A letter from a reader

At 61, I stopped carrying handbags nobody notices

I have never written to a shop before, and I did not expect my first letter to be about a handbag.

For years every bag I owned was black or brown. Sensible, sturdy, forgettable. I told myself that was what a grown woman carried, and somewhere along the way the rest of my wardrobe followed. Navy, grey, beige. Nothing that asked anyone to look twice, least of all me.

I thought I had to choose between a bag that was practical and a bag that was lovely. So I chose practical, every single time.

So I gave up on the idea of a handbag that made me happy. A bag was a bag. It held my purse and my keys, and that was the end of it.

Then I saw one on a friend at the Sunday market

My friend Jan turned up to the market carrying a quilted bag with a picture stitched into the front, and I could not stop looking at it. She told me it was from Evans Melbourne, a little boutique that quietly looks after women our age, and that they had a whole collection of them, each one with its own design. When I got home I found one with a horse's head pieced together like a mosaic, in gold and rust and teal and plum. It was called the Mosaica, and I ordered mine that evening.

What happened at lunch on Saturday

I carried it to a long lunch with the girls on Saturday. Before we had even ordered, the woman at the next table leaned over to ask where it was from. By the time the coffees came, three different women had asked me about it. My friend Helen told me I looked like I had made an effort, which I have decided to take as a compliment.

I cannot remember the last time something I carried made me stand a little taller. It is a small thing, a handbag, but it felt like a bit of colour coming back after a long grey winter.

Three things I have learned since

One. It is a proper handbag, not just a pretty one. It is quilted with a double layer inside and out, fully lined, with a zip across the top and pockets inside. My purse, keys, glasses and a paperback all go in with room to spare.

Two. It looks after itself. It is a soft cotton and polyester blend that still holds its shape, and when it needs a freshen up it goes in the washing machine on a gentle cold cycle and dries on the line.

Three. It does the talking for you. I am not someone who likes attention, but this bag has started more friendly conversations in a few weeks than my black one did in ten years.

About the price

When I saw the price I was suspicious. Something this detailed, I assumed, would either cost a small fortune or fall apart within a month.

The Mosaica is A$57.95. It was A$116.

There is no catch. They have their spring sale on, delivery is free, and it turned up at my door in a plain post bag, exactly as pictured.

I did go and read the reviews before I ordered a second one. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some sites, which if I am honest made me trust it more. One woman had written, "I have had more compliments on this bag than on anything I have worn in years, and it still fits my book and my lunch." That was the one that decided it for me.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you were sitting on my verandah with a cup of tea, this is what I would say.

Stop buying handbags to disappear into. Pick the one that makes you smile when you reach for it in the morning. You have carried sensible for long enough.

It does not look like it was made for somebody half my age, and it does not look like I have given up either.

Robyn