The Honest Baby Bogg Bag Review

Dear Sarah from last June. You're currently standing in the gravel parking lot of the municipal pool, wearing those distressed denim shorts you swore you were going to throw away in 2019, holding a soggy canvas tote that just aggressively tipped over and vomited its contents everywhere. There's a half-eaten string cheese covered in dirt. There's a puddle of iced vanilla latte rapidly seeping into Leo’s spare swim diaper.

You're sweating. You're crying over spilled milk, literally, and muttering about how there has to be a better way to transport the massive amount of crap required to keep two children alive near a body of water.

I'm writing from the future to tell you to just buy the damn plastic basket.

I know you don't want to. I know Tom was standing in the kitchen this morning, staring at your phone screen over his French press coffee—because he's the kind of person who actually has the patience to use a French press at 7 AM—and he was like, "Are you seriously considering paying seventy dollars for a laundry basket with holes in it?"

He doesn't get it. He carries a sensible black backpack. He doesn't understand the sheer, unadulterated rage of a canvas bag that refuses to stay upright in the trunk of a Honda Pilot. Anyway, the point is, I gave in, I bought the bag, and I've so many feelings about it that I need to process right now.

Why the name makes absolutely zero sense

The biggest psychological hurdle I had to get over was the name itself. It’s called the "baby bogg" which is just so incredibly stupid because you don't put a baby in it, and it's not even technically a diaper bag. There are no insulated bottle pockets or wipe dispensers. It's literally just a rubber box with handles.

I spent an hour looking at the website trying to figure out why they called it that. Apparently, it’s just their sizing convention. The massive, requires-a-forklift-to-carry one is the Original. The middle one is the Baby. The tiny one is the Bitty. Which, by the way, the Bitty size is completely useless unless you're a Chihuahua, moving on.

Why not just call them Large, Medium, and Small? Why involve infants in the naming convention of a beach tote? It makes you feel weird buying it when your kids are 4 and 7. I was like, is there some secret baby compartment I'm missing? There isn't. It's just a medium-sized tote that happens to hold exactly 40 pounds of whatever garbage your kids hand you throughout the day. Rocks. Half-empty juice boxes. Wet towels. It holds it all.

What even is ethylene-vinyl acetate

So the big selling point, besides the fact that the flat bottom means it never tips over, is the material. It's made of EVA plastic. Ethylene-Vinyl Acetate. Which sounds like a toxic pesticide they use on commercial farms, but it's actually what they make those squishy alphabet floor mats out of.

My pediatrician, Dr. Evans—who's this incredibly calm man who always smells vaguely of peppermint—was the one who actually brought this up during Leo's 4-year well-check. He was checking Leo's ears, and my crusty L.L. Bean boat tote was sitting on the floor of the exam room, literally leaving a damp ring of pool water and despair on the linoleum. He casually mentioned that canvas traps moisture and breeds bacteria, whereas EVA plastic is naturally phthalate-free and doesn't harbor mold.

I mean, I don't know the actual science behind how plastic repels mold, it probably has to do with it being non-porous or something? I think it basically means water can't soak into it. But Dr. Evans went to medical school, so I'm just taking his word for it. It just means instead of spending your entire Sunday trying to aggressively scrub ground-in sunscreen and crushed goldfish out of woven canvas while crying over the washing machine, you can just blast the plastic basket with the garden hose in the driveway and go drink your coffee.

Magic.

Stuff I seriously put in the holes

So the bag has holes in it, sort of like Crocs. This means it breathes, so your wet swimsuits don't smell like a swamp by the time you get home. But it also means you can attach things to it. Which is a whole separate financial trap.

When Leo was younger and we were deep in the fresh hell of the teething phase, I used to carry the Panda Teether Silicone Baby Bamboo Chew Toy absolutely everywhere. I literally just bought another one for my sister's baby shower because it's the holy grail. The bamboo-textured silicone seriously reaches back to where the molars come in, and the flat shape meant Leo’s clumsy little hands could grip it without dropping it into the dirt every five seconds. I'd just loop a pacifier clip through one of the holes on the bogg bag and attach the panda to the outside. When it got gross, I threw it in the dishwasher. Easy.

