We start with the founder. It's a launch. It would have been weird to start anywhere else.
Amanda founded Nineteenth Society in Ontario, in evening hours, between a full-time job, carpooling kids to all the things, and a Thursday night tee time she refuses to give up. She's a Cheerleader and a Cart Girl. A few years ago she was the Beginner. That's part of what started this whole thing.
Here's what's actually in her bag.
The Cooler.
Yes, her own bag. The first one she designed. The thing that started this whole publication. It carries four cans and has a clip-on pouch that goes from the cart to the patio without negotiation.
Drink Sleeves, set of four.
Always four. One per person in the foursome. You don't carry one. You carry four. Anything less is a tell.
A small bottle of Fireball.
Her move. Hole 7 if the round needs it. Hole 3 if the morning needs it. Sometimes a pour for the cart girl.
A Bluetooth speaker. And a charger.
The cart has a soundtrack. The speaker is charged. The charger comes too, because she's been burned before. The ranger has driven past during one of her playlists. He had thoughts. He kept driving.
A ball counter.
She's a goldfish on the course. The Social Chair once told her to count the clubs she's actually using. That's too much math after the second Kronenbourg Blanc.
One ball marker she keeps choosing.
That's a gimme. It's the only one she ever pulls. She owns the full set. The other three are in the bag for emotional support.
A spare bandana.
For the hair. For the bag. For the wrist on a hot day. For the friend who didn't bring one and is overheating on Hole 6.
A hair clip. Not a hair tie.
The hair is not getting kinked at the patio after the round. Anyone with hair understands.
A tube of lip balm, cap missing.
The cap has been missing since April. The lip balm is fine. It's resilient. It's been through things.
Half a granola bar from when she brought the kids out last week.
Don't ask. The glass of wine after was earned. The granola bar stays.
Cash for the cart girl. Always more than she thinks she'll need.
The cart girl gets tipped well or there is no point in any of this.
A pen.
For the Vibe Tracker. For the napkin moment at the 19th when something needs to be written down. For the receipt she'll sign. The pen is the only thing in this bag she's never lost.
Sunscreen.
The bottle is half empty. That's normal.
A small note in the bottom pocket.
She won't say what it says. She won't take it out. It's been there since the day she registered the business name. We've stopped asking.
This is what a founder's bag looks like. Half of it is product she designed. The other half is the stuff a marketing department wouldn't think to put in a campaign, because it isn't a campaign. It's a bag.
One more thing. She doesn't say "on the green." She says "it's on the dancefloor." We don't know when she started. We're not going to ask. It's official now.
Next month: a real member. Not the founder. We'll catch a Cart Girl in her natural habitat and ask her to show us.
ā The Nineteenth Society
P.S. If you don't know which member you are yet, take the quiz. The bag stuff will make more sense when you know which one of us you'd be sitting next to at the 19th.
P.P.S. Forward this to the friend whose bag is, frankly, a situation. She knows.