A Reasonable Assumption

More and more recently, I have been finding women on the big and small screen needing a Dirty Dee Handbag.  Here is just a sampling of what I have come across: 

  • Amy Schumer waiting for the subway in her promo commercial for Inside Amy,
  • Judy Greer at the office on Arrested Development
  • Jordan Peele walking away from her boyfriend on Key and Peele
  • Kyra Sedgwick ay the scene of a crime in The Closer
  • Kirsten Dunst in Bridesmaids with puke on her dress before a wedding
  • Mark Maron's atest conquest walking the walk of shame on Maron

... all needing my handbag in different scenarios.  I might not personally catch girls out there in every scenario needing my handbag; but if I find them on t.v.,  there must be real life scenarios like these out there as well.  

To view the full compilation of celebs out and about and on the screen barefoot and needing a Dirty Dee Handbag, visit www.DirtyDeeHandbags.com and look in the Celebspiraton album. And dear god if you spot any barefooted girls or boys out and about or on the screen submit them to dirtydeehandbags@gmail.com.

 

Ground Zero

There are so many barefoot girls out there; it's unreal.  So while I am figuring out the logistics of the product, I figured I should simultaneously conduct an observational study of the market by documenting all the women out there needing my handbag and getting the who, what, when, where and why.  (Does it sound like I am using my degree here yet?  It better because I am still paying for it.)  To start it off I hit ground zero: the night club scene.  Exhibit A: barefoot girls needing my handbag in my backyard: Sutra.

The Burning Bush

The Burning Bush.  The first girl I found barefoot and needing my handbag at the Newport Beach Film Festival.

The Burning Bush.  The first girl I found barefoot and needing my handbag at the Newport Beach Film Festival.

So now that I had this super sweet idea I was obsessed about, the practical and rational me, my dominant side, came back around.  

Why waste all this money I didn't have creating something for no one?

After I hand-sewed the first bag, I tossed it off to the side because the realization of the time, but mostly the money, it would take to create it would be astronomical to my tight ass coin purse.   ot to mention, I was living at my girl friend's house at the time while I got my shit together (thanks eternally S).  It made no sense, I had no cents, so therefore there was no sense thinking about it.

...Until everywhere I turned, women were arefoot, holding their heels, and in pain.  It was like some "Get Your Shit Together" signs the universe was throwing out for me.  So instead of getting shit on by the universe, I got my shit together.

f course, all of the pictures I have found of barefooted girls have been well documented on facebook.com/DirtyDeeHandbags.

Birth of a Bag

Let's be honest... shit happens.  I'm not going to deny it nor apologize for it. It was the birth of my future.

was about ready to walk home from a visit with a boy after a long night of dancing at the clubs and after clubs. 

ooking a typical morning mess, still in my club dress, breath questionable, I gathered my things to start the walk back to my friends house. My feet were still in agony from the night of dancing prior and, quite frankly, there was no way in hell I was going to put my heels on.  Six inches of what sounded like a good idea when I put them on last night now looked like four blocks back to my girlfriend's house on shards broken glass and rusty nails. Either way there was no disguising the scenario, I mean the above the heels ensemble was a dead give away, and I was walking back on glass and nails, real or metaphoric. And to be honest I didn't mind it but some comfortable shoes would have fucking been nice. After after that thought entered my brain, a bag to put my shit in would also be swell.

Jump to 2010, I just took a break from my boyfriend, in a funk and not in my best state.  I needed to put my energy somewhere and I remembered the bag.  It sounded completely undo-able and ery time consuming, which was just what I needed.  I went to a bargain store, bought some zippers and fabric and went to werk (Yes, I know I spelled work wrong, but I insist on spelling it like that now for the snap-at-the-air emphasis I insist on associating it with now). A week later, I had the most hideous deconstructed, reconstructed, and color uncoordinated handbag I had ever seen.  I was my intangible idea realized and I instantly became obsessed with it.

won't bore you with the details of how it came to be, but it was a bitch.  Not like thesis paper bitch where you could care less, semi-half ass it, and just want it over with, but more like you want it so badly to come to perfect fruition and something goes wrong every time...every fucking time. This process was discouraging, dollar-draining, and emotionally depleting; and to top it off, explaining to your mother why you refuse to get a "real job" just added to the internal struggle to keep this alive. When you believe in your idea, you're willing to see it through even if it means you might end up a corporate entry-level at 30.

From here, I pushed and pushed and it has inched along.

 

 - Dee