The Commitment Revisited

Come Friday morning, my sweet daughter and I will load up my car and head north and slightly east for our eagerly anticipated yearly sojourn to Maine where we will enjoy a four-day weekend. It was during last year’s trip that we made a commitment to each other that we would cease and desist our compulsive clothing-shoes-bags-cosmetics buying for one year.  I had been thinking about it for several weeks before I unveiled my plan to her. It took her less than 24 hours to come willingly on board.

Neither of us can believe the year is over already.  I thought that I would spend more time writing about it as I grappled with urges and impulses. Strangely enough, there weren’t that many.  Yes, there were a few times when I came close to cheating.  As winter dragged on, seeming never to end in the northeast or anywhere else, I lusted after spring clothes in the few catalogs I hadn’t cancelled.  After months of moving them directly from mailbox to garbage can, I started browsing again. I began to get emails from my favorite stores with subject lines,  “We’ve missed you”,  along with “Just for you” coupons in the mail if I’d only return to the fold. But I didn’t succumb to the enticements and the urges went away once I was able to wash those sweaters one last time and unearth another season’s clothing from storage.

A trip into a Kohl’s in early May where I stopped to look for slim chinos for my skinny brother almost got me into trouble.  I was in a hurry, since I was en route home from seeing him and still had 4-1/2 hours to go. As an infrequent visitor to Kohl’s,  I didn’t know where to find the pants  so I just turned right as I burst into the store, figuring I’d run into them sooner or later.  At the end of the first aisle, displayed on a model was a turquoise and navy striped casual top, the colors heather-like. I stopped. Anyone who knows me well knows I like any color as long as it’s blue or purple. Anyone who knows me well would have stopped at this display and thought, “That top looks just like Jan.” My sister or my daughter or my best friend, had they been the ones stopping at this display might actually have bought it, thinking it would be a great gift.  I looked at it closely, found my size, thought, “No, keep going.” I kept going, found the pants, bought the pants, and went back to the top.  I argued with myself  -- “That’s so cute. You don’t have anything like it. It would go with so many things.” “Yes, it’s cute, but there will be other cute things. You don’t need it.” “But I WANT it.” “But you will feel terrible if you cheat. “ So I wrote down the brand and all the identifying information I could locate and got out of Kohl’s, integrity intact.

But it was not the end of it. I REALLY coveted that top. I looked it up on line, toyed with putting it in my shopping cart, and went through the same argument with myself all over again. “You don’t need it.” “But I WANT it.”  Two weeks’ later, pulled by a magnet into the same Kohl’s store, it was still there.  I picked it up, thought about trying it on, put it down.  My heart knew that I really would feel worse cheating than leaving it behind. I resolved to stop torturing myself.

Then I went to Paris in June with my best friend. Wherever we go, we shop. Before leaving, I formulated a plan. My daughter had been to Paris several years ago and came back with “stuff” for me – a small replica of the Eiffel Tower, a print of Degas’ sculpture of the 14-year-old Dancer, a trendy bag, a magnet.  I promised myself that I would be selective – perhaps if I found a small piece of inexpensive art in Montmarte, or another Degas print from Musee D’Orsay, I would buy them. But this would not be a trip of accumulation. Since I already had some things from Paris, I didn’t need to overdo it.  I did well and wasn’t tempted by too much. Things were frightfully expensive anyway, always a deterrent. I got vicarious pleasure from watching my friend shop.  I had fun buying some things for my daughter. And then I saw “The Dress.” It was in a corner store, displayed on a mannequin in the window -- a blue and white sun dress.  Just the type of dress one might wear to a polo match (not that I’ve ever been to one).  Feminine, pretty…… and blue.  We saw it one evening after dark – the store was closed. It was drizzling slightly outside. We were tired and eager to get back to our hotel. But afterwards, I could not get the dress out of my mind.  We spent time during the subsequent two evenings looking for the store again – we had failed to note its location the first time around, and only knew the general neighborhood.  The night before we left to come home, we finally found it --  open this time.  The dress on the mannequin was the only one left in that color. I checked the price tag – 150 Euros. Gasp. There were other dresses in the same style, different patterns on the racks, so rather than undress the mannequin, I tried on one of those.  I gazed at myself in the dressing room mirror, not really enamored with how the dress looked on me. Maybe I would have liked it better ten years ago. I was disappointed and also relieved.  150 Euros.  I’m not a math whiz but I knew that was about $215. I left the dressing room and put the dress back on the rack. “How’d you like it?” my friend asked. “Nah,” I said. “Not quite right.” Leaving the store, I peeked at the size tag on the mannequin model’s dress. It was not my size.  More relief.  As we walked down the street, I thanked my friend for her patience in helping me find the store again. She wanted to know what I would have done had I liked the dress on me AND had the blue one been the right size.  I told her that I hoped the fact that I wouldn’t spend over $200 on a dress in the United States would have deterred me ultimately from spending that amount on a dress in another country.

Two near misses.  One solid year without shopping for clothes I did not need.  This is notwithstanding the underwear and shirt my brother’s and my little side trip to Cody necessitated (see You Forgot My Suitcase, 7/17/11).   

My daughter and I have considered what the end of this commitment means. We’ve both been cleaning out our closets, getting rid of things we don’t/won’t wear, things we shouldn’t have bought in the past but did. She assesses she needs a new black bag for work. I need new sneakers. I actually noticed a hole in mine early this week. I know that I still, even a year later, do not need anything more. I can easily go another fall, winter, spring and summer on what I have. Am I bored with some of my things? Perhaps a little. Can I manage that boredom? Absolutely. Does this mean I’m signing on for another year of a no-shopping-commitment? You bet.

