Inside Style by Annmarie O'Connor - as featured in The Dubliner magazine - January 6th
|"Don't Shop" - Prescott, AZ - Brand New Films' Flickrstream|
Photo credit: Jeff Daverma
New Year’s resolutions. I never make them; if only to manage my own expectations. The way I see it is if I don’t go there, no one gets hurt.
Why vow to curb my shopping habit when it obviously contributes to economic growth? Is there merit in swapping skinny jeans for tracksuit bottoms other than to sprawl on the sofa? And someone please explain the virtue of avoiding the sales.
In fact, of the ill-advised fifty per cent of guilt trippers that make resolutions, ninety per cent of them fail. If I were a betting gal, I’d keep those shekels in my pocket. O.K. Let’s be honest, I’d put them towards a new pair of shoes.
My sister tells me it would do no harm to peep my head from my jumper and smell the IMF coffee. “Saving would be an idea,” she suggested. In our New York patois, that suggestion comes with a head tilt, sharp voice inflection and mildly threatening raised eyebrow.
“But I am,” I offered weakly. “I’m buying less; just better.” In fashion speak that translates as: I’m spending the same amount only I have less to show for it.
“You could try,” she suggested, “if only to prove me wrong.” Damn! The gauntlet had been thrown down. Two would have made a nice set of gloves but that’s another figure of speech.
Now I have no choice but to demonstrate that I am not fashion’s victim. My sister suggested a budget. I suggested the government had already given us a steep one. The raised eyebrow made its reappearance.
“It’s about breaking up goals into attainable chunks,” advised my de facto elder. “Roll it out month by month. Once you see those savings grow...”
“...I’ll want to buy a Pauric Sweeney python bag!” I blurted. The thought of it alone made me weak. So shiny; so pretty.
And with that, the wise (albeit exasperated) woman left me to my own devices. “Let’s hope it’s roomy,” she advised. “You might be living in it soon.”
Ouch. She had a point. My powers of restraint (along with my bank balance) needed a makeover. Feigning ‘luxe minimalism’ wouldn’t do. I needed to go cold turkey which is why I’m eating Christmas leftovers with the door locked. The next time you see me may well be s/s 12. Austerity – never a good look.