Tote bags suck, so why are we still so obsessed with them?

Exploring my complicated relationship with the tote bag: a symbol of the modern intellectual elite.

Let’s be honest, tote bags suck. 

It falls off when we’re rushing to class. 

Its straps cut into our shoulders every time we use them, even if we’re constantly swapping it from left to right shoulder. 

Tote bags manage to make our laptops and books feel significantly heavier than they actually are. 

And just when you need your Opal card to tap off, or your phone to reassure your friend that (for once) you’re not running late — your tote bag feels like a bottomless pit. 

You’re better off cursing the design world for the tote bag’s perennial problem, its lack of compartments.

Not to mention that tote bags nowadays can be absurdly priced. The newest rendition of the classic New Yorker tote by Christoph Niemann sits at around $74 (not inclusive of shipping). Designer tote bags are a whole other craze, with Bottega Veneta’s ‘Arco’ tote selling for $4,550 and Chanel’s calfskin tote retailing for an immoral price point of $8,340. 

“There are no alternatives!”, you might contend.

“There is no way I will be seen carrying a Kathmandu backpack down Eastern Avenue.”

“How about an Asian granny trolley instead? It’ll definitely alleviate your shoulder pain, and your ego problems.”

Still, you choose to endure the chronic pain in your left shoulder, and the irreversible back damage as you lug your daily necessities across campus — god forbid you’re seen carrying a backpack. 

Why do we do this to ourselves? Surely our Triple J tote bags are not that cute.

Perhaps we can consider a brief history of consumption. In 1899, American economist Thorstein Veblen famously coined the term “conspicuous consumption”. He correctly observed the phenomenon where upper-class elites would flaunt their wealth by purchasing ostentatious material goods: luxury cars, bags, and ‘Bone China’ tableware. 

Much has changed in recent decades. Today’s upper-class are arguably less materialistic, but “cultural capital” is becoming increasingly prevalent. In The Sum of Small Things: A Theory of the Aspirational Class, Professor Elizabeth Currid-Halkett at the University of Southern California writes about the ways in which modern elites choose to create class distinctions. By buying organic food, breastfeeding children, and obtaining prestigious university degrees, they have turned to more subtle forms of consumption that signify status. 

The use of tote bags can be an example of this elitist behaviour exhibited by the “aspirational class”. They tell people that you listen to FBi Radio or that you only drink specialty coffee, without explicitly saying so. In this sense, tote bags inform others of your membership in a particular knowledge class. 

Of course, for the average uni student, tote bags are an extension of our identities and a form of self-expression. They often play a more sentimental purpose in our lives, offering a valuable sense of comfort that many of our clothes or material goods may not provide. Whenever I’m missing home, my Hong Kong Museum of Art tote reminds me of the many beautiful memories I have in this place, and to thank my mum for fostering an appreciation for Chinese ink paintings and calligraphy in our family. Tote bags are also a great way to support burgeoning artists and local businesses, like your neighbourhood bottle-o or record store. 

But using a PULP or New Yorker tote bag (even if you’re a genuine appreciator of either magazine) ultimately projects a specific image of oneself: that you are an “informed, intellectual” individual, part of an exclusive social class. Although I doubt any of us choose to use tote bags with the pernicious intention of reinforcing social exclusivity or creating class distinctions, I think we’d be kidding ourselves if we justify our love for tote bags by thinking they are practical or functional in any way. 

Tote bag pain is real, but regardless, we’re obsessed with them because of what they reveal about our education or economic status. The consequences of our tote bag obsession could be dire — without any of us even noticing it. For now though, despite the shoulder pain, I’ll keep using my many beloved tote bags.