I also recently got the Colored Universe Bamboo Baby Blanket to keep in the bag for chilly evenings. It's... fine. Honestly, it's incredibly soft and the space pattern is gorgeous, but it almost feels too delicate for my feral children. It's bamboo and hypoallergenic, which is amazing for Leo's eczema, but I'm absolutely terrified to let it touch the ground at the park because I feel like it's going to get ruined. So it mostly just lives neatly folded in the back of my SUV. It's an indoor blanket. I wouldn't drag it to the beach.

Oh, and I also keep the Squirrel Teether clipped to the strap for when my infant niece visits. It's a solid ring shape with a cute little acorn, which is great for tiny babies just learning to grab things. It doesn't have the same magical molar-reaching power as the panda, but it keeps her quiet in the Target checkout line, which is really all I care about.

If you're currently surviving the teething phase and need gear that you can literally just hose down along with your plastic bag, take a look at all the Kianao toys here before you lose your mind entirely.

The great discount hunt that ruined my life

Because I'm inherently cheap and allergic to paying full price for anything, I refused to just buy the bag when I first wanted it. I spent three consecutive nights staying up until 2 AM, drinking lukewarm Folgers, desperately searching for a baby bogg bag sale.

Let me save you the sleep deprivation. You won't find one.

They don't go on sale. Ever. It's like Apple products or Birkenstocks. The retail price is seventy bucks, and that's just what it's. If you see a Facebook ad claiming they've them for sixty percent off, it's a scam. I almost entered my credit card information into a website that was clearly hosted in a basement somewhere, just to save twenty dollars. If you buy a knockoff, you're probably going to receive a miniature plastic thimble in the mail, or worse, a toxic fake that smells intensely like gasoline and melts to your car seats in the August sun.

I finally caved and bought the genuine one at full retail price, and I'm furiously angry about how much I love it. It's indestructible. It survived Leo using it as a stepping stool to reach the freezer pops. It survived Maya filling it completely to the brim with wet sand to build a "castle foundation." It just takes the abuse and asks for more.

So just accept your fate. Stop trying to make canvas work, give up the illusion of the discount, and buy the bag that you can wash with a power washer. And if you're looking for genuinely safe, non-toxic, beautifully made essentials to honestly put inside your indestructible new tote, check out Kianao's full collection of baby and toddler gear.

Questions I literally googled at 2 AM

Is the baby size genuinely big enough for two kids?

Honestly, yes, unless you're packing like you're fleeing the country. It fits three rolled-up towels, sunscreen, a terrifying amount of snacks, two water bottles, and my wallet. If you're bringing inflatable floaties and a portable fan, you might need the Original, but the Baby size doesn't hit against my leg when I walk, which is a massive win.

How the hell do you fix the handles when they get twisted?

Oh god, this happens so much. The handles come folded down for shipping, and sometimes they get twisted around the little buttons. You literally just have to grab the base of the strap and violently twist it back into place. It feels like you're going to snap the plastic, but you won't. Just use aggressive force.

Does sand really stay out of it?

Sort of? The bottom half is solid, so if you set it in the sand, it doesn't seep up through the bottom like it does with woven bags. But it has holes in the top half. If your four-year-old actively throws a handful of sand at it—which Leo does, constantly—sand will get inside. But because it's smooth plastic, you just dump it upside down and the sand falls right out. It doesn't get trapped in the fibers.

Can you put it in the dishwasher to clean it?

I mean, I wouldn't? I guess technically EVA plastic has a high melting point, but my dishwasher gets hot enough to warp Tupperware, so I'm not risking my seventy-dollar investment. I just use antibacterial wipes or take it into the shower with me. Yes, I've showered with my pool bag. Motherhood is incredibly glamorous.

Is it heavy to carry when it's full?

The bag itself weighs literally two pounds empty. It's lighter than my leather purse. But if you fill it with 38 pounds of wet towels and juice boxes, yes, it'll be heavy. The straps are pretty wide though, so they don't violently dig into your shoulder the way those thin rope straps on nautical beach totes do.