What Buying a Birkin Taught Me About Myself

The journey from coveting to clarity

Sixteen years ago, I got the call. The one where you’re “offered the opportunity” to buy a Hermès Birkin. If you know, you know.

I remember the timing like yesterday because it was just days after my niece was born eight weeks early in the NICU and my sister was in the ICU, recovering from a terrifying, life-threatening complication. Everyone's okay now. But back then, life felt like it was coming apart.

For many women, the Birkin is the holy grail. For me, it was the bag that whispered: Bina, if you get this, you’ve made it. You’ll belong. Your life will change. I’d been obsessively researching, mood-boarding, and manifesting (before that was a trending word). I landed on a 40cm black togo leather with gold hardware. (Between us, I dreamed of forest green, but that was near-impossible to score, and would’ve meant years of waiting).

My friend Peter had a contact at Hermès. I pleaded my case in the summer. By winter, the call came. You’d think I’d be elated. I was. But I was also terrified. I was single, not rich, and about to drain my savings for a handbag. It made no rational sense. But, given the circumstances, with my sister almost dying, her firstborn daughter wired up under glass, under three pounds, I pulled the trigger.

When you want something that badly, it becomes a symbol. If I get this bag, then I’ll have arrived. People will think I have access. Taste. Status. Money to burn.

What I didn’t consider? That the damn thing weighs a ton, even empty. Forget shoulder-carrying, the handle is too short for that. Its rightful place is on the forearm. Ok, guys….you cannot carry this on your right forearm for too long without switching left or risk getting pins and needles. This is a bag for people who travel from a private car or plane to a private office or event. Not schleppers who bring their lunch to the office. Remember all of that researching? The light bulb went off, all of those paparazzi photos? 90% of them must be staged.

But heavier than the bag was what it carried emotionally. When I did take it out, I felt like an imposter. Compliments, side-eyes, silent math. Is it real? How’d she get it? No one ever said it, but you could feel it. I never quite felt like it fit me, or I fit it.

Eventually, I tried to sell it during a tight financial moment. My husband (wisely) stopped me. Today, it’s in a dust bag in my closet. I rarely reach for it. It’s appreciated in value, and ironically, that never entered my calculus.

These days, I carry a $42 Baggu canvas tote. It’s light. It can be coat-checked, tossed on the floor, survive a snowstorm, ride the subway, and hang off a greasy barstool with zero guilt. And honestly, it feels like freedom. With the Baggu, I tell the bag what to do. The Birkin? She told me what I had to do to protect her.

For a long time, I fell out of love with the Hermès brand. Maybe even resented it a little (not enough to cheer for the Wirkin/Walmart Birkin), but enough to feel detached from it. Then I listened to the brand deep dive on the Acquired podcast. Ben Gilbert and David Rosenthal told the origin story, and they humanized it. At its core, Hermès began like any great brand: a founder trying to serve a real need.

Last week, I visited the Hermès Mystery at the Grooms’ at Pier 36 pop-up. It was not what I expected. It was joyful. Inclusive. Interactive. Families. Kids. Normal people. Staff who welcomed and smiled.

That’s when it clicked. I was mad at the brand, and wrongly so. This was about me. I had projected so much onto that bag. I thought it would change how people saw me. But I was the one still figuring out how to see myself.

Now, as a founder building hi-BB, a tool to help people cut through beauty noise and find what works for them, I see the parallel. Hermès started by making saddles. Useful. Functional. Beautiful. I’m building something useful too. Just fewer buckles. And a lot less leather.

So what did the Birkin teach me about myself?

No object, no matter how coveted, expensive, or iconic, can tell you who you are. It can only reflect where you are in that moment. Back then, I wanted to belong. Today, I want to build. Something useful. Something beautiful.

Turns out, luxury isn’t what you carry. It’s what no longer carries you.