For as heinous is any form of senseless combat, especially that which wreaks devastating ruin upon individuals, families, communities, and nations (is there any other kind?), I must confess to a massive, rotten affinity for the style aesthetic of various eras of wartime garb. Perhaps it may find some fractional root in the romanticism of struggle forced upon people through extremes of emotion evoked in the tornadic eye of War perhaps "Great" in scope, though certainly not in wonder.
But still.
Despite dire rationing and limited resources, people still looked really kind of awesome then.
In my quest for a perfect camera-friendly laptop bag (and yes, how pathetically boo-hoo First World Problems is that?!), I find myself gravitating towards styles that would have been perfectly at ease behind the Maginot Line. Is that wrong? I found the head photo way up top in my time-wasting wanders through the mystical land of Yinter'Nyet, at first staggering with near-orgasmic delight upon its discovery and breathing a quiet, "Fuck, yeah," then, upon recognizing some potentially distasteful zeal, subsequently schlumping into my seat with remorseful guilt.
Should I be perpetuating a misplaced pleasure in design principles that precipated so much unnecessary pain and death? Light, waxed canvas for mobility? Sturdy leather straps for transporting heavy armaments and water? Strong felted wool for warmth on patrol? Rife with infection, malnutrition, and inescapable dank, the trenches were hardly rapturous. I should not find their bags so gosh-darned cool. But alas, I do.
How much of my love of conflict-based style is marked with the Hollywoodification of period costume and romanticized nostalgia? Yet conversely, how much of it is simply a deeply-marked appreciation for gorgeous sensitivities to cut, fabric, and sexy practicality? I need something water-resistent, lightweight, portable on my bike basket or slung securely across my back, large enough to be my sole everything when airplaning it light, something neutral, nothing girly, and certainly no ubiquitous black nylon.
And yes, though my preferences squarely fall into the faction of form-follows-function, I'm still a sucker for pulchritudinous form, and who can forget the sweet little field bag carried by Ralph Fiennes' character in The English Patient to lug around his treasured, battered old copy of Herodotus' "Histories," housing bits of meaningful notes and pictures gathered in his explorations as a National Geographic cartographer in the Northern Sahara at the eve of the Second World War?
Och, for cripe's sake, what am I going on about? I've been carrying a now almost-threadbare boys' camoflauge messenger bag for epochs in lieu of a dreaded purse, and my beloved little camera bag was purchased with my unwitting field-bag adoration already firmly entrenched. In fact, it may be the only style I've ever really used. Thus, this may be yet another case of my terminal Overthinkiassis Myopia rearing its ugly head; scandal-whore Lord Byron might have toted about something similar on his culturally-colonizing Grand Tour upon the Continent (during which he eventually and unsurprisingly succombed), but that is neither here nor there.
I believe I shall stop agonizing, morally crumple, and find a worthy satchel modelled after its conflict-based predecessors for optimal function in aiding survival while inflicting untold death and destruction because it is classic, possesses inherent historical appeal, kicks utilitarian ass, and works beautifully for all my clandestine adventuring needs.
Take that, Time-Sucking Emo-Mindfuck!!!
And yes, I know. It's a fecking bag.
Alert: Post Update!
Went "over the top" in utter pretension and just scored this raving beauty for less than half its original price. Granted, it's second-hand, but so is a whack ton of my stuff. Originally designed for DJ's, it is crafted of thick, felted wool and can hold up to 70 albums plus a 15.4" laptop (translation: incredible capacity to fit my laptop plus camera, extra lenses, toiletries, clothing, training gear, and gi if need be); has double zips opening it up on three sides, allowing it to be packable like a small suitcase; and a super cushy strap (with removable backpack strap options) so it can still be carried very comfortably.
Yet it is not too big.
Perfect for distant travels and local arcane expeditions, it also brings to mind the satchel carried by Charlie Brown's grandfather in France as an infantryman during WWII, in Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown (and Don't Come Back!)... a cartoon that still fills me with soft sighs of deep fondness.
Je l'adore, and am so crazy excited for what this little bag represents.
(photo credits: Up at top, the photo that inspired this post from this stunningly shot German blog; the next comes from the Online Kids' Britannica entry on the role played by women during WWII, featuring rivetters at an airplane factory; a snapshot taken on the 1st of February, 1943, in London, England, of lively women correspondents working for Time, Life, the NY Times, and Vogue, amongst others; lovely James McAvoy from the beautifully-filmed and heartwrenching cinematic adaptation of Ian McEwan's "Atonement"; a woman demonstrating a self-defensive sweep to others during WWII; finally, the last image is a screenshot of Ralph Fiennes as Count Almásy, with his Herodotus and sweet field bag from Anthony Minghella's sumptuous and faithful dramatization of Michael Ondaatje's "The English Patient.")
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