Jay always kids me about how I bounced back and forth above and below my credit limit until my mid-thirties, teetering on the edge of he terms ‘œcertain financial collapse.’ Yes, I lived beyond my means. But it was my (loveable) little quirk, and its familiarity was comforting (to me). Jay, on the other hand, is different. He is fiscally responsible and cautious. He believes in living below one’s means. He gets finance industry bonuses. He saves them. He’s so weird.

Over time, and with changing circumstances, we both changed. We changed each other. He transitioned from Gap to Gabbana: I stopped overspending (sort of). He started appreciating things, and I started understanding the value of money. His money and my money became our money (sort of). We were able to afford more than just the necessities. We could now buy luxuries. However, neither Jay nor I had grown up what I’d call ‘œcomfortable.’ Maybe it’s different for those who did. For us, growing into ‘œcomfortable’ came with a range of discomforts. Here’s what I’ve identified:

The Not-My-Money Dilemma
This surfaced when buying non-essential items for myself. It’s one thing to buy household necessities; it’s another to splurge on oneself with one’s own money. It’s an entirely different matter the first few times you spend income that you, yourself, haven’t earned. On yourself. I found myself asking whether I could truly justify the purchase. After I had’”usually by amoritizing the purchase price over several wearings‘”I snuck the new purchase into the closet (yes, I’m talking clothes) and let it ‘œage’ until it seemed as if it had always been there.

Bad thing was that it made me feel like I was following the script of an I Love Lucy episode and would inevitably get caught. Indeed, I remember the day when Jay discovered the Chrome and Hearts sunglasses receipt. By the way, the amoritization explanation doesn’t work on someone in the financial industry despite the use of jargon. Later I tried the brazen ‘œI Deserve It!’ approach, which just made me feel like a brat. I blame this on:

Sticker Shock Acclimation
The process in which paying prices that would make your father roll over in the grave (audibly) eventually subsides. A comfort buying $300 jeans is indicative of someone in the early stages. Cavalier purchases of $2500 fully automatic Swiss coffeemakers are indicative of the final stages of acclimation. I found my journey through this phase outpaced that of Jay. For instance, the coffeemaker:

‘œAren’t you glad we got this? We’re saving SO much not going to Starbucks all the time. What? No, we’re not going to open a café in the hallway like Jack. It’s totally worth it. It’s ‘œan object.’ You’ll see.’

And he did. Somehow, over time, we both seemed to adjust. Seems my spouse just wanted me/us to be happy, not guilty’”within reason. It helped that it made good coffee. (Jay loves coffee.) As we both adjusted to this phase I dragged us into the next one.

Notice/Nice/Need Acceleration
Knowing I wouldn’t necessarily get into trouble over a purchase if well-researched and rationalized, I found an increasingly rapid and physically uncomfortable shift in   noticing something to thinking it’s nice to needing it. I think it may be responsible for some of my neck problems. My head tends to whip around when passing shop windows. Thank goodness this phase isn’t too long lasting because of the next phase.

Perceived Quality Awareness
On the heels of fulfilling NNN, it was the immediate, nagging instinct that there is probably something better out there in the market than the item just purchased. This created a subtle panic and negated the usual high I got from obtaining a desired object. Could delayed gratification serve a purpose, after all? To compensate for this I began what I believe is the final stage:

Frugality Veiling
I’ll still use a fifty cent grocery coupon in the morning only to purchase a $900 Hermes shirt (because it’s a classic) in the afternoon. It creates a barely perceptible veil of ‘œeconomy,’ but it’s there. Not burning pricey Dayna Decker candles EVERY night does it, too. So does eating everything on my plate. The veil is always there, along with the memories of maxed out credit cards.

I’ll be honest. I’m not sure it these things ever truly go away or if some vestige of   them reappears from time to time. I’m inclined to think so.   I’ll leave those open questions for now. I have to dash. I need to pick up something in Chelsea I saw last week. Though I think they might have better ones in Soho, I’m gonna to take the subway there so I don’t waste money on cab fare.