Crushing On My New (To Me) Louis Vuitton Montsouris

“Fashion is pushing its love affair with logos to the limit. If you’ve got it, flaunt it!” proclaims the March 2000 issue of Vogue. 

In that same issue, Helmut Newton strung a smattering assortment of bikini tops in Chanel’s interlocking double C’s and Fendi’s tell-tale double F’s atop model Angela Lindvall for an editorial titled “Branded” – foreboding the monogrammed mishmash that was to ensue in the decade that followed.

But logos (monograms, emblems, insignia, what have you) have existed within the cultural lexicon for far longer.

Back in the ’80s, for instance, Dapper Dan was reworking Gucci’s GG-fied garment bags and transforming them into bootleg, branded merchandise. Vuitton’s version, on the other hand, used to be synonymous with those elite jetsetters back in the day who were regularly rolling up to the airport in full, tailored suits with stacks of logo-laden Louis trunks in tow.

And even as a half-baked graphic designer, it’s not lost upon yours truly how logo design can be its own kind of art – and I don’t (necessarily) refer to that cynical, post-Warholian concept art territory that a $1,200 sweatshirt with a big, bold BALENCIAGA in sans serif would fall into.

(Which, of course, could also just be lazy design.)

My point is, dear reader, as someone whose relationship with monograms has been, for the most part, rather contentious (even when I mused about a potential logo-heavy purchase, it was mostly for ironic reasons), to actually be in possession of one can feel disorienting.

And disoriented is exactly how I feel as I try to come to terms with my freshly acquired new (to me) Louis Vuitton Montsouris backpack.

Do We Still LVoe the Louis Vuitton Logo?

So, why did I even buy this brand-bedazzled beauty in the first place, you ask?

Well, haven’t we all had that realization of “Oh my god, what did I just do” over a (not particularly prescient) purchase at some point or another? When you buy something – even if it’s something you’ve been wanting for a while – you get home, and then it hits you, the magnitude of it all?

Megs had her own such epiphany when she landed her first Birkin on a trip to New York, grasping onto that huge, orange-hued Hermès shopper on the subway back, and nearly having a panic attack in the hours that followed.

And come to think of it, the Louis Vuitton logo has always been positioned as something to aspire to. Developed nearly 130 years ago, the iconic floral insignia has continued to be a brand bestseller, catering to the affluent classes over sustained periods of time and eventually becoming – through marketing or otherwise – a wardrobe staple.

One of Kaitlin’s first designer bags, for instance, was the Speedy 25, which, unsurprisingly, was the arm-candy of choice to one Miss Audrey Hepburn, when she turned up to Heathrow in a fur-trimmed coat and suede boots. Aspirational if you ask me!

And the Neverfull – oh the Neverfull! It’s the bag I see every day, and depending on the part of the city I’m in, every hour. In fact, it’s really the bag I cannot unsee: marinating on the pavement inches away from elegant older women practicing Tai Chi, slung over tank tops at the farmer’s market, brimming with fresh peaches, or tipping over at the bus stop, its gaping red innards betraying the life of a cog in the corporate wheel.

Can you really blame me for wanting to buy into that logo-fraught fantasy?

A Veteran of the Vintage

“If eyes are the window to the soul,” writes the Vogue piece, “by the time the 2000s rolled around, so too were handbags.” 

And among fashion people, there’s little more horrifying than the idea that their window to the soul is the same as everybody else’s. After all, how do we stand out? How do we make our mark? It’s the reason why personal style has been a recurring topic of discussion over the past year. 

It’s also the reason personal style is, for the most part, dead. But I digress.

So, of course, when it came to the idea of my own monogrammed acquisition, the searingly “basic” Speedy or the omnipresent Neverfull weren’t going to make the cut – it’s that “I’m different” fashion complex again!

Enter – the Montsouris.

The year, dear reader, was 1994. Kate Moss’ cross-armed, drop-dead cool CK One campaign had just dropped. Jennifer Aniston’s highlighted tresses as Rachel from Friends were making waves as the hairdo de rigueur. And two LBDs simultaneously took the world by storm – the first: Elizabeth Hurley’s “gravity-defying, neo-punk slip of Versace silk,” held scandalously in place by giant gold safety pins, at the premiere of Four Weddings and a Funeral; the second: Lady Di’s Christina Stambolian “revenge dress” at the Serpentine Gallery. It was also the year Louis Vuitton launched the Montsouris.

Over two decades before the house’s most popular backpack offering, the Palm Springs, Vuitton had entered the game with the Montsouris, named after Parc Montsouris – one of the largest parks in Paris. The namesake rucksack, furnished in monogram canvas and cowhide vachetta, was the brand’s original hauler.

And since discontinued (in 2007) and then reissued (first in 2017, then 2020), the Montsouris continues to weave in and out of the zeitgeist, though not as ubiquitous as its storied counterparts. In other words, perfect for moi?

So, is the Montsouris Truly… Me?

“I had the old version GM and put it through every manner of stuffing and maltreatment for about 15 years of daily use and heavy world travel,” wrote PurseForum member Prepster, “it was typical of the very best of the LV travel heritage – just an all-around fantastic, lightweight, roomy, practically indestructible bag.”

Angelo Mitakos, fashion editor at GQ, echoes the appreciation for the OG vintage: “I got this bag back in 2018, vintage in Japan. It kind of has everything I need, it’s comfortable to wear, large, so it fits everything. And the older it gets the better it looks!”

Now, if you know me, you know of my love for all things vintage (or semi-vintage). My go-to bag? The Proenza Schouler PS1. Those jeans you couldn’t pry out of my cold, dead fingers? Vintage bootcut Hollisters (with a tailored waist!). Currently, I’m also rotating through a pair of pointy-toe heeled boots that add a few inches of confidence to my otherwise petite self. 

Culturally, slipping into secondhand pants (or shoes!) is thought to bring bad juju. Me? I love my things worn, loved, driven to the ground. Laura Reilly of Magasin, shares the sentiment: “Imo, you’re supposed to acquire things in secret like you ALWAYS had them.” And I think that’s where the crux of all my monogram-related apprehension primarily stems from. 

“To wear ‘nice’ clothes is, on a basic level, to attempt to transform the way you look and feel for the better — an intrinsically aspirational act,” writes Blackbird Spyplane, “And any gesture of aspiration contains within it a component of vulnerability, if not outright insecurity and vanity.”

And a logo-laden piece is perhaps the most overt manifestation of that dichotomy. But unlike those “refined” Loro Piana tonal-stitch logo caps (“trying to downplay their sweaty tryharditude but can’t fully commit”), my Montsouris at least has the conviction to say that quiet part out loud. 

So, even though, like all monogrammed wares, this too is a status badge, it’s still a status badge that looks loved, lived in, and inherently mine.

And at the end of the day, that’s what makes it me!