An Ode
My Giant Millennial Tote Bag Carried Everything
Three outfits, four lip balms, a laptop, and a sea of dried-out pens.

It’s no secret that Gen Z envies millennials (see: TikTok’s collective yearning for 2016). And why wouldn’t they? I mean, we have Hilary Duff. We also have enormous tote bags. I saw a Gen Z girl with a purse so small she couldn’t fit her phone in it. No thank you. We do it right, us millennials. Back in 2016, I preferred to carry my entire apartment in a bag. In my defense, I lived in a studio.
Yes, it weighed 29 pounds. And yes, wearing it with my flimsy Zara flats is why I have chronic back pain to this day. But you know what? Worth it. My physical therapist was hot. Plus, I needed a lot of stuff.
So what was actually in there? The tote mainly contained three outfit changes, shoes included. A wrinkled going-out top, in case that guy from Tinder asked me out last minute. (I didn’t have time to iron it. And he apparently didn’t have time to text me which nights he’s free.) A toothbrush, gym clothes, and spin shoes for my 6 a.m. SoulCycle class in case I wound up sleeping over. Plus, sneakers for my commute, a fresh work outfit, peep-toe ankle booties, a hairbrush, and makeup so I could head to the office straight after. There was also underwear, because I’m a woman. I won’t explain.
As an aspiring girlboss, I had bags for work within the bag, Inception style. One was my chevron-print neoprene laptop sleeve (rose-gold MacBook included). The other carried pens that stopped working in 2012, my ID card lanyard, and a promotional USB boasting several PowerPoints entitled "Synergy_FINAL_v7,” “Synergy_FINAL_v7_finalfinal,” and “Synergy_FINAL_v7_USETHISONE.”
There was also an entire CVS. I didn’t grow up on Amazon’s 30-minute delivery, so I came prepared. Advil (back pain, duh), Tums, regular Lactaid, emergency Lactaid, Band-Aids, hand sanitizer, and several pills that I thought were loose Adderall. At least, I hoped they were. I had long days.
But wait, there was more! I also had my Kindle, a physical book (what if the Kindle died?), and a Moleskine. Page 1 of the journal? Grocery list. Page 2? The words “content ideas,” followed by nothing. Page 3? My dermatologist’s phone number. He still gives out free sunscreen, FYI, so LMK if you want his number.
I also had four different lip balms, so I could always reach for one on the first try. I’d hate to have to root around or anything.
Last but not least: headphones with a frayed wire.
My phone, wallet, and keys went in my coat pocket — I didn’t want to lose them in the tote. (This is why I accidentally locked myself out at least once every summer.)
So there you had it. My ludicrously capacious millennial tote bag: a monument to ambition, and the reason my left shoulder is 2 inches lower than my right. Gen Z can keep its tiny purses. I was ready for everything, just as long as I didn’t leave my bag on the — shoot, I left it on the subway, didn’t I?