On a day when the headlines blared that consumer confidence was at a 26-year low, I was in the land of the cashmere hoodie, an upscale shopping mall in Toronto, and it was hard to find a space in the vast parking lot. In one designer store, a young sales clerk maintained that people were still shopping, and added "maybe it's their way of dealing with the stress."
I had found another way of dealing with the stress - I was returning a brand new, fairly expensive winter coat. It was nice, and I could afford it. But in this who-knows-how-low-it's-going-to-go economy, I couldn't justify it.
Besides, we had just shelled out thousands for something far less glamorous but much more necessary to keep me warm this winter - a new roof. (Note to friends: When you come over to my house, would you just say, "Hey, I love your new roof." Thanks.)
"Reason for return?" asked the woman at the cash.
I tried a lame joke: "Consumer confidence?" Not a smidge of a smile.
I don't blame her. Her job depends on people like me saying phht, who cares about economic tsunamis and stock market plunges, why worry about lurching loonies and depressing bank statements; a woman still needs a stylish new coat.
Well no, this woman doesn't. Still, I felt a little guilty taking it back, as if I were personally contributing to the downturn. On the way out of the mall I saw a now sadly hilarious bank ad on an ATM: "You're richer than you think." Yeah, sure.
I spent the next day asking friends what they were cutting back on, and realized that what we're willing to go without, and what we deem mandatory, says something about us.
Most said restaurant meals, many said upscale coffee. I wouldn't shed a tear if I never went into a Starbucks again, but others swear their daily latte is just the little $5 luxury they need to feel good about life. And think about the poor baristas!
We all have expenses others would sniff at as luxuries, but that we deem vital to our emotional or physical well-being.
I refuse, for now, to give up buying fresh flowers for the house (a $20 outlay can keep me happy for more than a week) or my Pilates class ($15). Or books and magazines. Or theatre. Or even going out to movies, an outing that has become so lamentably expensive I'm always surprised when the cinemas are full. But I think that's how movies should be seen, with your fellow citizens, as part of the culture.
Like many self-employed workers, I live under a permanent financial fatwa, always skeptical about whether the good times will last, so perhaps I'm more prepared mentally than some for a time in the economic trenches. Besides, I don't spend a lot - no transportation costs (I work from home), few lunches out, not a lot of fancy career clothes. On the other hand, that also means there's not a lot of fat to trim.
I'm sure there are many others like me, mentally going over what's expendable in their lives as they deal with the effects of a global financial crisis so scary you could put yourself in a permanent state of panic just by turning on the TV. (If I see one more clichéd shot of a distraught broker, head down on his desk, I'm going to scream.) Anxiety is, after all, a communicable disease.
Yet it's surprising to me that this crisis is not even more of a hot conversational topic. It's as if people don't want to talk about it because it will make them more afraid. As if it would highlight the utter lack of control most of us feel we have over events that can arbitrarily determine what our savings are worth or whether we can ever afford to retire.
To that end, many people I know are simply not opening their RSP statements, reasoning that they still have enough time to recover and why plunge yourself into despair when what you really need, every single day, is motivation? There are mouths to feed, children to educate, taxes to pay.
And belt-tightening to do. Cutting out those small or big items at least makes you feel in control.
An accountant friend who always privately shook his head over many of his clients' more disastrous spending habits says that when it comes to belt-tightening, most people will first cut back on anything they think will not affect how others see them - less frequent dining out, family megavacations, a new car. In fact, he figures, you're likely to stand out if you do keep spending lavishly.
So being frugal could be the new chic. And stretching a buck? It really comes down to deciding not what we want, but what we can do without.
It's the universality of this financial mess that is most notable: "Everyone now has less of something and no one cares to hear about your losses," says the accountant. "So just show up on time, return your phone calls promptly, be respectful of others less fortunate and be very grateful to have good health."
"The rest is all BS," he added. "It always was."
