My obsession with the Balenciaga Motorcycle bag has grown so great it has manifested itself into my morning routine: every day, I am on a sunrise eBay grind, searching for listings of these bags. On my screen appears a chunky bottomless one in black, with leather fringe hanging from its zippers. Another image shows a version in the color of almond milk, perched on a chair in front of a blotted blue background, like it's getting ready for a Sears family portrait. One auction features a hand with a red gel manicure that peels into the insides of a slate gray bag, a color referred to as “anthracite”, prodding at its perfect interior like a gynecologist.

But why do I have a full-blown love for this classic It bag now? When it first debuted 18 years ago, it enjoyed a burst of feverish popularity, becoming one of the mid-'00s most defining accessories. Somehow, its reputation has lasted. The Balenciaga Motorcycle had ubiquity and adaptability, whether it was on the arm of some venti Starbucks-toting celebrity, or a downtown model. It didn’t have the blindingly glam quality of the Dior saddle bag, which was re-released last year, or the uniquely iconic status of the Carrie Bradshaw-approved Fendi baguette. Nor did it have the eye-watering price tag or historical heft as an Hermès Birkin. It came later, along with other large, logo-less bags like the Chloe Paddington and the Mulberry Alexa. Its lack of heavy branding is what made it so chameleonic.

Around two weeks ago, while searching through Google Images, I found a low-res collage of fashion folk posing with the bag, including the likes of Vogue Paris editor Emmanuelle Alt and stylist Suzanne Koller. In the mix was Kate Moss, with her grown-out pixie cut. Legend has it, she saw it after a Balenciaga show and requested one from Ghesquière himself. Execs didn’t think the bag would sell, but when Moss jumped on it, they realized its potential. Then, the bag went into production.

Soon, the bag was on the arm of all the greatest '00s gossip magazine celebrities. Nicole Richie had one in every West Coast-approved color of the rainbow—banana yellow, watermelon green, cherry red—and the same goes for the likes of Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan, who all had an endlessly revolving collection of the bags. Perhaps the most notorious devotees to the Motorcycle trend were the Olsen twins, whose bags throughout the ’00s were always hilariously huge, swamping their tiny frames. And these women wore them to death, from day into night. In the January 2006 issue of W Magazine, Mary Kate’s Balenciaga bag was described in a deliciously excessive—even slightly gross—way. “The version she's carrying today was originally mint green, but it's so dingy, covered with stains, pen marks and even a chewed-up piece of gum, that it looks almost gray,”. It’s so absurd, and yet so glamorous. I want to be a piece of her chewed-up gum stuck to the bag’s bottom.

Maybe my present lust for the bag is because it was always a gotta-have-it-piece, and at 16-years-old in my nondescript New England town, even if I coveted the bag, I could never afford it. Most of the millennial women with whom I have spoken to and have recently bought them share the same experience. Now, with a handful of The RealReal credits and something of a career, the thought of getting one doesn’t feel too crazy to me.

Reasons for carrying the bag may differ, but what really matters is that the bag was made to last for decades. Like a great leather jacket, it’s fashioned to take a beating, and it looks stellar well-used. It has stood the test of time. People who were well into their careers when the bag was released say they still can’t seem to get rid of their original ones, no matter how much their style has evolved. There are some stellar stories of editors who keep on carrying the piece until it practically falls apart. Vogue’s Creative Director Sally Singer remembers her now-deceased cat chewing off one of the tassels. “I love the original City bag because it manages to be cool yet welcoming, sculptural yet smooshy, and classic yet whimsical,” she says. “My late cat Lolo ate all the fringe off mine before she passed in 2011, but even shorn of tassels, it still looks decadent and definitive.”

Virginia Smith, Vogue’s Fashion Director, once accidentally left a yellow incarnation of the bag in a hotel room, but still holds onto another version that she uses. “Generally, I'm not sentimental about bags. I tend to use them and then move on. But my beloved blue and white cowhide mini Balenciaga City is the exception,” she says. “It's my ideal weekend bag—the perfect size for a wallet, phone, and lip balm. It's so worn in places that the hide is spotty but I tell myself it only adds character.” Vogue’s Archives Editor Laird Borrelli-Persson has recently taken the plunge into actually buying one. “It was a covet bag: a friend out in Connecticut was selling her clothes and accessories for charity, and there was a Balenciaga Motorcycle bag on offer. It was hot pink. I just thought, this is a treasure, and even though it isn’t me, it was finally accessible," she says. "It’s a collectable. Even after all of these years, it still feels like fresh.”

That’s the thing: The Balenciaga Motorcycle bag looks great worn because it is, in fact, designed to be worn! We’re in an era where bags are prized for their social media-ready, carefully-maintained mint condition: unscratched and woundless, tiny and organized, structured and smooth like a tub of Vaseline. No, I don’t want an itty-bitty Jacquemus bag, barely big enough for a packet of Tylenol. Nor do I want one of those buttery, double-handled Simon Miller bags. I want an It bag that I can schlep with. I want to look like my ancestors traipsing across the furthest reaches of Eastern Europe, carrying Sisyphean sacks of schmattas on their backs. (But make it fashion!) I want to haul six water bottles, a copy of War and Peace, and a massive Oribe round brush that looks like a porcupine. The Balenciaga Motorcycle bag was formulated for the real deal; it was created for wear and tear. It was for the practical woman in a thankless city with a lot of stuff to carry. In other words, it was made for me. Now, try to outbid me on a black version.

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