Our Two Cents

We've gone nearly a week without shopping, and Liz and I both miss the little things most: Starbucks, gum that we forgot to put on the grocery list and snack machine Kit Kats.  That and being waited on at restaurants. 

Three hours after deciding that we wouldn't be shopping for 10 weeks, Liz and I found ourselves tearing through the racks at H&M - our gluttonous goodbye to retail.  I filled my arms with three times the dressing room allowance, whetting my appetite for a final meal of cotton tees and wool sweaters (on clearance!).  I'd like to think that I got a hold of myself as I tried on a too-tight corset-style top.  But it probably was because nothing looked quite right (and Liz kept making this where-on-earth-would-you-wear-that face) that I was able to curb my binge to $50. 

We treated ourselves to a last dinner out (at one of the four Italian bistros within a one-block radius in our neighborhood) and followed that with a farewell showing of Transamerica.

But of course, the binge extended into the next few days, as we visited Liz's parents in New Jersey.  Our well-intentioned trip into Philadelphia degenerated into a mad dash along the shopper's haven of Walnut Street.  Liberty Bell be damned!  We were bound for Kenneth Cole, Puma and Diesel.

Ah, those were the days.

They ended the morning after we got back to Columbus. And I was running late to work, didn't have time for breakfast and groaned as I had to drive past Tim Hortons and those damn delicious cinnamon rolls.

I took solace in the fact that my brand new jeans looked absolutely amazing. And probably wouldn't have fit anymore if I'd crammed down such a sugary breakfast.

Everything is for sale in America, and my consumer radar has never been so keen.  Or so annoying.  Driving home from work yesterday, my first shopping-free day in a 10-week stretch, I passed restaurants, clothing stores, camera shops, car washes, restaurants, restaurants, restaurants and gas stations. 

Even churches have collection plates.

In America, buying is breathing.  But for the next 10 weeks, Liz and I are holding our breath.  Embedded in a city that ranks among the highest in retail space per capita, we plan to survive without shopping.

Of course, we  hope to do more than merely survive as we pare down our purchases to food and essentials.  We hope to pay off some lingering IKEA and iPod bills and save up for a post-graduation trip.  We hope to open our apartment to friends as Liz dishes up tasty meals and I figure out how to play bridge.  We hope to discover a side of Columbus that lies beyond movie screens, bars and endless racks of distressed denim.

If the premise sounds familiar, that's because it's not ours.  Judith Levine took on the challenge for a year and wrote "Not Buying It" about her experiences and our consumer culture.  We haven't read the book, but a discussion with Levine on CNN prompted us to steal her idea (we can't very well buy it, can we?)  Obviously, we haven't purchased the book, and we're number 54 on the library's wait list, so we plan to read it chapter by chapter as we lounge in those comfy Barnes and Noble chairs - minus the chai lattes.

There are some notable differences between our experiment and Levine's.  Like Levine, we will allow ourselves essentials such as fuel and toiletries.  But we won't be eliminating "luxury" amenities such as Internet access and gym memberships.  (We want to save our sanity as much as we do our money.)  And we have no plans to skimp on our grocery shopping.  The only stipulation when we hit Kroger is that we aren't afforded any impulse buys; anything we purchase must be on the grocery list. 

We won't be dining out, so we'll both pack lunches when we're gone for the day.  If we go to bars (that don't have covers), we won't buy drinks.  And, yes, Starbucks is a thing of the past.  No matter what amazing band comes to Columbus, we won't be in the audience unless Tom scores us free tickets.  And the library is our video store.  (Liz said after we checked out "Say Anything" today, "I feel like we're going to watch a lot of old movies in the next 10 weeks.") 

I have a twenty in my wallet right now.  I wonder if the same bill will be there when Liz gets her degree.