It was a BARGAIN
I spent 3 months scouring eBay
Oh it’s only from Zara
I was sent it - let me get you the PR’s email
It is older than time itself
I got it with a discount code
I worked 10 extra hours to afford it
Do any of the above things feel similar to statements you have said in regard to money in the past? I am very luckily offered a nice amount of compliments in my life. I have a great eye for nice things. The way I dress causes strangers to shout abuse at me, but sometimes to stop and compliment - shout out to the woman who stopped traffic in her car to tell me how much she loved my dress in Islington a month or so ago - you made me feel so special.
When faced with these compliments, whether it be about my perfume - from Zara a bargain way to shop Jo Malone fragrances. Or about a new handbag - I spent 3 months scouring eBay and got it for £1000 off the retail price. I will always counter the compliment with a pound stretching caveat. Almost as if I have guilt about what I have spent or own.
I am nowhere near a millionaire by any stretch of the imagination, I don’t even have my own home (rented or bought) but I am in a state where I feel some comfort in what I do earn. I am also lucky to supplement my income with the generous brands that offer me products which help me to do my job. That comfort means I am beginning to bring pieces into my life that have longevity and incur higher costs. These purchases bring joy but of course more guilt.
The stupid thing is, and correct me if I am wrong, but I don’t think you hear millionaires ever expressing the need to tell you how savvy they have been with their money, do you? Yet we all - and I mean all of us - work hard for what we have - so why do we feel the need to apologise for it?
The big picture here, it’s that we all deserve to be happier, and for some of us, that involves things. If you like me and enjoy things, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t get to enjoy them.
So sod the money guilt - you have earned all you have - and you deserve to be happy about it!
Shot by Rachel Pechey