I never realized I had a problem until I stepped back and saw things with a fresh set of eyes.
I was addicted.
Not to drugs or alcohol, or something that could harm my body, but my addiction was just as bad, and all too real.
I was addicted to shopping.
I grew up in an upper-middle class family with frugal and practical parents. Their philosophy was to pay cash for everything, and if you do use a credit card, pay the balance off in full or don’t use it at all.
This frugality made my parents part of the 0.5 percent of consumers who had a perfect credit score of 850, and this magic number opened up many doors when it came time for them to purchase a vehicle and a home.
They were also big into investing, so when my father retired from the Air Force, he took more than a year off before looking for a new job. With no income, my family managed to make ends meet and still have “fun money.”
I envied them. I wanted what they had, only I didn’t want to wait. I wanted everything, and I wanted it now.
My junior year of college I accepted my very first credit card offer—a Military Star Card. This card had a low annual percentage rate (something I didn’t pay attention to) and the starting balance was $1,000. Not too shabby, I thought.
For a few weeks I left well alone, but on my lunch break one day I saw a lovely pair of Gucci sunglasses (my first pair) for only $99, which is well below retail. I didn’t buy them initially. I slept on it, but in the end I couldn’t resist the low price.
After that purchase I figured, why not buy a few more things? Maybe some Clinique products for mom, a couple of Xbox games for little brother, clothes for sister and tools for dad. I justified my senseless purchasing habits with my ‘selfless’ giving. It did make me feel good to pay for something in my name, and to give it to someone I cared about, but did I really pay for it?
With credit cards, you really do pay for it. If you don’t pay your balance off immediately when that interest hits, it hits hard.
This was never an issue for me until this month, and although I had a reckless habit of spending thousands on material items I already had in more than one color, I slipped up.
I charged a fourth of my Victoria’s Secret Card, accumulating an $850 balance that I didn’t pay off immediately. The interest cost me an extra $200. It took me giving up shopping for Lent this year to realize the disastrous path I was embarking on.
The majority of college students don’t still live with mommy and daddy like me. They pay bills and have student loans and probably car loans. I never had any of that.
My bills were shopping bills. And although I now have seven cards, I started to get a good grip on keeping a small balance that can be paid off immediately.
The next time a cashier asks, “Would you like to open a new account and save 15 percent today,” I’m going to politely decline. That 15 percent isn’t worth it in the long run.
The only card that has been truly wonderful was a Pay Pal card—one I actually “borrowed” from my mother. Yes, I stole my parents’ credit card.
The card gave you points, (triple for gas) which could be redeemed. I often maxed that sucker out, paid it off before the statement came, and I cashed in on $50 gift cards to restaurants and clothing stores.
We live in a culture that is all about instant gratification, and we like to push blame on others. We see celebrities wearing something and we want it. Or we want to trade up for the next bigger and badder model of a game console or car.
Sadly, 44 percent of U.S. households are “liquid asset poor” according to the Corporation for Enterprise Development, meaning they have no disposable income, and even worse, 70 percent of Americans are in debt.
Our spending patterns are so bad that we practically reward fiscal irresponsibility with no-credit-check loans.
I added up my total purchases for the last two years: 68 pairs of designer jeans, 186 pairs of underwear, 15 bras, nearly 300 tops and 30 different pair of shoes.
The rounded cost, I’m ashamed to admit, totals that of a mid-range luxury vehicle. And what do I have to show for it? Countless pairs of things that I will soon grow to no longer like or simply grow out of.
It’s easy to dig yourself into a hole, but it takes serious work to dig yourself out.
Luckily, my nails are finally clean and freshly manicured from digging out of that hole.