The Fashionista Files (33 page)

Luckily I did find a solution to my problems—both psychological and financial. I fell in love with my now husband. And my father helped me find a credit counselor. I came home one evening and found that Mike had cleaned the bedroom. There had been dust bunnies growing out of the wall like fungi. I realized how unhealthy my life had become. The nine A.M. phone calls, the angry missives from landlords and utility companies, the neurotic additions and subtractions, the bags of laundry in the living room, the dust collecting everywhere. A fog had lifted. I didn’t want to be this kind of person. I didn’t want to live as if every day were my last. With Mike I saw a future—and a life I wanted to be able to afford and enjoy.

My father helped me get myself back in financial shape. For years he had urged me to do something about my bills—to pay them on time, mostly, and get rid of my credit cards. Finally I took his advice and made an appointment with Consumer Credit Counseling Services. My credit counselor cut up my credit cards, put me on a budget, and reduced my monthly payments to a manageable rate. He even let me keep my $100-a-month dry-cleaning expenses. I also moved from my overpriced West Village alcove studio into a more spacious rent-stabilized one-bedroom on the Upper West Side that I shared with my boyfriend (now my husband).

I was on the program for about five years, and except for several slipups, I managed to pay my bills on time. Although I am still partial to the siren call of fashionable clothes, I pay for my half-price Gucci with cash. I’ve also reconciled myself to the fact that I am unfashionably bourgeoisie and staunchly middle-class. I am not a socialite.

There are no more credit cards in my wallet. I’ve even passed on the notion of applying for an account-based credit card (a credit card whose limit is attached to the funds stored in a savings account) that’s been offered to me in the mail. The journey has begun.

2003—there is life after fashionista! Don’t despair. It took me five years and lots of struggling to get out of crushing consumer debt. But I did it. My husband and I paid for our share of our wedding costs in cash—and that included a two-week vacation at the Princeville Resort in Hawaii. While buying those clothes now might make you feel better, think about what you really want down the line—a great midcentury bungalow in the Hollywood Hills, a vintage BMW, financial independence—and weigh it against the price tag of whatever you’re holding in your hand. You might find you don’t really want it after all.

Ascertain Your Level of
Fashionista Financial Hell!
LEVEL ONE

You’re a little bit behind, but you have money coming (of course, when it does arrive, you know exactly where it’s going: to the cash register of your favorite store). Your cell phone was shut off only once. You have to charge tomatoes and Diet Coke at the gourmet grocery store, but when you’re out with friends you have just enough cash to catch a cab, buy a beverage, and tip the coat check.

Tips:

Pay double the minimum on the due amount of your credit card when the bill comes.

Try to arrange professional meetings over lunch or dinner so someone else can expense it and pick up the tab.

Start to keep a log of all of your expenditures in order to figure out where you can cut back, and create a budget that will allow you to still enjoy fashion to some extent.

Return clothes if tags remain intact (or if you wore it once, didn’t love it, and still have the receipt).

LEVEL TWO

You start to get phone calls from strangers who call themselves “Miss Jones,” “Mr. Brown,” or some other innocuous name, and leave a 1-800 number. You’re eating Special K for dinner (but you’ve lost two pounds!). You date men you’re not interested in because they’ll take you to nice restaurants.

Tips:

Don’t call that 800 number back until you have the money, an organized plan you can stick to for paying it back, or a really good excuse (we recommend telling them you’ve been in Europe for an emergency situation that is too difficult to discuss).

Give a friend your credit card to hold. You are clearly not to be trusted with it for a while.

Self-imposed probation: Tell the stores where you do the most damage that you’re not allowed to shop for a certain amount of time. Beg them to not take your money. (This doesn’t always work.)

At a drinks date, dramatically dig through your bag and start freaking out about “lost wallet” phobia. Your cocktail partner will pay. Thank him or her profusely and send a sweet note with an IOU card or flowers when you get a shot of cash flow (ultimately, flowering someone will be costlier than a $7 cocktail, but it’s all about image).

