I have a problem — a very big Dooney problem! I’m completely obsessed with these bags, as I’ve detailed before. They’re fun, classy and . . . expensive. Not ridiculous or extravagantly so, but still not really cheap. Of course it’s all about the quality and I know I’ll have them for a hundred and one years — or until I’m sick of them, which will probably never happen — but I can’t just that to justify spending the money in the “current economy.”

How many times a day do we listen to diatribes on the economy? I listen to quite a few, not to mention all articles that pop up in my e-mail and on my favorite blogs and websites daily. It gets pretty disturbing to read about the “fall out,” which just reminds me of an OAR song I like called, aptly, “The Fall Out.”

But once again, I digress. Here are my three Dooney & Bourke bags, with the left-most signature fabric bag being my most recent addition: a Christmas gift from my parents.

They’re just fun! They make my stomach do a little happy flip when I look at them. Of course I rarely seem to actually carry them out in public, but I love to smooth my little fingers over their pretty surfaces! And the bright pink, rope-patterned bag has a special place in my heart: I bought it for myself with one of my first “major” paychecks from my post-college, full-time job.

It’s my Big Girl Bag.

We all have our Target satchels and freebie totes we use to lug stuff back and forth from school or work. We have our old leather hobos that we picked out a solid ten years ago, and we throw our wallets in there and run. They’re no frills — purely functional. We don’t have to worry if we drop them in the dirt accidentally or a pen explodes in the pocket or we get caught in a rainstorm unexpectedly. They’ve been through it all — they’ll be fine.

But Dooney bags are fragile. Not fragile as in you can’t actually sling them over your shoulder, but “fragile” in that you have to take care of them — not bend their handles all up or throw them on the couch haphazardly. And wearing a Dooney (or Chanel, or Louis Vuitton, or Vera Wang . . . whatever is your handbag drug of choice) makes me feel empowered and grown-up. If I need a purse to make me realize I’m an adult, I guess that’s a bad sign, but there’s just something about the feel of an expensive handbag that makes me happy. I’m not a shoe girl or a serious clothes horse, but I need my purses!

And I can’t wait to carry my new one come spring! Another reason to look forward to the end of a cold, rainy winter!