
Normally a subscriber to the ‘stuff crap into my jean pockets until a growth size bump appears’ philosophy, I, Sam Doyle have undertaken to tote around a dashing Gio-Goi bag for the day to see how it changes my life for the better/worse.
Generally I accept that women tend to have the skinny on the practical side of life, so I’m undertaking this task with an open mind.
7.30am Wake up. Look at bag. Bag looks at me.
7.45am Gleefully realize that my manbag will comfortably hold a man-size lunch which will help in my fight to stem the flow of non-existing funds. Am carving up a cheese ploughman club (white bread), adding in a yorkie and a can of coke. Into the Tupperware. Into the bag. So far, A+++.
8.00am Leave the house. Forgot my bag. Sh!t.
8.05am Leave the house Part 2, back in the habit. Bag contains Oyster card, lunch, fags and other essentials. However, can’t quite resist putting my keys in my pocket.
8.30am Packed tube. Sweaty tube. Keys in pocket drilling a lock size hole into my arse. Wish I’d put them in my bloke-tote. Have I found man’s new best friend?
9.00am Arrive at work. Couple of wolf whistles from well-meaning colleagues, assuring me of masculinity. Fellow femme-financier Jo has back ache- from the weight of her Mary Poppins size holdall. Consider asking for danger money.
12.30pm Sandwich eaten. Satisfaction reigns. Tupperware replaced into bag, at which point I notice a number of teeny tiny interior pockets in which to store the contents currently sitting like landfill at the bottom. Nice touch.
5.30pm Long day, and it’s time to hit the bar downstairs. Is it me, or am I attracting some strange looks? Spot another guy in the pub garden crowd with a manbag. Our eyes meet. With an almost imperceptible nod, he acknowledges our similar sartorial choices. It’s like driving a mini.
6.30pm Back on the tube. Nabbed a seat. Can’t resist casting admiring looks down at the new addition nestled on my lap. Look up and have cleared a 3m radius on an otherwise packed carriage. Apparently repeatedly staring at crotch is not the way to go.
7.00pm Made it home. Passed Go. Collected £200 smackers. Am looking at the world through new accessor’eyes (geddit?). Have to admit, there really is something in this Manbag movement, and apart from accidentally velcroing myself to the hosiery of a pensioner on the Northern Line it has been a successful experiment.
11pm Smugly hang bag on back of bedroom door. Quite a jolly addition. Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen eat your heart out. Night night manbag.
7.30am Wake up. Look at bag. Bag looks at me…

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