In fairness, I liked to have a personal cup at work - not because I wanted to "ooze competence, confidence, inner peace and good taste*", but because it made me ill to think that I might drink out of a vessel that that sleazy bastard Lurking Colin had had his sloppy lips** on.
I treated myself to one with a picture of a biscuit on it. I LOCKED it in my desk, because I am a fanny like that. It cost about £1.50, and I bequeathed it to the department when I left.
*"good taste" didn't enter the equation. I worked in a medical field and half of the cupboard mugs had the "Bristol Stool Scale" illustrations printed on them, one was patterned with bloodstains and "World's Best Surgeon" on it, and the rest were largely from drug companies.
**why are creepy men like this always so moist ? <shudders>