Frugal in the Fruitlands

My coworker buys a $12 manicure every week. You can do your own math to figure out how much that would cost over the next twenty years with 5% interest. Go on. It’s a lot - about $20,000, in fact.

Why is this relevant? My coworker is exquisitely well-groomed. She has perfect hair, fashionable clothes, and wears makeup every day. She’s also really good at listening, and even though we come from completely different backgrounds (she freely admits to spending most of high school reading fashion magazines), I like her a bunch. At work, I’d like to be like her - not just her looks, but her attitude.

One of the best blog series I’ve seen recently has been Trent’s Investing in Yourself. He argues in the Personal Appearance and Hygiene part of this series that “small efforts of personal appearance are tiny investments that do pay off.”

There are two facts about my job that tie into this:

1. After a (very) rough adjustment period, I’ve decided that I enjoy it enough to stay here for a while and try to “advance through the ranks.” In this, I’ve accepted that a job worth doing is worth doing well, to cite the old adage.
2. I don’t put as much effort into my appearance as half the women in my office. As long as I’m clean and my clothes match, I don’t much care how I look. I don’t wear makeup. I have a very limited wardrobe, and don’t follow fashion trends. I take a shower in the morning and arrive at work with messy, wet hair - which I haven’t had cut since August. I have never plucked my eyebrows, had a manicure or pedicure, or worried overly much about the condition of my skin.

Does any of this matter? I think it probably does in my workplace, which is largely populated by mainstream (read: non-geeky) women. My boss, for example, is female, and any promotion would come from her. I think investing in my appearance would show that I do, in fact, speak her language.

Just so I don’t lose my feminist cred, I do acknowledge the ridiculous beauty standards for women and the unfairness of the fact that women are practically required to put more money into keeping up appearances than men. But my workplace is not the place to be an activist. I won’t be getting plastic surgery or developing a sudden interest in fashion - we’re talking wearing makeup, getting regular haircuts, and blow-drying my hair before coming to work.

So where do I start - and how much do I spend? At what point will the initial investment exceed the expected payoff?

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This is a question that has bothered me since I started this blog: if money were no object, would I still want to live frugally and simply? I mean, it’s only voluntary simplicity if it’s voluntary, right?

Well, one could argue I don’t live all that frugally or simply now - this blog has always been about the journey, and currently the best I can do is to live out of sync with the consumerist culture I inhabit. When I think of the crushing weight of my mortgage, it’s handy to reflect on women who spend upwards of $1,000 a month on their beauty routine.

I think the conclusion I’ve come to is this: If I were independently wealthy, I would “invest” more heavily in sensual, temporary pleasures. I would do almost no cooking or eating at home, unless Matt was moved to make one of his extra-special dinners. I would buy a subscription to a tea-of-the-month club. I would buy more perfume oils. This stems from an observation that my joy results not from having stuff, but from fleeting experiences. Some of my happiest moments have been sitting in bed with a cup of tea, reading H.P. Lovecraft, and smelling the warm blend of smells coming from my bureau, where I keep my perfumes.

Most importantly, though, I would harness the extra money to break the chains of full-time employment. I don’t mean I would necessarily quit my job - but I wouldn’t live in fear of being fired, and I wouldn’t be afraid to pursue my passions. Work can be transformational when you’re not afraid.

But if I were wealthy, I would still use the public library, in part because I find it such a welcoming place. I would still go to garage sales. I would still not buy a gym membership. I can’t imagine investing more in my beauty regime - I’ve never worn makeup, never shown much of an interest in fashion, and my idea of “put-together” is clean and with clothes that match.

On some level I worry that every cent I spend above my basic needs is snatching food out of the mouths of poor children. But down-shifting is so much more difficult than improving the quality of life. We are constantly swayed to improve the quality of our life, and it takes a great deal of conscious effort to examine our crap and decide it doesn’t fit with the person we want to be.

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