Types of bags for a 12 year old
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qtiekiki-- i like the wristlest best, too. I wouldn't carry it but I could see myself buying it for a younger teen.
Aly-- You can order bags from the Dooney website. They're shipping policy isn't as specific, but from what I gather you simply pay the $7.50 for Standard Priority or Standard UPS. $18 for Express UPS and $40 for Premium. I don't see any reason not to just do Standard UPS. I've never ordered from Dooney, just bought them at Macy's. I think this would be a reasonable option for the IT bag! =) The one's with the chains are very cute, I've never seen those before.
Aly-- You can order bags from the Dooney website. They're shipping policy isn't as specific, but from what I gather you simply pay the $7.50 for Standard Priority or Standard UPS. $18 for Express UPS and $40 for Premium. I don't see any reason not to just do Standard UPS. I've never ordered from Dooney, just bought them at Macy's. I think this would be a reasonable option for the IT bag! =) The one's with the chains are very cute, I've never seen those before.
I'm sorry but a 12 year old does NOT need a purse. Especially a designer purse. What could they possibly need to carry that they can't carry in their pockets?
They shouldn't be wearing make up. They shouldn't have credit cards. Heck, they don't even need a cell phone. I didn't have a cell phone till I was 18!
Don't spoil your children like that. If you think about buying them something that fancy, put the money into an account for their college.
They shouldn't be wearing make up. They shouldn't have credit cards. Heck, they don't even need a cell phone. I didn't have a cell phone till I was 18!
Don't spoil your children like that. If you think about buying them something that fancy, put the money into an account for their college.
i dont think 12 year olds need designer bags either, but if you were to get her one, i would say a dooney and bourke IT bag...maybe a small coach.
kids grow up way too fast. i was watching the today show a few days ago, and it said that many 10-12 year olds described themselves as "sexy". i think that is a bit disturbing...even as a 15 year old, i dont find myself sexy. i say sexy is about 20-30ish.
kids grow up way too fast. i was watching the today show a few days ago, and it said that many 10-12 year olds described themselves as "sexy". i think that is a bit disturbing...even as a 15 year old, i dont find myself sexy. i say sexy is about 20-30ish.
I was just getting ready to leave 12 for 13 the first time I wanted a bag. And the first, last, and only time I wanted a specific brand name.
Let me tell you, it caused quite a scandal! Because in that time and place, it was generally considered that the most appropriate "bag" for a 12 year old was a little square thing, usually red plaid, with a plastic handgrip handle, that was called a "book satchel," and was in fact, sold specifically as the thing that children from 6 on up were intended to put our school books and papers and pencils in.
The only other thing that would be considered an acceptable thing for a child to carry in those days would have been a lunch box, which if your mom was a real fashionista might be the same red plaid as your book satchel, both bought from the same display at Woolworth's.
So my sudden insistence that I absolutely must have any purse at all, much less one that cost $12 was almost as shocking as Eddie Fisher leaving Debbie Reynolds to marry Elizabeth Taylor, and frankly, to some people, among them, sadly, being the ladies who were charged with my care and feeding, more so.
But those were the days when there was only one bag that mattered, only one bag that any girl had, and that was a John Romain. And in every little individual town, it would usually be only two or three models turned out by the company that were "popular."
Just as there were only two or three brands of clothing that were acceptable: Villager, Russ, Evan-Picone, and White Stag.
Of course, White Stag has long since been purchased by Wal-Mart, who knows what happened to the others, but (yes, I think I have told this story on here before, but come on, only a couple of dozen times) and there were two kinds of acceptable footwear, Bass Weejuns and Spalding saddle shoes. (the really fashion forward had brown and beige!)
To fully appreciate the horror with which the good ladies afflicted with the burden of what some would later graciously call my "raising," there were also some alarming indications that I had been attempting to use a Gillette safety razor in order to inflict little nicks and cuts on my legs, because Lord knows I did not then and do not now have any body hair to speak of, so what in the world else could I have been doing with it. And who gave me the money to buy a can of Foamy? That's for men!
And no, I was not a "cutter," at least not an intentional one, and I did have some hair on my legs. I still do. See? Right there. No it's there, you just need to see the eye doctor. It's THERE, right in front of you, you are looking at it, and yes, it is too a hair!
And the news got worse. I had begun to listen to noise. On the radio. Playing it loud. Nothing but racket. And even gone so far as to ask the august and venerable matron** of a relative whose cross to bear in this life involved me, an august and venerable matron of a grand Steinway, and I suspect, a healthy dose of tranquilizers and a few Corinthian juleps (3 jiggers: One for hope, one for faith, and one for charity) for this relative had Broken with Rome and become an Episcopalian, a scandal enough for one family, one would think, without "the baby" now not only demanding a twelve dollar handbag, but reportedly having asked the redoubtable Great-Aunt Piano Teacher if she could possibly get me the sheet music corresponding to racket with names like "Mr Pitiful" and "Time is on My Side," both reputed to be even worse than the Junebugs or the Mosquitos or whatever it was, that looked like they had never gone to the barber shop.
