A Friend Stopped By | 05/20/2009 11:00 pm
The Sisterhood of the Vanishing Paystub, by Sally Koslow

Editor’s Note: Sally Koslow is the author of The Late, Lamented Molly Marx, just published by Ballantine. Her first novel, Little Pink Slips, was based on her experience of being deposed as editor-in-chief of McCall’s magazine by Rosie O’Donnell. Her essays have been published in More, O: The Oprah Magazine and The New York Observer, among other publications.
The best advice I’ve ever gotten about personal economics was from a friend, and it had nothing to do with derivatives, debt/equity swaps or the Cayman Islands. Alice decided that to give life an upgrade, she could earn more or want less. Wanting less was easier. She took a low-paying job deep in the country. Once she got a driver’s license, she never looked back.While she was living happily ever in Costco jeans, I spent two decades in fancy-pants jobs that earned me an income that, were it not in a city, might have been considered handsome. Though much of my salary flowed out fast on a mortgage, tuition, ski vacations, furniture a few notches above Ikea — no first-class air travel — I could nevertheless manage my share of salon blowouts while springing for the 12-month aged Manchego. I wasn’t always gorgeous in Gucci, yet life felt cozily cushioned.
And then, it didn’t. The big fat paycheck evaporated. I scrambled for another job, but well in advance of the death-defying financial spin our world is experiencing, my industry was one of many apparently in perimenopause, every sleepless night suggesting that its fertile years were ending. Now, my stilettos make mere cameo appearances. I spend the day doing what "formers" do — teaching, "consulting," tapping out sentences, taking breaks to bark at "The View." My bank account no longer swells with direct deposits, nor does Sugar Daddy Inc. spring for health insurance. Not only do the checks arrive at stately intervals, they have fewer zeroes.
| Before recessionistas replaced fashionistas ... I began to air out the Zen notion of trying to want less, or at least spend less. They are not the same. |
Before recessionistas replaced fashionistas or itinerant I-bankers got with the new program, I began to air out the Zen notion of trying to want less, or at least spend less. They are not the same.
I’ve traded down to a cheesy hair salon with an Amy Winehouse soundtrack and eke out extra weeks between appointments courtesy of Clairol Root Touch-Up, since I draw the line at gray and the time I tried a complete home dye job, my hair turned purple. I walk to the cheapo dry cleaner, the one who’s never heard of organic. I walk, period. It had been so long since I’d taken a taxi that when I finally got into a cab, I had no clue how to turn off that newfangled TV. I have started taking the train to the plane, though it eats up two hours, since, the corollary to "Earn More or Want Less" is "Save Time or Save Money — Not Both," a lesson reinforced whenever I try to make roast chicken instead of reservations.
My attempts at belt tightening, I quickly learned, would be easier if I didn’t love belts and all manner of clothing. I’ve always gotten a contact high from being with women who have their sartorial act together, seeing fashion fluency as a shared cultural amenity, like public art. I aspired to be one of those women and — here’s where it’s pitiful — I still do. Never mind that dressing up now means putting on my good yoga pants. If a catalog arrives, I don’t mutter, "Whew, those black suede booties look uncannily like the ones I already own." I slowly flip through the pages and allow my soul to bloat with desire.























25 Reader Comments (so far…) Sign In or Register to comment
All due respect- not everybody’s financial woes include lobbying for BYOB at a restaurant. I had a great high-tech training business that would have been 20 years old this year. We had an amazing client base, and a terrific income. Due to the mentally-ill husband I lost a business that we could have sold, and I had to start a new one. Life insurance, anyone?
He went off to live with his mommy and daddy at age 51, leaving me with a house that he had deliberately left unsaleable, and our two wonderful children to support.
Since I was left with all the debts of a formerly prosperous business, but none of the resources with which to pay them, my financial woes started 3 years ago.
After two years, he has only now begun to work again, and provide child support, and that only because his parents forced him to do both. I’m grateful not to eat rice and beans any more. I’m grateful not to have to get Salvation Army food boxes any more in order to feed my children.
I was graduated from one of the Seven Sisters. I’m tri-lingual. Sometimes things *don’t* work out. I assure you, when you are worried about keeping a roof over the head of your children, you will not care about the latest fashions in the slightest.
Constance
who understands that you want to be funny. Do you understand that funny is relative?
