Five Things I Regret Buying
Or how I learned to avoid buyer’s remorse
Hi, all! I have family in town. The firm deadline I set for finishing a draft of my book by the end of May is also approaching, so I am pulling this draft out of my folder to share with you. I had fun laughing at myself while writing it, so I hope you enjoy it! I will return with Pronking Year Activities, Shearing Day Photos, and more soon.
xo, Kasey
When I have a windfall—birthday money, a gift card, etc.—I quickly start ticking through a mental list of everything I’ve seen and liked. What could I buy with this fresh cash, so full of possibilities? A cute pair of shoes? A preserved butterfly? A disco ball hanging planter? Then, I remember five things I regret buying and what they taught me about how to shop.
In the third grade, I was in a TV commercial for my dad’s morning radio show. I was paid in savings bonds and $100 in gift certificates to Toys-R-Us. I should have negotiated for more, but I did not anticipate how much I would get teased at school once the ad started airing. I do not remember the value of the savings bonds because they did not interest me. The Toys-R-Us gift certificates were the real boon.
My dad decided to teach me a lesson in generosity, convincing me to use $60 of the Toys-R-Us money to buy an extensive K’Nex set for my brother for Christmas. He rarely let me build with him afterward, but that is not the purchase I regret. While shopping for a classmate’s birthday present, I decided that I wanted Dance Moves Barbie. I never played with Barbies regularly before, and I was getting old for them, but this doll had moving joints and was pretty. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. When I told my parents I wanted them to drive me back to the store so I could buy the doll, they were skeptical. Trying to explain my desire for the doll, I reached for: “I want to be a dancer, and playing with her will help me work on my moves.” Never mind that I quit ballet a few years before and never asked to go back. It was my money, I could do what I wanted, but we all knew my reasoning was faulty. I could never enjoy the doll because I was so embarrassed about the lie and wanting a Barbie in the first place. I regretted buying her almost immediately.
2. Sabrina the Teenage Witch Psychic Dear Diary
When I was thirteen, I started babysitting, and with my first big payday, I wanted to spend $20 on a Sabrina the Teenage Witch Psychic Dear Diary. I saw it at Walmart and wanted it suddenly and desperately. I must have watched some movie with a boss lady using a Palm Pilot and yearned to be official and organized. I was in middle school.
The Psychic Dear Diary had an address book, planner, calculator, notetaking function for a diary, and also a button so Salem, the talking cat from the TV show, could make predictions like a Magic 8 Ball. Salem was not psychic on the show, just snarky.
My mom thought the device would be a waste of my money, so once again, I concocted a tale of how I needed it to achieve my goals. Mom was right. The electronic calendar function was less useful than the paper planner I kept in my backpack. I hated typing on the little keyboard, and after the year of Tomigotchis, anything that made alarm sounds was banned from the classroom. Salem the cat didn’t know anything about the future. After a week, I regretted the purchase, but I did not want to admit that this device was junk, even if it was cute and pink.
3. Half the Delia*s Catalog, but Definitely Glitter Jeans
I wish that Psychic Dear Diary had given me a bit of fortune cookie wisdom about being true to oneself, but I probably would not have been able to act on that advice. As the diary languished in the back of a drawer, dELiA*s catalogs started arriving, and I had a new destination for spending my babysitting money.
I was tall and did not like to show much skin at a time when bare midriff and low-rise jeans were en vogue. Even when I found shirts that would cover my tummy, the sleeves stopped an inch above my wrists. Nothing fit quite right, but the clothes were so cute, I tried to make them work. When Christmas came, I had a whole list of wishes from dELiA*s. The top item: a pair of hombre glitter jeans. They were a light, silvery blue at the top and darkened gradually to a navy blue cuff. Whatever treatment made them sparkly also gave the fabric a weirdly stiff, very fake texture. They were also a bit too short and too tight, but the worst part was that people would look at me when I wore them. They were beautiful and cheap and attention-seeking when I very much wanted to sit unnoticed in a corner and read. I felt ashamed because I knew that they were overpriced and that my mother bought me just what I wanted, but also that I could never wear them to school.
After that, I learned to pick more classic, neutral items and use accessories or cute jackets to make my outfits suit my style. I learned to avoid glittery fabrics from teen stores as well—a lesson my younger sister would have to learn for herself by shopping at Justice.
4. Leather Bag in Florence
During my freshman year, thanks to a scholarship and my parents’ help, I was able to go on a two-week trip to Italy as part of my college’s humanities core curriculum. The experience taught me many lessons about finding my way and looking out for myself. The exposure to culture, the arts, and the world outside of my home in Indiana was transformative. Even twenty years later, however, I regret a leather bag I purchased at a market in Florence.
