I started the Fall season wanting a classic, black blazer and having none. I have since purchased 5, returned two, found one and possess four. I think I have a problem with shopping and, extrapolating from that theory, a problem with greed.
It should be said, first off, that I never intended to own four black blazers, and I don’t really WANT to own four black blazers, but I kept looking for the perfect one and even after I’d found one that would suffice, I found another that was even better and then I found a third that my highly fashionable sister had discarded in the basement. (She’s got really good taste—even a blog about style choices—and I envy her good taste so much that no matter what she has or wears, I think it’s fashionable and I have to have and wear it, too—even if I end up looking like a fat schlub in it. I mean, she could easily trick me by wearing a vacuum cleaner bag as a hat, because I'd surely be wearing one the next day. And did I mention that she’s four inches taller than I am and about twenty pounds lighter? Sigh. See? I have envy in addition to greed.)
The same greed can be seen if one happens to look at my shoe collection, which consists largely of boots. The boots are not all the same but there are enough similarities that it seems as though I’m just mindlessly buying boots because they’re there. (But I love them all! I do!)
But the truth is this: I get an intense, physical high from purchasing clothing or accessories. Clothes are my crack when I'm not smoking crack (kidding, Mom!).
It’s not all bad. During the holiday season (a time largely devoted to materialism) I get equally excited about buying things for other people. I get a similar high finding something amazing to buy for a family member or friend that I know they’re just going to love (never mind the blinding fury that comes when I feel they don’t appreciate the gift as much as they should).
But there’s a problem with all this generosity towards others and spoiling of myself: I don’t have a very large disposable income. That word “disposable” is sort of a misnomer—all of my income is disposable. I dispose of it every chance I get. But I really shouldn’t, especially if I plan to do things like pay rent, have running electricity, and eat food.
And I noticed something else, looking in the closet at my four black blazers—pretty maids all in a row: it’s not as much fun to buy something when you already own a crapload of versions of it.
In case you’ve gotten the wrong idea, this isn’t a post about giving rather than receiving. I think, if you’ve got the dough, you should give and receive gifts as much and as often as you like in equal measure. Or receive way more gifts way more often, if you want. But I can’t. And so, in honor of one day retiring before I’m 105-years-old (haha! Like I’m going to live that long! Not with all the crack I'm smoking. Kidding!), I’m going to make a concerted effort to put the damn wallet away.
|The Christmas spirit in full effect.|
*Edgar Allan Poe wrote the quote above.