Racquet’s See You In Court is a regular column in which I, Melissa Kenny, a famously mediocre lifelong player, heed reader questions about tennis, be they desperate (Help! I’ve won a few matches moonballing and now I can’t stop!), desperate in a different way (Where are the hot young tennis players in my area?) or life-threatening (Is it just me or are all tennis shoes fugly?). What I’m trying to say is, AMA! Look out for prompts on Racquet’s Instagram, or make yourself known in my DMs.
Preface: Some people are thinking too hard about racquets and it shows. It shows, most plainly, in their footwork (drowsy), in their timing (late), and in their shot-making (too generous a descriptor). Lord knows I have my own shortcomings. Catch me most weekday mornings at [redacted] courts to see for yourself. Crucially, my racquet is just fine. I don’t know anything about my strings—you’d have to ask Pierre—but I looked within and the enduring problem is my lackadaisical forehand prep. What I’m trying to say is, studying string tension and cutting-edge racquet technology won’t change that sledgehammer thing you do.
I have bemoaned the All gear, no idea community before. They’re a bombastic, Reddit-loving, customer service-emailing sort. Problem is, they know too much, and ours is a game of doing, not knowing.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let's move swiftly along to choosing a tennis bag. It’s a task that presents similarly vapid temptations, though a bag’s bearing on your performance is a true net zero. In that way, a bag is closer to a clown car than tennis gear. A vehicle for getting your trickery from A to B, before you park her on the sidelines so the real work can happen. The bag you bring to court exists on a scale of form and function for which you are the architect.
The options are beguiling! And so, with gavel poised and eyebrows judging, I call to the stand five player archetypes and their bag matches. Spoiler per Pete’s inquisition: ability level plays a role, but isn’t the Final Boss.
For the neurotic over-apologizer
lululemon, $168
Our navel-gazing protagonist knows no shut your fuck up okay. This is a person who’s self-conscious about their self-consciousness, but powerless to gag themself. To mirror-match, here we have an overengineered bag that’s doing too much. Diagonal racquet pocket? Zany! Transforms into a pickleball paddle holder? Ugh. When worn as a backpack? Unholy.
For the NOA, no net duff goes unannotated; no frame ball not vocally mourned. ‘Today’ is always the problem! Ex., “I’m so late/slow/shit today!” ‘Today’ serves to imply they are capable of so much better. Sometimes, the next time, it’s still today. The bag, like its wearer, is full of excuses.
For the diversity hire
Hysteric Glamor, $100, Marni, $132.50, Lancome, $16.09, Camel, $37.50, Longchamp, $173.61, Comme des Garcons, $226, Prada Sport, $160.
Like a bookstore-cum-wine bar with a laundromat in the back, the diversity hire is a mixed business homie. Their personality traverses lateral and longitudinal terrain, and tennis is but one of their interests. Whether they think racquet bags are too solemn, too cumbersome, or thoroughly ug, the DH steps onto the court with SECRETS. In the animal kingdom, they’re always the underdog, and sometimes the dark horse. If they’re good, it’s a pleasant surprise—like someone leaving a toilet stall in decent shape after a sheepish-looking exit. All because they carry a bag for their racquet, not a racquet bag.
Technically, anything non-technical will do. Michelle Li will see you in court with the above Comme des Garçons tote. She explains:
For the record, pragmatic Michelle is a very consistent player with handsome groundstrokes. Another friend—he of great range and dichotomy; a tradie who is also glam—Ian, agrees that some bags are the fabric equivalent of bluffing:
For someone who never brings balls
All take and no give makes Jack a light traveller.
A grown-ass bag would be too grand for a Jack. Instead, his ideal bag is not a true bag, but the consequence of typing “tennis racquet cover” into Amazon and sorting prices low to high. This abbreviated training wheels option hugs the head tightly to prevent anything else being wedged inside—the perfect excuse for a man without balls.
You already know this is made of low-cost nylon. It also zips off tout de suite because this is a player who is never on time.
For someone who brings Penn balls
Let ‘em know you like it goofy with a matching bag! Remember when Świątek was doing that oogabooga (IGABOOGA!!) distraction tactic thing? This is the material equivalent of that. Crass, classless, may earn you enemies. Consider switching to Wilson balls and we’ll talk bags after.
For whoever rules the roost at your local courts
No bag, $0
The utmost flex is, of course, carrying your fighting gear (my Australian dad’s term for cutlery, if you must know) to court in your god-given hands.
Far from a recession indicator or scarcity mindset, arriving with racquet nude signals ABUNDANCE and richness of skill. It says, I can do more with less. It says, my favorite shot is the simple backhand overhead.
The no-bag player is good because they are free.
