I’ve had a blog for approximately one week now—not counting the decades in which I was perfecting my “scary-yet-strangely-approachable” tone—and already, so many misconceptions.
Scene: Sidewalk in front of elementary school during morning drop-off
Me: “It’s starting to smell like autumn, isn’t it?”
Neighbor: “Yeah, guess I better stop spending money ha ha.” (walks away)
For the record, I have nothing against spending money. My kids can describe my dream car down to the class (convertible), transmission (manual), and must-haves (no back seat). I like nice things.
Let me tell you a story. One of my besties—let’s call her Bunny—works in fashion. Or, more accurately, Fashion. We met up on one of my NYC trips back in the day and she was wearing this … hat.
I could not stop staring at it, petting it, marveling at its anti-gravity properties. It was thick. It was soft. It was made by a cultish Los Angeles label. Bunny raved about its warmth.
It was also sold out everywhere.
This is not a shopping blog, so I’ll spare you the details. Suffice to say, I finally found one four months later at a boutique in Amagansett and plunked down the AMEX (points – yes! monthly balance – no!). And get this, I paid full retail price:
That’s right. You’re getting financial advice from someone who paid $435 for a cashmere beanie. Cray-cray, right? Maybe. But in January, in Wisconsin, my head is toasty.
Totally worth it. I love this hat. I wear it ALL. THE. TIME. I’ve worn it to sleep. If I see you between October and April, you will enjoy its structural yet slouchy perfection. Every time I put this hat on, I have (insert trendy band) playing in my head. I’m ready to throw on a pair of aviators, head out to a pop-up loft party in Brooklyn, and hang with model/surfers (or model/real estate agents or model/food truck vendors—I’m not picky).
Living Beneath Your Means is about exactly that … living. Not just surviving, not just laboring, not just existing beneath our means. Living.
Living beneath your means is about making choices that give us the freedom and security to embrace our own brand of crazy (in my case, Elder Statesman). Yes, I bought a $435 hat. The choices that enabled me to do so in that moment, though, happened over time. A really important one of those choices? Who you’re gonna live beneath your means with.
Technically, the hat cost me more than $435:
Me: “Can someone please change the toilet roll in the bathroom?”
Husband: “At least I never paid $435 dollars for a hat!”
Still worth it! Oh, husbands. That’s a topic for another book blog post.
There is a good chance I think something you do or buy or covet is straight up bonkers. I will (mostly) keep that opinion to myself. Keep reading, though. To paraphrase Voltaire, I wholly disapprove of what you spend—and will defend to the death your right to spend it … right after you create and stick to a budget, fully fund your retirement savings accounts, and pay off any unsecured debt.
You know, details.
The hat does work well