Confessions of a Financial Bulimic

I was first diagnosed with financial bulimia as a college freshman in 1985.



I had just been given my first checking account. As soon as my parents deposited the initial sum in my account, I knew I would have to change my ways. I needed to protect this modest amount from the financial threats of extravagance and waste. So I abandoned my daily post-study ritual of buying a 3 cent piece of Bazooka bubble gum. Already, I felt more in control of my spending.



I then bought one of my first adult cocktail dresses for $250 (not an inconsiderable sum for a party dress in the mid ‘80s). I had sacrificed my afternoon bubble gum so surely I had earned the cocktail dress—even if this wasn’t a perfect dollar-for-dollar offset.



Some of my loyal readers will recognize these same behavioral patterns in the pages of the Lunch Report. The Lunch Report began as a testament to Penelope’s ability to lunch on no more than $3 a day (measured on a strict per diem basis, and not cumulatively).



Penelope is prone to sitting at her desk savoring saltines while reflecting on the injustices inflicted on single women in corporate America.* But Penelope is also prone to spending a weekend at The Breakers in Palm Beach, as she stoically battles the winter blues on some of Florida’s best golf courses (while, of course, pilfering hotel shampoo).*



But let’s go back again so we can understand the origins of her financial disorder. By 1990, Penelope had learned to live in the south of France on a weekly food budget of 60FF (pre-Euro, about $10). Every scrap of food was maximized for value and usage: stale bread dutifully dipped in oil, sautéed and consumed. Cheese rinds never discarded but also fried and eaten and grocery store samples scarfed down obligatorily as amuse-bouches.



When I moved back to NYC in 1992, I resisted this city's hallmark indulgence: ordering in dinner. Instead, I continued my discipline of making my own dinner. I did loosen the purse strings slightly, however, and let myself add a half glass of wine from a bottle whose cost never exceeded $7.



Shortly thereafter, the parade of excuses marched in, stomping all over my Calvinist budget. I developed increasingly fanciful rationalizations for spending: “you're only young once, go out and live it up” and “hey, if you want to meet someone, you gotta travel, do a Hamptons share, and buy some new clothes.”



And, the ultimate excuse: “you know you get more work done in cafés than at home, so why not take your documents out for dinner, every night.”



And so, I evolved from one of the most financially disciplined creatures in NYC to a full blown financial bulimic. Living in NYC made it easy to hide my disease. After all, NYC is inhabited primarily by financial enablers—those dedicated to encouraging you to spend $ you don't have (friends convincing you “you deserve it” and banks issuing easy credit)—and their co-conspirators, the financial predators—those who actually extract the $, restaurants, shops, etc. NYC would not be what it is were it not for the evolutionary force of these two breeds.



As I struggled to understand my nefarious urges, I found myself flipping through the pages of Money, A Memoir: Women, Emotions and Cash, which explores the complex emotional relationship between modern women and money--their own and others’.* What did money represent to me anyway? Financial or emotional security?



By 2000, having failed in my quest for a sugar daddy, I learned to become my own sugar mama. In December, with great longing, a girlfriend and I watched doting husbands stand on line at Tiffany’s eager to bejewel their wives for Christmas. It then dawned on us that we could buy our own jewelry. And so we did. We each bought a pair of pearl earrings with a tasteful sprinkling of diamonds.



Recently, I reread Money, A Memoir. As interesting a reread as it was, I realized the book mischaracterized the subject as a gender issue and, in so doing, trivialized centuries of male pride, ambivalence and embarrassment associated with earning and spending money.



Understanding the rapport between money and emotions has universal appeal but may be all the more difficult to fathom in the capital of materiality, NYC. As I sift through nearly two decades of anecdotes, the men stand out as much as the women:



•The senior Morgan Stanley managing director who refused to eat in any restaurant where the cutlery has already been placed on the table because that meant the price of an entree would be too high. Yet he offered to buy me a new winter coat one night rather than wait on a lengthy coat check line.


•The senior partner at a very white shoe firm who saved the miniature gins and vodkas from every business flight he took so he could populate the bars in his 5 homes with these mini-tributes to his frugality.


•The jobless girlfriend who fretted continuously over her financial security, yet found fast solace in a $600 Botox treatment.


Why do we do these things? As I've learned, we all suffer from varying degrees of a financial consumption disorder. So, don't be ashamed. You're part of a well known financially bulimic demographic. The rest of us are here to support and sympathize with you, so write in and share your stories of financial excess and economic ambivalence.



Editorial Staff Note: Shortly before publication, Penelope suffered a relapse and bought a sweater because her office was over air-conditioned. She will be implementing a strict $2 limit on lunch until the excess amount spent on the sweater has been recouped. Please send food donations to The Lunch Report, P.O Box 777, NY, NY, 10021 and they will be redirected accordingly.





Notes

*“Eating Single in America,”

http://penelopefrost.blogspot.com/2010/03/eating-single-in-america.html



*“Lunch at The Breakers, Recession-Style,” http://penelopefrost.blogspot.com/2009/12/lunch-report-lunch-at-breakers.html.

“Correction and Addendum”

http://penelopefrost.blogspot.com/2009/12/lunch-report-correction-and-addendum-to.html



*Money, A Memoir: Women, Emotions and Cash, Liz Perle (Picador, December 2006).