Photograph by Kevin A. Roberts
For as long as I have been making New Year’s resolutions—which has been decades—the one that makes every list is “Save more, spend less.”
Regrettably, it never really happens.
So when we decided to focus this issue on The Big Deal, on finding bargains in everything from decorating to buying real estate, I was all over it. No one loves a great buy like I do. And while I love getting a discount, I am also one of those who actually loves to shop—and to buy. I scan, I pick, I purchase. No lollygagging here.
I can go months without spending a penny—and then I can go days without stopping. In the aftermath, it’s always the impulse buy that I rue. But I’ve found that in life-changing situations, like when I’ve moved from one city to another, shopping assuages my fears and calms my nerves. Bills be damned.
I discovered this first when I moved from Dallas, a city I did not enjoy, to New York, the pinnacle of my aspirations. I took an afternoon and cruised through Neiman Marcus, flashing plastic and buying bundles.
But those few hours couldn’t hold a candle to my departure from Manhattan back to St. Louis. Although I was thrilled to be returning home to my family and was a little weary of the hard-living aspects of Manhattan, I was terrified that things would not go right, that the paper I was going to be writing for would fail (which it did), that I’d never see my amazing cadre of chums again. So I shopped the great Gotham. I really shopped.
At one point, I was in Barneys—not exactly a hotbed of bargains. I espied a fetching brown felt hat Diane Keaton would love. Now, I have a head that is larger than most Eastern Seaboard states, so trying on a hat is usually futile. They perch perilously on my crown or smush my equally vast forehead. Doubting I’d be tempted, I gave that hat a try, just for the heck of it.
It fit.
Three total strangers shopping nearby glanced over and immediately declared that it was perfect for me. In their best Brooklyn-ese, they yelled at me that I had to buy it. This was in 1989, and the hat cost $200. I didn’t—and don’t—have a hat budget. But I handed over my Barneys card.
Have I ever worn it?
Nope.
Do I wish I had ignored those feisty fashion-istas I had never met? You bet.
The other day, my husband and I were emptying our closet, and there it was: a black, dusty Barneys hatbox holding what I long ago dubbed The Hat of Great Regret.
Now, if it had only been on sale, I’d probably be looking at it in an entirely different light.
