OUT OF THE BLUE

Back in the 1940s, radio personality Art Linkletter would go through women’s purses, creating profiles based on what he found.

He was usually spot-on. Sometimes embarrassing, always hilarious.

Not sure if the Smithsonian has a nook devoted to purse profiles. If not, maybe it oughta make room for this revealing artifact. But instead of a dive into contents, I’ll extrapolate information from the purse itself, notably what sets it apart from ancestors.

In a word . . . compartments.

Some ladies like ’em inside, others prefer the exterior. Notice that both interior and exterior may or may not have zipper, snap or Velcro closures. Some side compartments are narrow with no closure, designed to stash eyeglasses but prone to losing them. Others, square and flat, accommodate a tablet.

No, not the kind with lined yellow pages.

Most women designate one compartment for lipstick and a comb. “Compacts” are so Art Deco, along with bright red lipstick and loose powder. Nothing dates a purse more than a skinny flip-phone compartment . . . except maybe the material it’s made from.

Back in the day, ladies’ winter handbags were hand-held leather of various grades, from coarse cowhide to fine calfskin. Queen Elizabeth II set the style. Call it grandmotherly. Spring meant shiny black patent leather. Come summer, you switched to straw or quilted cotton. The advent of vinyl/plastics resulted in stiff imitation leather adorned with brassy bling. They were big and heavy, even empty. A worse affront: designer knockoffs, an insult to YSL, Louis Vuitton and Chanel, sold on Manhattan street corners. But they did establish one rule: A brown YSL goes with any color outfit.

As for shape/size, shoulder bags took over when women ditched the bridge club for a business forum, a court hearing, surgery schedule or middle-school soccer game. Princess Diana put clutches on the map, primarily to hide her cleavage when emerging from a Rolls. A shoulder bag that left hands free to text Chinese take-out became roomy enough to stash leotards for a workout on the way home from the office. 

Contents, or the lack thereof, offer another readout. Here’s what you won’t find in the modern woman’s handbag: a checkbook; cigarettes and lighter; a wad of “emergency” cash; Chiclets; a single-function car key; an address book; a rain bonnet; movie ticket stubs; a Neil Diamond CD; a map; a pencil; bobby pins; stamps; a tiny metal aspirin container; a handkerchief; a safety pin for the dreaded bra strap malfunction.

How come only men carry handkerchiefs?

Speaking of men . . . remember the man bag, which made a splash in the 1990s? Before the invention of pockets, Renaissance noblemen carried coins in “girdle pouches” without incurring ridicule. And a 5,000-year-old mummy named Ötzi the Iceman was found in the Alps beside his purse. No such luck for 20th century gents when, as I recall, even a plain leather crossbody drew giggles.

These days, the most coveted clutch might be a little thing hardly big enough for an iPhone, designed by Judith Leiber, who isn’t above wrapping a snake around black sequins and charging a few thousand for it at Bergdorf’s.

Now if only I didn’t need four new tires . . .