Superstars

I was at the mall with the kids getting new shoes for the Boy and I got a pair of Adidas Superstar tennis shoes.

My children were appalled.

"You can't get those shoes," said Claire-Adele said. "Those are for high schoolers."

"SMH," said the Boy, which is texting lingo for shaking my head.

Yeah. About that. First, I have no desire to look like a teenager. Full stop. These shoes are retro. Adidas came out with the Superstar in 1969. I think my dad wore them when I was growing up in the 1970's. If not these, a similar Adidas shoe. Maybe he wore the Stan Smiths, the white shoe with the green tag in the back. People in my generation wore the Superstars before they were retro, when they were just regular shoes. I wore K-Swiss shoes, which are very similar to the Superstar.

Retro means appropriating clothing, music and the like from another generation. Instead of borrowing from another culture, retro is borrowing from another time. Since I was alive when these shoes were popular the first time around, I am allowed to wear them without apology to my hipster teens. I am NOT trying to look like a teenager. Teenagers are trying to look like people my age when we were teenagers. Heck, they are trying to look like my dad when he had kids in his house. These kids today are not only wearing "mom" shoes, they are wearing "grandpa" shoes.

The Rack

Damn you, Nordstrom Rack and your "good" deals and telling me I saved hundreds and hundreds of dollars!

I don't own a Costco membership because I know people who go in for 138 rolls of toilet paper and come out with a bouncy house for their kids. Seriously. You can save $17 on a years supply of TP, but the budget killer is buying the stuff you never needed in the first place. While I safely avoid Costco, Nordstrom Rack is my kryptonite.

Friday after work, I went to Nordstrom Rack after work to get Claire-Adele a birthday present. She wanted a new tote bag to carry her books. She grabbed a bag I had bought for myself after I tore my ACL, and she claimed it was her own. Which is fine. She took it every day to school for the past two years. I had offered that we could go together and she could pick one, but she wanted me to get one for her.

I walked from the office to the Rack. Little did I know that the Rack is one block past my entrance to the bus tunnel. There is even a tunnel from the Rack directly into the bus tunnel. I do not have to step outside. I am sorry that I now possess this information.

So, I went to the Rack. I found two bags for Claire-Adele. I couldn't decide which one to get her, so I got both. I'm going to let her choose and I'll return the other.

As soon as I finalize my plan, I turn to walk to the checkout when lo and behold--there is it: the Tory Burch Bermuda bag. Me and a million other seventh grade girls in 1982 had a Bermuda bag. Not nearly as fancy as this one, but a bag with wooden handles and a canvas or corduroy bag part. They were not practical nor were they pretty, but man, everyone--EVERYONE--had one.

This one was awesome. It is made of Nubuck which is a fancy type of leather. It has these fantastic patterns and colors. Someone had finally made a gorgeous and practical Bermuda bag.

I needed it. I needed something this beautiful and fun that was such a marvelous upgrade to what I used to have when I was twelve, so much so that it doesn't resemble the original.

But then it was expensive. Crazy expensive. Even at 50% off, it was outrageous.  Anytime my brother or I had money to spend as a kid, my mother would ask us "Do you really, really, really want it?" just as we picked something out. It was a completely annoying exercise, as nothing--NOTHING--could pass that test ever. As a result, it put the fear of god in me to buy anything ever unless it was something that was essential or for someone else. I had no problem buying thousands of Legos for the Boy or 35 bottles of nail polish for Claire-Adele.

So here I was at the Rack with purses. I had "racked" up a massive bill and I never made it out of the hangbag section.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I resist?

Or, it is really a problem?

My year of on-the-job-training ended a month ago and converted to a regular job. Friday was the first day I've had a "real" paycheck since 2000. I can always tell myself I need nice stuff for work, but this was different.

I didn't need it.

I wanted it.

I really, really, really wanted it.

Decades later, my mother's advice came in handy. For years and years of not buying stuff that I didn't want and living frugally, I finally found myself in a time and place where I could afford to buy something just because.