By candlelight this bag is black. Three steps toward a window and the scales come up forest green, each one catching the light like a drop of oil on water. That two-faced quality is what Porosus crocodile does better than any other material — wide square scales, laid in the most regular tilework in the animal world, polished to a mirror without being glassy.
Measured out, it is twenty-four centimetres across, fifteen high and five deep — the classic Constance format. An evening’s contents vanish inside: phone, card holder, keys, lipstick, powder. The silver H is the right metal for this green, I think; cold light on a cold colour, whereas gold would have warmed it toward something more antique.
The finish demands a little discipline. Highly polished crocodile and rainfall are natural enemies — water can leave marks that vinegar-and-a-cloth tricks only make worse — and the scales appreciate an occasional touch of dedicated conditioner. Dried-out lizard lifts; dried-out croc dulls. Neither is a disaster, but both are avoidable with a dust bag and a reasonable amount of attention.
I would not call this an everyday bag, and I say that with affection. It is the one you build an evening around, and it rewards that hierarchy every time you open the flap. I keep mine flat in a dust bag between wears, and it has not dulled a shade since the first evening.













































