchalant manner, with the most utilitarian camouflage bag slung over my shoulder but, to the assembled beer-suppers, I would be regarded as one of those mincing Spaniards from the 1980s. (Although someone in there would have thought: ooh, that’s a good idea.)

Man-bags have come a long way. But they’ve still got some way to go.