LEVEL THREE

Matters have become dire. Eviction notices are piling up. Your phone is . . . well, let’s just say temporarily out of service. The IRS has put a lien on your paycheck. And even worse, your skin is breaking out from all the stress.

Tips:

Filing Chapter 11 may be your best option. If you declare bankruptcy, you can’t have credit for ten years. But all your debts are forgiven. Seek advice (get on an allowance plan) from a good accountant, preferably one who’s friends with the family, so you can get away with free advice.

Cut up your credit cards, or, at the very least, make your limit far less than whatever it currently is.

Change many things about your life. Forbid yourself to even step into stores, and if you take walks, make sure you travel a path that will enable you to avoid any kind of temptation.

Get thee to rehab, or at the very least, Debtor’s Anonymous meetings.

If you don’t have a boyfriend, find one (fast!) and move in with him (nothing like a little impulsive behavior to make life more exciting).

Change your name and move to Nebraska (no one would ever think of looking for you
there
!).

INSUFFICIENT FUNDS!?

Oops, I Did It Again!
KAREN

Tax season, 2003. No different from tax seasons 2002, 2001, 2000, and 1999 . . . I have to pay an undisclosed amount to the government, and for the seventh year in a row I am in dire straits. Not only can I not pay my taxes right now, but I can’t even take out $40 from the bank because my account is depleted, kaput, empty. I have no money, even if I’m wearing a fortune.

I have this little problem called “living off the gross.” As a free-lancer, taxes are not taken out of my paychecks, and as a fashionista I am prone to impulsive behavior, living in the moment, and shopping rather than saving for: a.) a rainy day, and b.) to pay the IRS (those wretched people!). Full disclosure: One-third of my income is spent on fashion.

I struggle with my fashion desires on many emotional levels. While I love, love, love it as an art, I feel pressure in my industry to look a certain way, wear certain things, and also a deeper sense of insecurity, not feeling good enough as I am, a result of far too many childhood wounds and psychological meshugahs. Buying fills a void, albeit temporarily. Dressing well has been a way for me to overcompensate in some ways. Not that it makes it okay. But it is an issue that has caused me much angst.

I am aware when I’m shopping as a means to treat myself to something nice and when I am doing it to escape, deny, or cope with one of life’s hurdles. Like a bad drunk, sometimes the more I shop, the more I feel like I need to shop. Afterward I’m left with a nasty hangover—a sense of emptiness and guilt—not to mention things that I wear a few times and get sick of.

The truth about my net worth: I have no liquid assets, other than Nicolas Ghesquière’s greatest hits from the previous fall and a feathered Gucci dress so precious, I’m afraid to even wear it. Full of shame, I feel like I have nowhere to turn. I am in a dark hole. And I need to pull myself up by my (very expensive) bootstraps and emerge.

The process feels so overwhelming. Frightening, even. That is probably why, in the past, it has been easier for me to remain in denial and continue on my unhealthy path instead of dealing. My whole life I have been relying on old behaviors that may not work, but feed some part of my soul—even if for only a moment. Although such cycles actually make things worse, they’re easy to nourish.

This year, however, I decide it needs to be different. This year, I have to make a change. My actions are no longer making me happy. In fact, they’re making me miserable. I spent nearly half of my life battling an eating disorder, which I conquered in 1999. But the shopping, in so many ways, is the exact same problem as what was behind the body image and control issues that led me to bulimia. I basically took one addiction and replaced it with another. It’s time to grab the Mombasa YSL bag by the horn handle.

I call in my accountant, Michael, for backup. Together we carefully go over every one of my necessary expenses (i.e., cable, phone, electric, etc.), extras (manicure, pedicure, hair, entertainment, etc.), and luxuries (shopping, massages, cab fare, etc.) in order to deduce where I need to cut back (duh!). It is the kind of tear-filled meeting that forces me to take a good, hard look at my flaws and mistakes—never an easy thing to do.

