Last year, I went totally bag frenzied and acquired so many bags. I can’t say I regret them because I think I have covered about 10% of the basics and substantial. A big reason for this happening is because I got married and thankfully, I have a very lenient husband who understands this passion (bordering into addiction). But that is not the sole and final reason, lest my in-laws start to think I’m a costly addition to the family, and that’s putting it mildly. I do believe I have started with this fixation long before I got married, Thanks to my mama and sisters. And somehow, I can sense my other half likes that part about me. I think when you are passionate about something; money is of little consequence. Some people love taking pictures and upgrading their cameras, others love gadgets and gizmos that same love for me translates to bags. Whatever floats your boat.

I’m not about to start defending my tastes and my bag collection it’s just that for the first time in my life, I found myself hiding something I should be proud of for fear of people judging my vanity. I do believe passion requires a modest criterion for rationale yet a big measure of happiness. I love bags. I love designer bags, there you go. Although I must admit, I have a really loooong way to go and my collection is nowhere at par with other serious collectors, my “babies” are chosen with utmost deliberation and personal raison d'être. I feel like a tot struggling to walk whenever I join purse blog forums with other reaaallly serious bag lovers with some really serious ka-ching yet somehow, I can understand the ardor, the excitement of a noble discussion such as the merits of lambskin vs. caviar.

Well, this year, I am going to restrain myself.

But just one Marc Jacobs, please.

*(Photo creds:MJ Pic from Harper's Bazaar)