You wouldn’t think that Vera Bradley would scream “An American in Paris,” but when I was strolling the cobbled streets of the City of Lights, I was continually blinded by American tourists tricked out with Vera Bradley’s treacly quilted backpacks, suitcases, and totes who were looking for the nearest Starbucks.
It was at this point I adopted a Canadian accent when ordering up a café au lait.
Don’t get me wrong. J'adore quilts. But I like them on my bed, not on my shoulder or the overhead compartment. The accessory equivalent of a Beanie Baby, Vera Bradley bags are a paisley pastiche of granny not-so-chic, a five-year-old’s pajamas, and the clearance aisle at Linens N Things, with a bit of QVC's Quaker Factory thrown in.
If I had a fat quarter for every time I wanted to punch a Vera Bradley purse in the face, I’d have a queen-sized quilt.(photo: only-designer-handbags.com)