This past December I had the opportunity to spend a week in two of America’s most popular ski resort towns.

Being someone who prefers the comforting warmth of more tropical locales, I can’t say I was immediately thrilled by the thought of spending a week trekking through snow and ice, but I was warmed to the idea by the sincereness in my relatives’ voices when they’d initially extended the invitation three months prior.

“What the heck,” I thought. “While I personally don’t like to ski, my husband does, and I’ve always wanted to see what these resort towns’ hype was all about. Also, I’ll get the chance to spend some time with family and dress a little more mountain chic. It’ll be fun.”

Fast forward to mid-December and off I went to see what the beautiful Colorado Rockies had to offer.

When my husband and I finally arrived, we were in serious awe of how the mountains stood so proudly against the sky; Their jagged peaks and winding slopes were enough to make the greatest skeptic reconsider whether there was a God.

But we hadn’t come for the views. We came for merrymaking ﹘ something we’d now have to do on our own since my family had decided to bail on us at the last minute (on a trip that was their idea in the first place.)

The tickets were non-refundable so we adventured onward.

We spent the week wandering around, eating, drinking, and remarking on everything in sight. We browsed art galleries, gawked at the price of simple goods, and wondered how hiking in high elevation could still be this difficult for those as physically active as ourselves.

At some point during the second to last day, we agreed that the area wasn’t our favorite destination, but we’d managed to enjoy ourselves nonetheless.

“Sorry, you came all this way and didn’t even get to go skiing,” I apologized to my husband while sipping an overpriced green tea.

“Whatever,” he replied. “Ski passes here in the US are too expensive anyway. We can just go back to the Alps next winter.”

“Yeah ok…” I replied as he got up to head towards the nearby taproom.

“Wanna come?” he asked while stretching.

“Nah, I’m gunna browse the shops even though everything is probably closed anyway,” I answered before he shrugged and walked away.

I spent the next hour browsing store windows, making mental notes of all the things to add to next year’s wishlist. Dior this and Van Cleef that, but at some point, even the allure of the Gucci Bamboo handle bags weren’t enough to keep me standing out in the frigid air for much longer.

While walking back I found a consignment shop that appeared to be one of the few stores open on this quiet Sunday afternoon. And since the harsh effects of windburn had already begun to set in, I practically jumped at the chance to get out of the cold, even if only for a few moments.

Upon entering the shop I was met with the desk clerk’s equally frosty indifference. I didn’t know if she was tired or bored or both, so I quietly made my way through the racks of secondhand stuff.

There were plenty of nice things, but nothing that really piqued my interest ﹘ that is, until I saw it: a vintage Chanel flap bag in fantastic condition displayed behind protective glass. Authenticity card and all.

This discovery excited me but as a certified purse aficionado, the list price of $2,300 almost brought me to my knees. I waved the clerk over to promptly show me the bag’s interior.

Also in great condition!

I didn’t know whether to throw my credit card down or call my husband first or what, but I ultimately decided to be a responsible spouse and run it by him first.

“Sorry but we need to finish renovating the guest room,” he gently explained. “…and Christmas just passed and -”

“But it’s a good investment!” I whined while explaining to him the ever-increasing prices of Chanel bags. “I could resell it for more than double what the listed price is!”

“So if I agree and you buy it, you’re going to sell it, right?” he asked over the rim of his beer glass.

Crickets.

“Sorry…maybe next time.”

And that was that. My designer dreams were destroyed at a moment’s notice by life’s obligations. That bag was one I’d always wanted and yet the only one that I couldn’t have. It’s the bag that got away.

Oh well, I guess. Maybe next time.

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Starrchic
Starrchic
3 months ago

This is why it’s a good idea for women to keep at least some of their finances separate from their partners.

Amazona
Amazona
3 months ago

To each their own – I would never have spent anything but my own money to buy a bag.

Amy
Amy
3 months ago

This post hurts my soul 😭😭😭 the ghost of the bags that got away still haunt me 💀

Allison
Allison
3 months ago

This is the hardest part about vintage, consignment, and the preloved market. You need to make the decision right then and there or it will pass you by. No chance to debate the next week and come back.

I hope you love your guest room!

Morgan Blake
Morgan Blake
3 months ago

I would never ask my husband for permission to buy a bag or anything else for that matter. I may for his opinion on the style, color etc…but not whether I can buy it or not. He doesn’t ask my permission to make purchases! That’s crazy….

Last edited 3 months ago by Morgan Blake
Amy
Amy
3 months ago
Reply to  Morgan Blake

I got the impression that she could’ve bought it on the spot but she consulted with her husband as it was a sizeable purchase and he disagreed with it and she decided to heed his advice. The reality is it seemed like the purchase was still going to stretch their finances at the time and they had competing priorities.

Kate
Kate
3 months ago
Reply to  Morgan Blake

I too found the post in poor taste. It felt like the writer had no say in her purchase decisions. Wonder if the same would apply if he located a vintage Rolex at a crazy price which he wanted to purchase. My husband and I have common accounts for household expenses and investments and separate accounts for discretionary spending. Neither judges the other if the money is coming from our hard earned money meant for pleasure.

K.J.
K.J.
2 months ago

Even if I have my own money, I usually still run a large purchase by my hubby – esp. if I even have a moment’s hesitation. Not to ask for his permission, but more like, subconsciously, I know I need someone to talk me off the ledge. It usually works 9 times out of 10. What’s with the 1? Well, sometimes, a girl’s gotta buy what a girl’s gotta buy.

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