
“I really should be packing,” I thought to myself as I was being pulled away from my suitcase and toward the market down the street. You see, my mother and I were running late. We had gone to Honduras to visit family over the holidays and do some sightseeing of the Mayan ruins down in the western part of the country.
Fast-forward to the last day of our adventure and we had to leave the small town of Copán in an hour to make our return flight home. Instead, we were making one final trip to the local market. (After all, it was our last chance to stock up on spices, hot sauce and handmade artesanías we wouldn’t find back in Toronto, so can you really blame us?)
Inside the former colonial hacienda, the market was overflowing with vendors — their stalls crammed with everything from local produce to made-to-order cowboy boots. The smells of tortillas and leather mingled in the air as we passed tables packed with dolls made out of corn husks and rows of handcarved picture frames somewhat bafflingly filled with early-2000s tabloid shots of Lindsay Lohan. Vibrant and exciting, it was everything you could ever want from a Central American market — just not exactly where I thought I’d find my personal style and new go-to accessory.

Before this trip, I had been on the hunt for my signature bag. I had just sold my debut novel, The Afterpains, and needed something tangible to mark this milestone moment in my career. Why a bag, exactly? See: Jane Birkin and her, er, Birkin; Grace Kelly and her eponymous Hermès top handle; and Princess Diana and her Lady Dior. Every It girl needs a sidekick cut from expensive lambskin. Plus, I figured an accessory would be both a practical and sentimental reminder of a goal I’d been working toward for years. A symbol of a successful entrance into adult hood — one that, I was sure, required careful research and lots of money.
For months, I had been poring over Reddit threads about the resale value of different designer bags, pinning photos of timeless classics on mood boards and scouring consignment stores and vintage dealers, but nothing ever felt quite like my personal style. Loewe’s Puzzle bag looked both modern and timeless, but the colourways overwhelmed me. The Row’s Margaux was out of my price range, and I wasn’t sure I liked it enough to even pay less for a pre-loved version. Balenciaga’s slouchy City satchel crossed my mind before I started wondering whether I actually liked it or if nostalgia was to blame.

When my mother — no doubt fed up with receiving endless screenshots of buttery crossbodies and scuffed-up top handles — suggested I look for a bag in the market, I shrugged. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for anymore. At the market, when we stopped in front of a display of terracotta ceramics and plucked decorative vases off the table, the artist informed us that if we wanted to see more, he had a bigger selection upstairs. Without skipping a beat — or checking the time — my mother asked him to lead the way.
After the three of us pushed through the crowd and climbed up to the second floor, we stepped into a tiny room lit only by the sun, which poured in through the plastic roof panels. As the artist started to guide us through the ceramics-lined wall, something colourful caught my eye: a pastel-hued basket bag stuffed with clay pinch pots. Pulling it closer, I realized it had been woven from the pale-green and yellow plastic used to secure pallet shipments and had a braided purple handle.
It was the kind of bag the Easter Bunny might carry chocolate eggs in — if the Easter Bunny shopped at Ganni. I learned that the artist’s niece had made it out of repurposed plastic and he had simply thrown it into storage to house a few floating ceramics. In that moment, I knew the hunt for my signature bag was over.

My search for personal style by way of It bags made famous by others was a contradictory quest. It turns out that all the trendy websites in the world won’t lead you to a bag that’s uniquely yours. In my case, blame it on the mysticism of the secret room, but perhaps signature pieces are actually meant to find you.
For me, as a Honduran-Canadian author, stumbling across that basket bag felt like finding an extension of my identity. More than any other piece I own, this bag (which I now wear regularly) incites questions (“How much can you fit in there?” “What’s the brand?” “Where can I get one?”) and leads to conversations about sustainability, artisanal craftsmanship, personal style and my culture. It’s a way to bring my Honduran roots into my Canadian world — and for a fraction of the price of a designer bag to boot.

Three FASHION editors share their forever bags.

“I have a very fancy, very stylish aunt who handed down a silvery-grey patent version of the Alma BB bag to me when I was a teen, and I’ve remained an Alma gal since. Its unique shape, top handle and surprising roominess allow it to work equally well for evening and daytime. Louis Vuitton has made many, many more iterations of this iconic style since my teen years, and all of them are worth coveting — or, in my aunt’s case, collecting.”

“The Small Cassette by Bottega Veneta is my go-to bag. Though it’s compact in size, it’s still roomy enough to hold my keys, wallet, lip balm and other essentials, and because of its versatile straps, I also have the option to wear it as a crossbody or a clutch. Plus, the Cassette’s minimalistic design makes it easy to style with my personal style. I have one in black and another in light grey.”

“I never thought it was possible for a signature bag to sneak up on you, but that’s exactly what happened to me with this Songmont Luna Bag: It hasn’t left my side since it was delivered on my doorstep. While it might appear to be a bit on the boring side, its chameleon-like effect is precisely why I’ve come to carry it every day. Plus, its ability to transform from a shoulder bag to a dumpling clutch makes it a must during my (many) travels.
This article first appeared in FASHION’s November 2024 issue. Find out more here.
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Anna Julia Stainsby is a Toronto-based writer and brand consultant. She is the author of the Neophyte Newsletter, a monthly dispatch that blends her love for small businesses, good books, and over-sharing on the internet.