Paid in Full

So, the moment I’ve been working toward for months – no, make that years – occurred Friday evening when I sat down to pay bills, Friday being pay day on alternate weeks. I logged on line to chase.com – the keeper of my most-used (and lately, the only-used) credit card, the one that nets me mileage for every dollar I spend and which has flown me to London, to Venice, to Istanbul, and soon – Paris…. that credit card, noted the balance of $386.27, and PAID IT IN FULL. Read zero balance. Zero, zip, zilch, nada. 

This moment has been a long time in rehearsal. I remember the first credit card I got when I was about 20 years old. It was to Sibley’s, a family-owned department store in Rochester, NY, (sadly) long out of business, but similar to Macy’s.  They wisely gave me a credit limit of $100 because, after all, I was only making $100 a week. The first item I bought was a long-sleeved pink and white dressy blouse, costing around $30. I was so nervous about handing over that card for something I really could not afford, but at the time was desperate to have. I paid the bill when it appeared in my mailbox, writing the check standing up in my kitchen before I even took off my coat. I didn’t want Sibley’s to be sorry they’d trusted me. Although I no longer have the blouse, somewhere I still have that credit card.

My most embarrassing credit card moment was when Mobil (gas) asked me to return my card to them. I was in my late twenties and I had charged way more than I could pay for gas for my car.  I was in film school making my thesis film, and driving back and forth a lot between New York where my cinematographer and actors all lived, Syracuse, NY where I was in school, and Batavia, NY where I was shooting. The specific details have faded but I missed a payment or paid less than the minimum or I was late – something that understandably infuriated them. So after a couple of angry letters back and forth, they demanded their card back. I slunk away in credit card humiliation.

Several years later, with an income finally beyond the student level, American Express took a chance on me and I was back in the credit card game. What yuppie wanna-be ever turned down AmEx? Even Mobil eventually emerged as a contender for my now steady income although I held my breath waiting for them to realize their mistake after I sent in my application. As with many families in today’s world, I used my credit cards primarily to keep my kid clothed, bejeweled, lessoned, vacationed and tuitioned. However, by the time she was no longer my responsibility, the habit of whipping out that card was entrenched.  I’ve tried many times over the years to get rid of pesky balances.  But for some inexplicable reason, approaching zero has always triggered the permission to buy syndrome from which, I suspect, many of us suffer. Sometimes it has corresponded with my itchy feet urge to travel, or Christmas, or the need (I use that term loosely) to decorate. No matter. There’s something about zero that heretofore has freed the often-suppressed wild and crazy shopper that resides within.

I revealed my tango with zero balances with all the seriousness I thought it merited to the person I know as my “heart mother.” She laughed at me. I bristled – she’s not supposed to laugh. “I’m laughing,” she explained, “because I do exactly the same thing.” She knows I’m compulsive, but in the 26 years we’ve known each other, she swears she never knew I was a compulsive shopper. “I’m a binger,” I explained. As proof I offered up my birthday last May as an example. I met my daughter at her apartment early, before we went to dinner and the theater, as we often do to celebrate my birthday. “I want to stop at Cold Water Creek before we go,” I said. CWC is a women’s clothing store with which I have fallen in love (I use that term loosely) since they started carrying items small enough to actually fit me and it happens (dangerously) to be about two blocks from her place. “Sure,” she said. Whatever momma wants to do on her birthday, we do.  FIVE HUNDRED PLUS DOLLARS LATER, we staggered out under the bag weight. That’s what I mean by a binge.

In the scheme of things, my binges are relatively harmless. I’m not like the QVC shoppers who have intimate (I use that term loosely too) relationships with the UPS driver, with a constant stream of boxes coming and going. I’m not like the Gymboree-obsessed moms who buy up every new over-priced themed outfit, which their children will outgrow before they have a chance to look worn.   My mortgage and other bills still get paid. I rarely suffer buyer’s remorse. What I buy (or bought, in that case) is used, and likely will be for years to come. That’s where the influence of my mom comes in. She couldn’t throw anything out. “It’s still good,” she would say. Or “it might come back in style.” Or “you never know when this will come in handy.”  Remember slouch socks? They were big in the 1980s, the growing-up years of my sweet daughter. That’s all she wore at the time. Of course, she gave them up long ago, fashion maven that she is. But here’s a secret – I still wear her cast-off slouch socks under my jeans on weekends and only lay them to rest when the elastic is so dead and gone that they threaten to slouch over my sneakers and drag on the ground. Until then, they’re still good, as mom would say.

But back to zero balance and freedom from the monthly tyranny of paying back. I got through all day yesterday without running it back up, which usually would be my modus operandi. It would be easy to do. Set me loose in a bookstore or a bead store or on amazon.com with a zero balance and I could do some serious damage. Or reveal a whole new listing of coming-soon-to-Broadway shows and my entertainment for the next year could be established in one charging frenzy. I’m going to try hard to stay clean, to borrow a phrase from the addiction world. I’m very much liking the concept of conscious decision-making ahead of time about how to spend (or not) limited monthly funds. Shall I go to the theater OR the ballet? Which organization do I want to contribute to this month? How much do I want to save (what a concept)? The possibilities are endless. The money is not. It’s about time I acknowledged that.