Apparently, the It-bag moment is officially over. You still need a sharp handbag, but you don’t need to know its name or get it shipped from overseas, where the waiting list is three months shorter. I know this, but the trouble is, nobody has told my bag. This monster Mulberry number (white, glinting with silver hardware, the size of a toddler and worth the same as the combined contents of my wardrobe) is not ready to be removed from centre stage. Like an alpha dog or a platinum-blonde diva, Bag dominates, and has done ever since it arrived in its own fluffy pouch, reeking of high maintenance and attention-seeking behaviour.

It is only when you start to contemplate life without an It bag that you realise how far removed from handbags these accessories have become. They are personalities in their own right, with their own agendas and profiles.

You don’t own an It bag — you hook up with it and hope for the best. My bag has to sit on my knee in the car because there is not enough room for it in the foot well (ditto the bus — you can’t tuck it beside you because it takes up a whole seat . . . and it might get dirty). I never used to fear the rain: now I bolt for cover in case Bag gets wet. On holiday, the rule is to cover Bag first, then the picnic. Bag arrives in the room before me, muscling past people, scuffing the paintwork. It is more chic and extrovert than its owner and refuses to be ignored (you can try and stuff it in a corner, but invariably someone helpful will suggest you keep it close, in case something gets spilt on it).

Still, despite the downsides (not least the shoulder strain), the relationship between girl and It bag is a co-dependent one. The most addictive It bags are designed with suitcase capacity to get you hooked on carrying your whole life around. But what is truly addictive is Bag’s self-confidence. It has its own social status, and no owner (not even you, with your chewed fingernails and ropey highlights) can compromise its reputation. Bag makes its entrance to the party and drags you along in its wake: it is the good-looking boyfriend, the courage-boosting cocktail and the terrific tummy-control pants all in one. “Oh, right,” everyone thinks. “She’s here with Bag.”

Plus, it acts like a minder/companion. For example, if you are waiting for a date and you are in the company of Bag, it is suddenly no problem. Not only does Bag contain enough entertainment to see you through a long weekend, but it is a prop, a presence somewhere between a dog and a robot servant.

You don’t just dump a bag like this, it isn’t that simple. I’m actually a bit scared of mine.

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