A good few years ago now, the weekend glossies took great glee in running seemingly endless stories about a very ordinary ‘phenomenon’ – the man bag.

Now, for some wholly irrational reason, I always imagine national broadsheet fashion editors as black-clad matriarchs with furious tempers and shallow souls – part Cruella De Vile, part Patsy from AbFab. Imagine the scene three days before the Sunday sections go to press. Interested only in the Addison-Lee-fuls of highly covetable outfits arriving daily from Milan and Paris by way of thinly-veiled endorsements, her editor reminds her of the increasingly number of male readers who might show more than a passing interest in their wardrobes. What can we offer the humble chap by way of runway wisdom this week my dear? “Just give ‘em a DPS on how it’s actually macho to wear a handbag, again”. Nice. Oh, and love those Laboutins.

But what does it all mean and what’s the impact on society of all this ‘handbag’ nonsense? Daily Mail propaganda aside, was it a damning landmark of new-man’s estrogen-fuelled journey into androgyny? Or a simply well-earned break for our jacket and trouser pockets? Who knows? But things have very clearly moved on from the proto-bag of yore.

The humble early manbag was still pretty butch, to be honest. If it wasn’t sculpted like a bowling bag, it took on the shape of a motorcycle courier’s knapsack. Bowling and bikes. Grrrrr. Then there was the seasonal transition to micro-bag. The visual admission that actually you weren’t carrying around lots of heavy lead piping, a shotgun and some nails from Wickes. In fact, you were completely comfortable with the whole manbag thing and all you have in there is a chapstick, a chequebook and the latest copy of Cheekbone magazine.

We’ve had the tote, the granny shopper, even a sort of clutch for eveningwear which accused many a style warrior of walking a decadent and confusing line down the busy, neon-lit high street of sexual-orientation. So, what next? Well, in my search for the latest ‘carry-me-beautiful’, I’ve hit a genuine brick wall. For six months, I’ve been waiting for ‘the next bag thing’. And I’m still kicking my heels.

In the meantime, there’s always the faithful, cheap, environmentally sound choice of ‘the Croydon Samsonite’ - a humble plastic number from Tescos – for the ultimate urban look. Bagamuffin!