"with everyone so hard up, nobody realized they were poor. Economizing is not yet a jolly team sport"
This statement and the context behind it reflects something i’ve been thinking all along for the past year. We keep reading about and having articles written on the economy and how it’s affecting us. And i keep reading between the lines of these things how freaking spoiled we’ve been as a country. Yes I know there are people out there going hungry. I worked for CPS for cryin out loud. But on the whole we don’t even know real poverty here. Not as a nation. We almost can’t even fathom it. So a lot of the articles come off as just flat out whining to me. whining about how things didn’t go the way we thought they would. About how our dreams of mass consumption somehow translated in our brains to "our right" as americans or alive people or something. I liked this piece because she recognizes that. And she does it with humor. she says "ya I know i wanted to much" but I wanted what I wanted and it isn’t easy to go back from that. And i expect that it isn’t. Although somehow I doubt that with more than one published book she’s actually debating selling a $5 yard sale purchase.
It’s almost humorous to hear the rich whine about having to come down to Earth amongst us lowly commoners. Oh my: she has to have her hair done at a "cheapo salon". She has to pay for a taxi cab. Welcome to the real world.
James—Unfortunately, unless you take the subway, cabs are a fact of life in NYC. Owning a car here is nuts—there is no parking unless you pay at least $20 an afternoon for an inflated garage. I recently had knee surgery, hadn’t taken a subway in a few months, and I had to get to Physical Therapy. Worker’s Comp. said they would reimburse me for my taxi receipts, since I could not climb the three flights of subway steps. Like the author, I was struck by the loud intrusiveness of one of those backseat taxi televisions, and it took me a minute to remember how to shut the thing off, and keep it off—it has a built in "keep me on!" switch. (Really, you just want to kick the darn thing. Unless you just had knee surgery.) The real world here is not like the real world in normal places. It really is as messed up as the author states.
I was discussing this with a friend over the weekend. We know so many people who want OUT of the city—with all we put up with to live here, it seems like a foreign planet.
Any time friends or relatives visit me here, I inevitably hear, "Wait, this isn’t like the movies at all." Yeah, well, it never was.
Hi, Kerm. Yeah, I’ve been in the NYC cabs. It amazes me how they drive. Literally gunning for position. The vehicle I was in, I thought twice we were going to crash. Another time, the driver went gunning across the street, and if the pedestrian wouldn’t have gotten out of the way - oh well - he wasn’t planning to slow down. None of that stuff bothers me. But it might if I lived there.
As for the movies, I assume you mean the way the city is romanticized? All I can tell you is, I enjoyed my visit, but living there? Can’t say.
Yeah, Slinky, I laughed at her silly worries about shopping. But I also laughed at anyone who stays in New York City more than a week. To live in a place where you have to ‘put up’ with so much isn’t my idea of home. Here in Tucson we have some good restaurants and fancy places to shop, but I never go there any more. I’ve had great meals all over the world before, so it’s not that it’s something I’ve never known. I’ve had money in 3 or 4 countries and now I haven’t. But I decided that I wouldn’t sit around and wait for something or someone to pass by and insist I take this wonderful job at a fantastic salery. So I had to just do a ‘Little Red Hen’. Thank goodness I found an internet program that really makes a difference in my eating and dog-feeding habits. This program helps me and anyone else who joins up. I’d like to make something clear while I’m thinking about it. Gift giving is not a Ponzi scheme or a Pyramid scam. It is absolutely legal and morally correct. I’ve had some back talk lately, and it’s from people who don’t know what they’re talking about. I’m glad I’m gifting to those who need a gift, and I’m also receiving because I need a gift too.
Sorry for the soap box. I’ll go get an ice cream bar now.
To James- I hear you, that we shouldn’t be so selfish as to think we are way above and now lowering ourselves to something less just to get by, but it’s the truth. In better days we would have never considered a lessor salon, eatery, dry cleaner, etc. As such I have been able to see first hand why we paid more for something better. Everytime I have to scale down to something less than what I was used to, I’m reminded of that movie from the ’80s, Arthur when Dudley Moore tells Liza that if he’s stripped of his wealth, they would have to eat cheap disgusting food.
Since (my own experience with pink slip) having to economize, I either have to cook at home or, subjected to eating cheap disgusting food. No longer able to afford nice meals at great restaurants. But hey, that’s just one compromise I’m mentioning. The story "Little Pink Slips" tells it real.
Wanting less or spending less, still takes some getting use to even after 3 1/2 yrs.
Cestlavie