At
a recent dinner I had with my Taiwanese in-laws, we were at a restaurant that
looked out over the pedestrian zone that runs through the middle of the city. Throngs
of shoppers and those looking for street food passed by. While my wife and her
sisters babbled away, I watched the fashion show below and was struck by the
number of satchels, man-purses or whatever they are called. As I watched from
my perch, a pattern emerged of three archetypes of Taiwanese men who carried one:
the college senior or recent graduate, the fashion-conscious 30-something and
overweight dads. For the first and last group, practicality was the foremost
reason for carrying one, while style was predominant for the second, though
also an issue for the first.
The
satchels the college senior had were retro, harkening back to middle school
when they were issued cloth book bags with a large flap that protected the
innards. The practicality of the present-day version was readily apparent in its
bulkiness, with space for books or laptops, but more important were the myriad
of compartments essential for an educated 22-year-old. One was for various
government- and school-issued cards: two ID’s (national and school), two
licenses (one for cars, one for scooters) and two health-related cards
(national insurance and school-issued info card). Next, business cards, ranging
from an employer (even fast-food restaurants and tea shops have them) to
parents’ friends promising a job after graduation, as well as personal “business”
cards created by him and fellow classmates within his major. If he had
understanding and wealthy parents, perhaps a few credit cards were included as
well. There were larger pockets for writing materials, sometimes in a pencil
case emblazoned with cartoon characters, and computer paraphernalia. One final
pocket, usually hidden deep inside the bag, for condoms.
Though
the size of the college senior satchel prevented a serious fashion statement,
it did declare that the wearer was no longer an underclassman, those unknowing
cretins who lugged backpacks, leaning forward for balance like a Japanese first-grader
carrying a book bag half his weight. Unfortunately, however, a grad often
required practice before he was at ease with his new accessory. They usually had
the strap going across the chest from one shoulder to the opposite hip. Some
draped it in front of themselves, looking like a hyper-hormonal high schooler trying
to hide an erection. Others were constantly pulling at the strap, yanking the
bag from their shoulder blade to their nipple and back. Eventually, most master
an asymmetrical stance created by the bag, either by laying the forearm along
the top of the bag or holding one arm out like a pro wrestler to avoid
irritating the inside of the elbow.
As
for the 30-somethings, the man-purse was designed to enhance their look. First,
they did not have the strap across his chest, having mastered the function of
the strap and lengthening it so that the bag rested comfortably on the lower
hip instead of the haunches, as the college senior did. This is possible
because they no longer carried cumbersome satchels but smaller man-purses.
Also, they learned to walk upright instead of slouching like their younger ape-like
selves. Black was the predominant shade, as it easily matched any ensemble.
However, the look often went awry when accompanied by lady friends, who, while
trying on clothes, eating street food or simply walking down the street,
usually insisted on their boyfriends to act as coolies and carry their purses,
almost always a garish orange, yellow or green, creating a completely
unbalanced look.
The
overweight dads brought the pendulum back to utility and larger size. They needed
the space for their passions, such as iPad games or iPhone photography. They also
required space for their kids’ needs, be it disposable diapers for the infant,
additional clothing for the toddler or toys for the school-age child. Once
again, the strap went across the chest and was pulled tighter to allow the bag
to rest on the stomach, allowing for easier access.
The
common thread among all three groups is the smartphone, the main reason for the
rise in men’s accessories. It is too hot and humid and the culture is too
informal for a sports jacket with a convenient chest pocket. And even though
Taiwanese men commonly have, as some western female friends have pointed out, “pancake”
butts, they would never risk putting a couple hundred dollars’ worth of
technology in any pocket other than the one in their man-purse. Personally,
since I am no longer a member of any of the above-mentioned groups and possess
a cellphone that simply makes and receives phone calls and texts while fitting
nicely in my pocket, I’ll stick with my twenty-something-year-old knapsack. I
know it doesn't make me look like a college student, but it reminds of those pre-“connectivity”
days when one really could get away from it all.
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