�Handbags are the new must-have accessories.� So begins the introduction to the 2007 page-a-day calendar I bought for four dollars at Borders last week. The theme of this calendar is handbags, and features big glossy color photos of same, one per day (except on weekends, when it�s a two-for-one). January 1st shows a handbag of pine green silk with a faux-ivory clasp depicting a curly-haired girl clasping a Borzoi around the neck, wearing what appears to be the dog�s collar. The girl�s head pops off to trigger the mechanism to open the handbag, for a subtle touch of the Grand Guignol. The date listed for this purse is ca. 1920, which would seem to negate the calendar�s opening statement, but as Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, dawdling calendar-buyers cannot quibble with accuracy, so I am going to be happy with what I have. (In the sense that I am ever happy with anything, which is to say that I will take constant issue with elements I find displeasing, which are in turn completely acceptable to 99% of other people.)

Today�s handbag�a generally teardrop-shaped blob decorated in a random pattern of black and white crystals, designed by the queen of the garish evening bag, Judith Leiber. (Although, her work appears in museums, so you know it must be art.) The overall appearance is of a crystal-encrusted, deceased, possibly leprous, bullfrog, which for all I know, given some of her other designs, was the intent. The date of its creation is 1985, and I can picture Ivana Trump carrying it to a charity luncheon for a society devoted to the protection of blondes.

The handbag (or, �rigid evening purse with silver and onyx closure,� as it�s described) reminded me of a conversation I overheard several years ago, in San Francisco. It took place in I Magnin, although why I was there, I cannot imagine, since I was marginally employed and not in need of any $1,500 shoes, as I recall. I came up the escalator and stopped at the handbag counter, where two women were waiting for a clerk to wrap some purchases. �I just bought two Judith Leiber bags,� one woman was saying to the other, with an intensity that suggested that she was having trouble processing the information. �And a Chanel bag,� she added, never breaking eye contact with the other. �That�s right,� the other one said. �I just bought TWO Judith Leiber bags,� the first one repeated, resting her arm on the counter containing more of the bags. She gave a dry little laugh that telegraphed her pleasure in what she clearly considered an accomplishment.

I wanted to see which bags she had bought, but the clerk was still working on the wrapping, out of my sight. The counter was tiny, and my attention unwelcome, so I continued up the next section of the escalator.

If you�re unfamiliar with the Judith Leiber line of handbags, here�s an example (see illustration):

ILLUSTRATION

That one, called Poodle, measures five inches high by three inches wide, by two inches deep, and is covered with �hand glued Austrian crystals,� according to the website. It retails for $4,695, so you might want to pick one up while they�re still available, so you can complete that Insane Divorcee costume you�ve been assembling.

I never did see the bags that the double-Leiber lady bought that day at Magnin�s, and now Magnin�s is gone, replaced by Macy�s. Leiber bags are for sale at Neiman-Marcus, across the street, but I have never been tempted to buy one. I understand that luxury goods are by definition overpriced, but I�ve often thought about the things that I could buy for the price of three designer handbags, which that day was likely around $6,500. I could buy $6,000 worth of rubber bands and go up on the roof of Macy�s, and shoot them down at patrons entering Neiman-Marcus to buy Leiber bags, that�s what I could do. I could do that, and still have $500 left over to go get drunk on.

Here is a luxury item I did buy recently, in a slightly less elegant setting than I Magnin. The Keelhauler and I went to the Alpha Thrift, which despite the implication of reasonable prices in its name, is notoriously expensive. He looked through the used musical equipment and men�s sweaters, while I took a stroll through the high-rent district of the jewelry case. A heart-shaped pendant on a chain caught my eye, so I asked to see it. A quick examination of it led me to believe that it might be gold, and I showed it to the Keelhauler. �Do you want that for Christmas?� he asked, pulling out his wallet. (He had been away for the holidays, so I hadn�t gotten a present yet.) I said yes, and he handed me a ten, telling me to keep the change. I bought the necklace for$8.95 plus tax, and wear ut happily. �I think it�s real gold!� I kept telling the Keelhauler, who keeps telling me that it doesn�t matter, if I love it, what it�s made of. A few days ago, I visited a jeweler to drop off a ring to be reset. On a whim, I took off my necklace and asked him to check it. He gave it a glance through his loup, looking for a hallmark. �Well, it�s gold,� he said. �What karat?� I asked. He handed it to an assistant who tottered off with it, and returned, saying something I couldn�t understand. The jeweler returned it to me, saying, �Eighteen karat.� See?

I loved it before I knew what it was made of, but now, I love it even more. I love its simplicity and I love that it has value beyond its price. And I love that the Keelhauler bought it for me. I wouldn�t trade it for all the Leiber bags in the world.

OK, maybe that one shaped like a bluebird. That�s pretty rad.

Star of the day. . .Garland Jeffreys