My life had become littered with tote bags. It seemed like the cloth or canvas creations were on the back of doors, jammed beside the fridge or going all mildewy in the back of my car. Totes were on trend and at every event I went to, someone seemed to shove one in my hand. As my personal collection of totes grew, I began to worry; would I need a dedicated drawer just for these ubiquitous shoulder bags? There was a bag for the beach and a bag for shopping; a bag for all my fins and a bag for something else. I was becoming an old bag man.
Salvation arrived in the form of The Remote Tote bag. Its heavy-duty waxed canvas material felt durable but distinctly stylish. The 8oz waterproof lining ensured I could dump wet boardies and a vest inside and be sure the damp wouldn’t seep through to the clothes I was wearing – a frequent problem with other totes. The internal pocket was also perfect for a set of fins or to keep a wallet, phone and keys separate from the other contents.
Many of the other totes I owned had begun their lives as stark-white or cream-coloured creations. They seemed to attract every kind of stain under the sun. By contrast, the thick-skinned, dark-green Remote Tote felt like it could repel attacks from any kind of substance. My girlfriend, who’s in fashion, marvelled at the quality of the material and the finish. When I caught her stroking the tactile surface jealously, I realised I had a bag my partner wanted to steel.
All the other bags now seem second-rate and flimsy, inferior in both form and function. Tossing the Remote Tote over my shoulder as I head out for a day trip, my mind turns to ‘Highlander’, the mid-80s, action-fantasy film starring Christopher Lambert. The film is about several immortals trying to take each other out. Each time one immortal kills another they cry, ‘There can be only one.’ And that’s exactly how I feel about the Remote Tote. ‘There can be only one,’… and it feels kind of immortal.
