BAGS

Expectations used to be great, then life happened — now they're gray.

Inspired by the bold colors, pixel hearts, and rebellious charm of the Y2K era. To the lipsticks that survive until sunrise, and the memories that burn bright until morning comes.

A few weeks ago, the electricity went out in Tbilisi. The whole neighborhood disappeared at once.

This bag was inspired by a very specific mood: staring out of the window, thinking poetic thoughts, and being vaguely sad for aesthetic reasons.

You'll never know whether you love it from a distance. You have to hold it first. This bag was supposed to take me two days. Instead, it took me nine months. Not because it was difficult — out of all the bags I've ever crocheted, this one is one of the simplest. The problem was that I couldn't decide whether I liked it. I'd crochet a little, put it down, look at it, shrug, and tell myself I'd finish it tomorrow. Tomorrow became next week, next week became next month. This bag is the product of indecision and world-class procrastination. I kept waiting for the moment when I'd suddenly know whether it was worth finishing. "She loves me. She loves me not" It's me in my grandma's garden, wearing my little yellow dress, tiny hands carefully pulling petals off a daisy, asking a flower to tell me something about love. "She loves me. She loves me not" It's me years later, wearing an oversized gray hoodie, with tired hands and tired eyes, asking a ball of yarn exactly the same question. Except the flower wasn't deciding, I was. One evening I got tired of arguing with a bag that couldn't argue back. Got myself together, crocheted the handle. Then I hand-braided the little flowers and clipped them onto the side.I looked at it for about three seconds and thought: "Oh… I do love you." Turns out I wasn't waiting to love the bag, I was waiting for it to become itself. Just a simple gray handbag with a tiny braid of flowers hanging from its shoulder. Nothing extraordinary or revolutionary. Just... itself. Sometimes we ask the world to give us certainty before we find the courage to continue. When, in reality, certainty only arrives because we continue. So here's your reminder from one very patient little handbag:  

A handmade crochet phone bag for spontaneous plans, golden hour walks, and nights that start with "just one drink."

This is the basket-bag for the first truly warm weekend of spring, when the sun finally feels like it has decided to stay. “After sleepless drunken nights, you'll rest yourself on sacred doors...” right? Or maybe not. Maybe instead, you'll answer the messages you've been postponing for months.Maybe you'll put on your breeziest clothes, grab your lip gloss, your journal, and a book you've been carrying around more as a symbol of hope than an actual reading commitment.And you'll go outside, to the park, to your friends – those missed, familiar faces that still stayed through the senseless, freezing days you survived. You'll sit on the grass while children laugh somewhere in the distance and dogs sprint across the field with their tongues out, delighted to be alive. The air will smell like spring, a bit lighter, a bit softer—the scent of spring flowers blooming. And for a brief moment, you'll realize that winter is over. The title is inspired by Galaktion Tabidze's iconic poem სილაჟვარდე ანუ ვარდი სილაში // Azure-Land or Rose in Sand. While his poem is depressingly beautiful, this bag is a continuation of the life our dearest Galaktion—and so many of our own—never got to experience.  

Made for nights out 🍸  Intentionally small, because carrying less is self-care (and there simply isn't room for your work things "just in case"). Fits a lip gloss, keys, a mirror, and stories you'll tell differently tomorrow 🐸

ALL THE LOVES I'VE RECEIVED, I'VE RECEIVED IN LOW RESOLUTION. IT WAS STILL BEAUTIFUL AND WORTHY TO TELL.

Gocha survived the 9–5 and left corporate life behind.

I crocheted this bag when I felt dead, uninspired, drained, and not-so-lovely. It took me months to finish because I couldn’t make it look the way I imagined: the tones are a bit washed out, the shape is slightly off, and the illustration is far from what I intended. You might notice a slight color shift on the back — yeap, that wasn't a design choice; I was just too exhausted to get out of bed and buy a second roll of yarn. So I worked with what I had, from my bed, completely spent. At some point, I stopped trying to fix it. Because there was no way to turn it into something perfect 🫠 I can’t force a seamless work of art out of a season of burnout, and maybe that’s the point. Sometimes I feel dead, washed out, and very imperfect. And the only way through is to let myself be exactly that. So, I’m leaving this bag as it is. I just hope it finds a home where this little fairy skeleton (maybe alien, maybe something else) can feel dead, but also very much lovely.

My friends love to joke about the time I bought four bags in a single day in Italy and immediately went broke, left with no money for food or any other necessities. It was worth it, though!

At some point while crocheting this collection, I became obsessed with creating designs that were completely unique and extraordinary.

I originally planned to never sell this. 

It was supposed to be the last glass of wine.Historically, nothing good follows that sentence.

Not sure what to choose? Let them pick their favorite. Purchase a GRANNY TODU Gift Card and we'll send a unique code straight to your email — ready to share with someone special. The recipient can use it at checkout to shop anything from our collection, in any combination they like.

If you’ve heard that Andrew Garfield quote, “she was like a shot of espresso”,  and felt like you’ve never experienced that kind of love, try this bag. It’s warm, it’s rich, and unlike a toxic ex, it will actually hold your things and look good in photos. It's fully lined with bronze satin and has a metallic gold-tone chain intertwined with a printed silk-style scarf. THE ESPRESSO SHOT bag is wide enough to keep your tablet or e-reader safe in a silky, satin lining. 

There is something so profoundly girlhood about writing love letters you’ll never send.

At some point while crocheting this collection, I became obsessed with creating designs that were completely unique and extraordinary.

Some bags carry books, this one carries tea. This bag was crocheted during a four-hour gossip session with one of my friends. She called me and informed me that I needed to be available immediately because she had the craziest tea to spill (obviously,I grabbed my crochet hook).  And let me tell you: she did not disappoint. For four uninterrupted hours, I listened, gasped, judged people I had never met, changed my opinion several times, defended the indefensible, gave extraordinarily wise advice, and somehow ended up emotionally invested. In the background, this bag came into existence (to be completely honest, nobody really cared about her at the time. Sorry, babe.) Every stitch contains traces of დაქალობა, dramatic plot twists, questionable life choices made Oh how I love the sacred amphibian tradition of receiving information that is absolutely none of my business.

Meet Nunuka. Gocha’s wife.

I often remember lunch time at summer camp and the cocoa I would sip every afternoon. I remember it, yet I remember nothing: neither the scent, nor the taste, nor the stories from that camp. 

I inherited problems instead of pearls. Still managed to look cute, pretty, fabulous, and elegant 🧘