Deep navy is the most under-cover way to wear alligator. From across a room this Constance reads as a dark blue bag; up close, the rectangular scutes and their quiet shine give it completely away. I like that two-speed effect, and I like that it never feels like a costume.
Roughly seven and a half inches across, nineteen centimetres in metric, it is a dinner-and-events size. A phone, a slim card holder, keys and a lipstick are the load, and the flap shuts with the silver clasp sitting flat in its slot, no fiddling needed, even one-handed in a taxi.
Alligator from Mississippi is farmed and tanned to a high gloss here, and the scales on mine are even, tight and free of lifting. It is, honestly, the most demanding leather I own: rain is the enemy, dryness is the slow enemy, and both show on a glazed finish well before they would on Togo or Epsom. I wipe it with a soft cloth after every outing and keep it in its sleeper, away from radiators.
Worn with a dark suit, it disappears; worn with cream, it gleams. That range is what convinced me the navy was the right call over black. The scutes have stayed flat and even through a year of outings, which is the sign of a well-tanned hide, and the clasp has left no mark on the flap. It is the most beautiful object I own, and I say that as someone who counts grams when packing.









































