10 Things in My Bag That Prove I’m a Walking Identity Crisis (Or: Why I Kind of Hate My Longchamp Now)

The sage green Longchamp tote
Classic. Durable. Professional. The Executive Assistant starter pack. I used to think it was sleek and timeless. Now it feels like a soft-sided box I carry my old self around in. I’m eyeing a Cuyana zipper tote like it’s a one-way ticket to my next life.

1. Three lip balms and zero restraint.
   There’s the Burt’s Bees Coconut & Pear (default mode when I don’t need tint), Sugar’s Tinted Lip Treatment in three colors (Papaya for boldness, Peony for softness, Icon when I’m feeling like I might seduce someone accidentally), and an ultra-hydrating balm I rotate depending on how dry and over-it I am. For some reason, I feel like my lips should always be ready—even if I’m not.
   
   
2. A paperback novel I probably won’t finish anytime soon.
   Could be Harlan Coben—could be Sara Cate, could be some economic text about late-stage capitalism or a treatise on the origins of Islamic terrorism. My brain doesn’t settle on a genre because my life hasn’t settled on a genre. I like books that feel like escapes, or puzzles, or confessions. Bonus points if it fits in my bag and I don’t care if it gets bent or warped.
   
   
3. Half a protein bar.
   Usually a Quest bar or the strawberry Elevation meal bar from Aldi. I carry it like I might actually eat it. I probably won’t. But the idea of “being prepared” soothes me.
   
   
4. Pens. So many pens.
   Black. Blue. Red. Gel. Ballpoint. A rogue Sharpie. I’m apparently ready to edit a legal document, take meeting notes, and deface a poster—all in one afternoon.
   
   
5. Two (or three) backup totes.
   Because one bag is never enough. Because I don’t trust the world to be predictable. Because if there’s free stuff, an impromptu errand, or a sudden urge to flee the city, I need options.
   
   
6. My passports (yes, plural).
   U.S. and Polish. I like the way they feel in my hand. Like I have options. Like if I really had to, I could vanish at the drop of a hat.
   
   
7. A pamphlet from Chabad-Lubavitch.
   Handed to me on the street, probably. I always mean to recycle them. But they keep reappearing somehow.
   
   
8. Euros.
   I don’t know why they’re still in there. Maybe because they remind me that I’ve been somewhere. That I’ll go again. That I’m not just who I am here.
   
   
9. One (1) condom.
   Courtesy of Planned Parenthood. Crushed at the bottom, next to a crumpled receipt and a cosmetic pouch. I don’t know why I keep it there, but I do.
   
   
10. A scrunchie and a hair tie.
    For the illusion of control. I used to tie my hair back when I worked in restaurants, and the impulse is still there.