In 1995, my boyfriend gave me a beautiful men’s wallet for my 24th birthday. I fucking loved it. It was unique, functional, I’m pretty sure it was expensive, and it was a giant middle finger to the kind of birthday present girls were “supposed” to like. I still love that wallet, and now, because I’ve had it for over 22 years, I am also sentimentally attached to it. I love it because after all these years together we’ve become so close we finish each other’s sentences. I love it because it’s always been there. It’s travelled with me to dozens of countries and endured four crappy jobs before finally settling in to the right one. It’s witnessed four other boyfriends come and go, and one amazing husband stick around. I love it because it’s seen me broke and it’s seen me flush. It’s held deposit cheques for my first car and my first house. Money that my Dad left me when he died. Money to buy food for handouts here in Dubai. Maxed out credit cards that have kept me awake at night and banknotes in eleven different currencies. You know, as mementos
Someone recently asked me what all the crap in my wallet was, referring to my large collection of car wash vouchers. Eight vouchers used to score you a free car wash – in 2001 – but I never actually got around to using them and over the years my poor wallet has stretched out to accommodate their bulk. When I finally decided to get rid of them, about ten years ago, I realised that my wallet had ballooned so much that my cash had no chance of staying put and just kept slipping out. So the vouchers resumed their position, filling the cavernous space they had created. We’ve all accepted that this will be their final resting place. My wallet can no longer function without them, and thus neither can I.
My wallet has contained love notes and phone numbers from fascinating strangers. It’s held receipts, IOUs, shopping lists and lists of things to do. It safeguards passport photos and photos of dead people, photos of people I love. It keeps my Australian sim securely hidden away when I’m in Dubai, and my UAE sim safe when I’m travelling. And, because I’m a hoarder, it still hangs onto every single driver’s license I’ve ever had. It holds my organ donor card, my Blood Bank donor card, and my most recent acquisition, my first aid license. My life is essentially contained within the smooth, dark brown, leather pockets of this wallet.
But let’s be real. The thing is over 22 years old. I don’t know how old that is in wallet years. Ancient. The stitches are falling apart at the seams and the Oroton label has all but completely worn away. The zipper on the coin pocket broke about fifteen years ago, and the whole goddamn thing is so distended by filler crap that I can’t even actually button it closed anymore. Let’s face it, this wallet is an old, ugly, worthless piece of shit. And I really, really should just throw it away and get a new one.
But I think we all know, I never will.