After D and I bought a home here in SoCal, we suddenly became intensely aware of how much we were spending. It kept us in a mild state of panic as we looked at the bills and wondered how on earth we could possibly have spent THAT much. There are always things one needs, of course: the car has to be repaired, we needed an office chair, I needed to replace my sluggish old laptop. But it’s my firm belief that it’s the every day things that you don’t really need that get you. Because each purchase seems so small, insignificant, really, you stop tracking them. You begin to practice a sort of deliberate forgetfulness around the fact that, for example, you go out for coffee every morning ($7 a day, which is $210 a month – more than our cell phone bills combined).
We also moved into a small condo, which meant that we had to curate our possessions. And we ruthlessly shed things, but we still wound up with a storage space that we pay for, every month.
So I decided that I would stop buying things.
At first, it was hard; not because I wanted or needed so many things, but simply because I had gotten into the habit of acquiring without really thinking about it. My biggest problem areas were media (mostly books, although I’d buy digital films and shows frequently too) and clothes.
Cutting the clothes out was the first step. It was hard at first, because I love fashion and style blogs and follow many excellent bloggers who often showcase great deals or amazing sales and I’d think oh, I can’t pass up on 40% of that wool sweater that I’ve been eyeing for a year! I’d grown accustomed to simply buying something I wanted and feeling satisfied and pleased when I got something long-coveted on sale. It was a minor triumph. It felt good. Like I’d won.
But I couldn’t afford to keep doing that, and something had to be done.
My strategy to combat my shopping urges was twofold: one, I had to stop reading the wonderful style and fashion blogs for a bit. They were too tempting. Two, I developed a sort of uniform. It helped a lot that I live in a very casual area and that I work from home 2-3 days a week. I throw on a tee and a pair of sweats or jeans, sometimes shorts if it’s really hot, and a sweatshirt if it’s cooler. (Also helps that the temperatures where I live range from about 55 F to 75 F 90% of the year.)
I think the uniform strategy works better for me now that I am older, and the idea of wearing similar things every day feels freeing to me instead of boring. In my 20’s I wouldn’t have been as comfortable with that idea — clothes were a significant form of self-expression and communication for me. They still are, but I think I’ve just honed in on what I want to communicate every day, and the message no longer deviates that much. But that’s just me, and I’m not saying that attitude is tied to age at all. Plenty of younger people have extremely well-defined styles they put on every day, and plenty of people much older than me still glory in expressing a very wide range of stylistic aesthetics.
I still love style and fashion blogs, and I’ve slowly started to look at my favorites again. I find I can enjoy and admire the styles featured without necessarily needing to go out there and buy myself a pair of cropped wide-leg trousers (although I am still tempted.) The styles inspire me to remix items that are already in my closet instead of getting new things.
I don’t really need any more clothes, and I don’t have the space to keep them, anyway. I still read and follow fashion blogs and style blogs but I found that my itch to buy has lessened. It’s like… it’s similar, perhaps, to reducing salt in your diet. My mother had to cut out salt when she had heart issues and it took her a while to adjust to the new flavor profile. For me, self-adornment is similar. I used to want a lot more variety. More colors! shapes! textures! I remember sometimes while traveling, becoming so depressed with the limited palette of clothes that could fit in my carry-on. But now, I actually find that limit comforting. I fantasize about designing a uniform for myself (I think it would be a sleek jumpsuit-y thing with lots of pockets).
There are days when I see something beautiful and new and think that I have to have it. Sometimes I even try it on, or put it in my online shopping cart. But I rarely press buy anymore. There’s too much comfort in having my credit cards paid off, and when I really think about getting that thing I’m coveting, I start to feel burdened by the materialism represented by that thing. If I get it, I have to care for it, I have to store it; I have to consider and respect the labor and resources that went into creating it. And I ask myself if I really need to be part of that cycle?
The answer is usually “no.” And I’m comfortable with that.