Intervention: Operation Handbag

If any of you kiddies watch the A&E show 'Intervention,' you know how dramatic it can be. Basically, a poor shlub who once exhibited alot of promise has fallen into some terrible sort of addiction, be it to street drugs/prescription drugs/alcohol/unhealthy eating/gambling - you name it. The families of these individuals, understandably, want to liberate their loved ones from their terrible and unhealthy cycles of destruction, and exhibit tough love as they appeal to them to go to treatment. Sometimes the addict succeeds in kicking their habit, and sometimes they don't, but no matter what, it is very brave of all involved to consent to have this process put into a documentary format and for the addict to try to change their lives.

It really is a very touching show.

I enjoy it so much precisely because I feel that I don't need an intervention - my worst vice is Sharon's Sorbet.

Which is why I was caught unaware when 'Intervention' entered my life. You see, despite the fact that much of my income goes to my ridiculous Manhattan rent, I am frugal in all other areas of my life. I've gone so far as to recycle plastic bags (dang!). So it should come as no surprise that I buy knockoff handbags on the street, rather than shelling out for the real thing at Coach, Gucci, etc., as so many NYers do. As far I'm concerned, I save a bundle that can go into my 401(k), instead of wasting it on something that will give me shoulder pain and bad posture. No one can tell the difference anyway, right?

Apparently they can.

This summer, in a frenzy of preparation for the (swashbuckling-inspired) Fall season, I bought an orange snakeskin handbag from a perfectly pleasant vendor. We hondled, I got what I thought was a decent price, and I walked away with my lovely Hermes knockoff. Yes, it was glaringly orange, but I like to be different, and while it wasn't perfectly workplace-appropriate, the rest of my ensembles are usually conservative, so no one said anything.

That is, until my loving mother and sister intervened.

You see, campers, they have more discerning taste than I. While I am content to purchase clothing at Filene's and call it a night, they do the same but intermix (see, sis, I know boutiques!) these matziahs with more expensive fashions. Although I had gotten many a compliment from strangers on my faux bag (and a PETA-esque inquiry as to whether it was real snakeskin), my relatives sort of recoiled at the sight of it.

Which is how I found myself to be the surprised recipient of a handbag intervention.

Late one Sunday evening, as I contemplated the work week ahead, my mom and sis showed up on my doorstep (alright, I don't have a porch - I buzzed them in) and stated that they had a surprise for me. As an early birthday present, they were showering me with a beautiful, expensive new handbag! I stood there, mouth agape. It's hard for me to accept expensive gifts in general, but I knew that my emotions were telling me something more. There was tough love behind this seemingly innocent gesture, and I could sense it.

They gave me what I thought was a perfectly nice bag, and explained that it would be both socially and work appropriate, and was also quite expensive. I thanked them, but asked them what was wrong with my current bag. DEAD SILENCE.

That was when my instincts were confirmed and I knew I had a problem. It is unacceptable for an ambitious woman in the flower of her youth to valga around the streets of NY with a cheap, shiny knockoff (that is probably funding Al Quaeda anyway-read the mags for more on this story). I accepted their offering, and thanked them for their help.

It took me some time, but I went back to the boutique where they bought the bag and exchanged it for one that was more to my liking. However, unlike the past, I actually added an additional $100 of my own to an already hefty price tag! I left feeling like a new, more glamorous and problem-free version of myself.

Now I have a lovely leather and suede purse that I will proudly model on Thanksgiving. However, I have to say that while the intervention did liberate me from my cheap, addictive and self-destructive cycle, my old bag was much more utilitarian, and I can't find anything in this damn new bottomless pit (yet faboo!) hobo.

But in the end, I am happy. Why? My frugality resulted in my being the recipient of a designer bag that I didn't pay for. So lovely readers, I suggest you do the same. Buy a cheap handbag from nearest friendly knockoff artist, and perhaps you too can be the lucky victim of an intervention!!!