For the four days we spent in Florence, I eyed a gorgeous, buttery-soft mini-duffle style handbag in a shop window. I visited it a few times until the sales clerk started to recognize me and I was scared off by his attention. The bag was €85. At 19 years old, with a canvas messenger bag strapped to my chest, I thought that was an exorbitant amount to spend on a purse. It was so beautiful that I could not stop thinking about it. I could have afforded the €85 if I had eaten less gelato, but I thought I was being frugal. I had a new credit card and a job back at home. If I had indulged in one big thing instead of many little treats, that bag would probably still have a place of pride in my closet, even though I no longer buy leather.
Instead, I bought a €25 bag at the somewhat sketchy San Lorenzo Market. That familiar feeling of immediate buyer’s regret returned. The quality was way lower. The style was not the same. It was a bad purchase. I tried to love the bag for years, but it always reminded me of the purse I had really loved. Eventually, I gave the bag to a friend who liked it.
I thought of that high-quality leather bag when I needed a new coat a few years later, and a gorgeous, knee-length double-breasted houndstooth coat with a fit-and-flare waist called out to me. It was $200 but I had a 20% off coupon, and with its classic style, I knew I could wear it for years. I resisted the urge to spend $50 on a coat that seemed more affordable but was neither of good quality nor what I really wanted. I bought the expensive coat and felt that I had made a better investment in my wardrobe than a cheap, trendy coat would have been. The credit card bill was a problem handled later, thanks to a good summer job, but the coat would last.
A few seasons later, my friend Megan told me about Terry Pratchett’s “Boots theory” of economics. Megan is slightly older than me and therefore much wiser. She also has impeccable taste. I bought a cheap wool peacoat at Old Navy that immediately pilled and lost a button, and she pointed out that an expensive coat that lasts longer was a better purchase (if you are privileged enough to afford it) because it ultimately costs less than several cheap coats that fall apart. Disappointed in myself that I wasted money on a bad coat I didn’t need, I returned to my expensive coat. I have reinforced the buttons a few times, and I need to mend the pocket linings, but I still wear it 15 winters later and I always get compliments on it.
5. Probably Fake Vintage Chanel Necklace
When I was in graduate school, I started to hone in on a personal style, trying to move in a more professional direction suitable to the job I thought I was training for: English professor. After watching The Devil Wears Prada for the hundredth time, I decided to look online for a long Chanel necklace like Anne Hathaway wears as Andy—the single strand featuring a charm with the double Cs and a bow. By that point, the film was almost a decade old and so the exact necklace was not available. It also would have been way above my budget. But, I found a “vintage” necklace that looked close enough on eBay for $130.
The rush of competitive shopping and false scarcity created by eBay overcame my nagging feeling that the necklace seemed too good to be true. Even though $130 was still too much to pay for the necklace on my grad student stipend, vintage Chanel should have cost hundreds more dollars. I started to look into how to tell if a couture piece was fake, but only after I clicked the “Buy It Now” button.
Feeling scammed, I tried to convince myself that it was not a big deal. I still thought the necklace was beautiful. But it was also way above my means at a time when I was trying to make smarter financial decisions. If I kept the necklace, anytime I wore it I would worry that other people knew it was a fake or that they thought it was real and I had made a ridiculously extravagant purchase. Before it even arrived, I knew I had to get rid of it. I sold it, making no claims of authenticity, and mostly recouped my costs.
Avoiding Buyer’s Remorse
For much of my twenties, I struggled against my urge to shop, trying to save money. I am sure that in that time, I made many more unfortunate purchases than these five. There were cheap dresses and novelty glasses and an Obama bobblehead that said “Yes we can!” as he nodded. Actually, I wish I still had that last one.
These five things I regret buying stand out to me because of how they made me feel misaligned with myself, whether that was in style, quality, or budget. I look back at them and cringe, but these items also taught me to take a step back and consider if I really want something before I buy it. Will I use it? Will it last? Does this sweater, book, or novelty planter align with my values and the mental picture I have of myself or my home? Or is it just a fleeting want that will be forgotten as soon as the dopamine passes? Taking a step back and remembering the disappointment of the Psychic Dear Diary or any other moment of buyer’s remorse helps me avoid making a similar mistake again.
And that is why I am not buying a Leviathan pasta board, even though it is extremely cool. I will never make pasta, and then I will be disappointed with myself. Now I am just barely wise enough to know that.
Do you have any purchases from your youth (or more recently) that you feel a bit embarrassed about? Please tell me!