I’m pretty attached to my wallet. Like George Costanza once said about his wallet, “It is a part of me!”
Since I bought my beloved Perry Ellis Gramercy Trifold Wallet at Filene’s on April 24, 2005, we’ve been through a lot together. It’s been in my pocket at my high school graduation, and on my first day of college. It’s been soaked through with spilt water during a hookup, and drenched with rainwater spinning off the tires of my bike. It’s been to the beach, through the woods, out in the snow, and has visited at least 11 states. It’s been my trusted holder of cash and credit cards, identification and numerous other things for almost four years now. It still smells of fine Italian lambskin leather, even though it should smell like nothing but the back pocket of my jeans (which, I hope, doesn’t have any particular scent).
After many years of faithful service, I’m retiring my wallet in favor of a new one—a bifold—that I received for Christmas.
This was a tough decision for me. My wallet is always on or near me; if it’s not in my back pocket, it’s just across the room or next to me on my nightstand. I know exactly how best to pull it out of my pocket, where best to place my fingers as I pull it out, where the cards will get stuck as I pull them out. It’s been broken in, and loved. This new wallet is still stiff and unwrinkled; it doesn’t close right because I haven’t sat on it for an uncountable number of hours.
Worst of all, it smells fresh.
Sure, my old wallet was rough and scratchy from the waterlogged hookup. Sure, it left funky black gunk on my credit cards after they’d be sitting in the pockets for years at a time. Sure, the seams were coming apart and it had a hole on the inside. And sure, a lot of the leather on the folds had been grated off. But it was still there for me whenever I needed it. It always had my back (and my cash). I loved it, man.
Now comes the long, slow process of breaking in a new wallet and learning all its subtle habits and idiosyncrasies.
