In partnership with Nina Ricci.
I went through a lowkey pyro phase when I was in eighth grade. I’d slice candle flames with my hand and let matches singe down a bit too close to my finger tips. So many marshmallows became charred casualties of my fascination. In one instance, following a fight with my parents over something stupid, I locked my door, blasted the Misfits (I WAS SO PUNK ROCK!!!) and lit a tissue on fire. Just because. To see what would happen. To watch it turn brown and crumple into itself and give myself a reason to fear pre-teen girls later in life.
Then it burned my thumb and I dropped it into the trashcan. A small fire started, the alarm went off and thus began a whole hullabaloo about how I lost my candle privileges and was I out of my mind, etc. Whatever.
But it did scare me enough to cool it with the pyro stuff for good — or so I thought. In the five day span spent chronicling my spending habits just as Leandra and Haley did before me, I realized that even more than tissues and marshmallows and almost-homes, I just love setting money on fire.
Let’s start with Monday, as most weeks do.
My two worst traits, without a doubt, are my consistent tardiness and Uber habits. Both are directly related to a third pretty bad but not uncommon trait, which is that I try to fit too much into tiny time windows. There is an alarming disconnect in my brain between what I think I can do (three activities plus some work before 9 AM), what I agree to do, and what I KNOW will be the actual, often-stressful if not disastrous outcome.
This means I am always late. Because I am always late, I take Ubers to help speed things up. Because of both, I live with a constant whisper of guilt.
Also, Topshoo = Topshop!
I am one of the few people on the planet who isn’t motivated to attend a workout class by fearing the late-cancel fee that most gyms threaten. I feel awful and terrible and wasteful after I decide to bail, but that doesn’t give me my money back, does it?
More than just tracking my spending, by the way, this project is turning out to be quite the introspective look at my more negative self! One more moan, though: Haley is so much better at emojis than I am. 🙁
HAD I NOT had to Venmo my friend for an imminent vacation bike rental — one that meant a bike with a basket was mine for a week (worth it) — this day would have been pretty redeeming. Also, I hate salad so much just so everyone knows.
This was the second dinner that a friend bought me this week. Somehow these good people haven’t realized yet that I am a walking blob fish of financial irresponsibility and therefore have yet to disassociate themselves with me. Bless them.
Although, this may “out” me.
I actually don’t even want to talk about this day.
Except I have to say this: I know lashes are a superficial, superfluous thing to spend money on and that I am beyond lucky (is that word annoying to anyone else?) that I can afford to whine about being broke because of eye-wigs. Being able to live above your means and then scrambling to fix your mess by eating Baby Bell cheese snacks and hitchhiking around town come every bill cycle is 100% a privilege that does not go over my head. But I don’t sleep a lot. I’m a pretty stressed out person glued to my phone and email and computer 24/7. Even at the gym, I attend to my phone like a whiny Tamagotchi.
When I get my eyelashes done, it is the ONLY TIME I get to “unplug.” And it costs me $200 once a month. So I consider it therapy.
Amelia. Shit’s so dire that we’re writing in royal-we third person right now: This is serious. We have to have a talk.
Photographed by Krista Anna Lewis. Pink bag by Nina Ricci.
