The best test of a tote is not a photograph. It is a Friday evening, a train you nearly missed, and everything you own for two days held in one hand.
It carries a book you will not read, a jumper for a cold that never arrives, and a bag of apricots from a stall you will not find again. By Sunday it has taken the shape of the trip.
You do not pack a good tote. You fill it and leave.
Canvas earns its creases. The corners soften, the base darkens where it has been set down on a hundred surfaces, and the handles start to hold the curve of your hand. None of this is damage. It is the point.
Somewhere past the last stop
Take the one you would not mind ruining. Ours are built so you will not have to find out.
