The first time I saw it, I’d stumbled upon a crowd of women overflowing from a small shop down an ivy-covered passage. The shop had not so much as a sign or a business card to identify it.
Next, I saw it on someone’s lap in the metro, its structured shape and textured leather elevating the otherwise scrappy surroundings.
Then, I noticed it resting in the basket of a bike, its strap twisted around the rider’s wrist.
Two days later, I spied it hanging on the back of a chair at a wine bar, tempting me with its folded front flap in soft suede.
What is this handbag? I wondered. And why is everyone in Paris carrying it but me?