And maybe that was a factor in the story of how I won the Battle of John Romain. Or maybe it was that can of Foamy, and the little nicks on my knees, but as twelve year olds usually do, I wore them down, and before my thirteenth birthday, my long-suffering saint of a grandmother had attached a shoulder strap to my red plaid book satchel, so that my little forearm and hand would be free to rock the longed-for and unthinkably costly accessory - my beloved John Romain!
And as usually happens, any hopes that such a concession would put a stop to either racket or Foamy were soon dashed.
Thus, today, my answer to the question so innocently posed by the original poster, and which I have so far been so unhelpful in terms of providing an answer, is, in the time-honored fashion of youth grown old - none.
Get her a good serviceable backpack. And a 50 Cent's Greatest Hits CD.
Unless, of course, she really does have any body hair....
**whose Lifetime biopic would star Margaret DuMont, of Marx Brothers movies fame, were that good lady not in Heaven these many years,
Let me tell you, it caused quite a scandal! Because in that time and place, it was generally considered that the most appropriate "bag" for a 12 year old was a little square thing, usually red plaid, with a plastic handgrip handle, that was called a "book satchel," and was in fact, sold specifically as the thing that children from 6 on up were intended to put our school books and papers and pencils in.
The only other thing that would be considered an acceptable thing for a child to carry in those days would have been a lunch box, which if your mom was a real fashionista might be the same red plaid as your book satchel, both bought from the same display at Woolworth's.
So my sudden insistence that I absolutely must have any purse at all, much less one that cost $12 was almost as shocking as Eddie Fisher leaving Debbie Reynolds to marry Elizabeth Taylor, and frankly, to some people, among them, sadly, being the ladies who were charged with my care and feeding, more so.
But those were the days when there was only one bag that mattered, only one bag that any girl had, and that was a John Romain. And in every little individual town, it would usually be only two or three models turned out by the company that were "popular."
Just as there were only two or three brands of clothing that were acceptable: Villager, Russ, Evan-Picone, and White Stag.
Of course, White Stag has long since been purchased by Wal-Mart, who knows what happened to the others, but (yes, I think I have told this story on here before, but come on, only a couple of dozen times) and there were two kinds of acceptable footwear, Bass Weejuns and Spalding saddle shoes. (the really fashion forward had brown and beige!)
To fully appreciate the horror with which the good ladies afflicted with the burden of what some would later graciously call my "raising," there were also some alarming indications that I had been attempting to use a Gillette safety razor in order to inflict little nicks and cuts on my legs, because Lord knows I did not then and do not now have any body hair to speak of, so what in the world else could I have been doing with it. And who gave me the money to buy a can of Foamy? That's for men!
And no, I was not a "cutter," at least not an intentional one, and I did have some hair on my legs. I still do. See? Right there. No it's there, you just need to see the eye doctor. It's THERE, right in front of you, you are looking at it, and yes, it is too a hair!
And the news got worse. I had begun to listen to noise. On the radio. Playing it loud. Nothing but racket. And even gone so far as to ask the august and venerable matron** of a relative whose cross to bear in this life involved me, an august and venerable matron of a grand Steinway, and I suspect, a healthy dose of tranquilizers and a few Corinthian juleps (3 jiggers: One for hope, one for faith, and one for charity) for this relative had Broken with Rome and become an Episcopalian, a scandal enough for one family, one would think, without "the baby" now not only demanding a twelve dollar handbag, but reportedly having asked the redoubtable Great-Aunt Piano Teacher if she could possibly get me the sheet music corresponding to racket with names like "Mr Pitiful" and "Time is on My Side," both reputed to be even worse than the Junebugs or the Mosquitos or whatever it was, that looked like they had never gone to the barber shop.
And maybe that was a factor in the story of how I won the Battle of John Romain. Or maybe it was that can of Foamy, and the little nicks on my knees, but as twelve year olds usually do, I wore them down, and before my thirteenth birthday, my long-suffering saint of a grandmother had attached a shoulder strap to my red plaid book satchel, so that my little forearm and hand would be free to rock the longed-for and unthinkably costly accessory - my beloved John Romain!
And as usually happens, any hopes that such a concession would put a stop to either racket or Foamy were soon dashed.
Thus, today, my answer to the question so innocently posed by the original poster, and which I have so far been so unhelpful in terms of providing an answer, is, in the time-honored fashion of youth grown old - none.
Get her a good serviceable backpack. And a 50 Cent's Greatest Hits CD.
Unless, of course, she really does have any body hair....
**whose Lifetime biopic would star Margaret DuMont, of Marx Brothers movies fame, were that good lady not in Heaven these many years,
Betseyville by Betsey Johnson has some very fun young designs and the prices are relatively low.