I am still working on it. And I continue to every day. Sometimes I feel like Sisyphus, pushing a giant rock uphill. Once I reach the top, it falls to the bottom again. And I keep pushing it up, chasing it down, pushing it up and chasing it down. Every time I have the urge to shop, I take a step back in order to do something that feels more soothing—a bath, a manicure, yoga, a movie on Lifetime. I leave the house without my wallet when I frequent Soho or an area near a store I can’t resist, as a means of prevention. This hasn’t always worked . . . some stores have my credit card number on file. (The bastards!)

Mel, the good friend she is, introduced me to Century 21. We both thought, if I had to shop, I’d better at least do it in an affordable place that won’t leave me high and dry. In the overcrowded department store, I spent hours marveling at the Lagerfeld, Balenciaga, and Gaultier pieces I had once paid full price for (they were so cheap at Century 21 that it was sickening, even if the stuff was a season old). Although I must admit I missed the personal, intimate environment of a small boutique and the thrill of seeing clothes that weren’t aging and picked over.

I went to the cash register with white moleskin Balenciaga pants, an Ungaro ruffled silk blouse, and white four-inch D & G heels, an ensemble that cost a total of $400, $100 less than what the pants would cost retail. As the woman rang me up, I started panicking, thinking of the remorse I’d walk away with, the fact that I still have taxes to pay, bills to deal with, and a savings account to finally start.

“How would you like to pay for that?” the woman asked.

I thought about it for a minute and calmly said, “Actually, I wouldn’t.” I apologized for the trouble I might have caused and walked away empty-handed. It was the first sign I was on my way to recovery. In the past I would have said, “Who cares, I’ll deal with it later,” and bought it anyway. I wouldn’t have thought twice about putting myself in a bind for the rest of the month or being relegated to eating the canned peas and corn that have been sitting in my cupboard for seven (yes, seven) years.

Mel was shocked. And so proud of me.

I felt such a sense of accomplishment, too, even if it took me a day or two to get over not having the new wares. Not shopping can often be as traumatic as acting out. But nothing good comes easy. And things usually get worse before they improve (kind of like your skin after a deep facial). I am handling my healing the twelve-step way: one day at a time.

I get hard on myself for what seems like failure (a.k.a. when I fall off the wagon and give in to temptation, which was the case at a Spring 2004 trunk show for Luisa Beccaria at Kirna Zabete) from time to time. However, I am confident that it will work out, as all things do. I have successfully killed many demons in my head in my life. This is merely another one on my path.

Just don’t ask me about my taxes.

CLOSET BANKER

Forget dinner with your friends—or even buying a bottle of Diet Coke! You can’t even take out $20 from the ATM machine. Dealing with your issue is not easy. But here’s one solution: Make money off your clothes—and find smart ways to save every dime you can along the way.

Sell stuff on eBay. All you need is a digital camera and a little bit of motivation.

Hock all your old gold jewelry—stuff you would never wear, especially if an ex-boyfriend gave it to you. Trade in for Costume National shoes.

Have a garage sale. Your trash is another girl’s treasure.

Bring old designer duds (or ones you’re not hopelessly in love with) to consignment shops. You don’t get the money—which is typically way less than what you paid for it, but it all adds up, right?— immediately, but you will as soon as your stuff sells. In New York City, INA is the place where the supermodels relinquish garbage bags of fresh Marc Jacobs, Narciso Rodriguez, and designer samples.

Return gift certificates for cash.

Donate unwearables to the Salvation Army or Goodwill; it will be a tax-deductible expense.

Learn to be skillful when you’re dealing with your taxes. If actresses can expense makeup, fashionistas should be able to expense clothes! Pray you don’t get audited.

Befriend the woman who owns your favorite store. After a year, discuss the possibility of layaway . . . and even discounts. Keep it a secret.

Raid your mom’s closet. There must be something you can refurbish.

Check out novelty fetish shops for shoes. The designers of Preen, a label in London that’s highbrow and artsy, get their fierce ankle boots from a cheap little sex store.

Set a realistic budget, not one that you will cheat on, and one that will allow you to still buy what you want—within reason.

Skip breakfast. It may be the most important meal of the day, but after one month of not having breakfast you might be able to save enough for a really great pair of chandelier earrings!

Cut and color your own hair—messy, shaggy looks can be chic. And very Meg Ryan.