Salon Money | Glutton for luxury

R E C E N T L Y

Our watches, our selves
By Robert Bryce
As the economy keeps on ticking, the watch industry sells the daze of our lives
(07/10/98)
Pot of gold or P.C. money pit?
By Heather Chaplin
Are socially responsibility mutual funds good karma or bad business?
(07/03/98)
Swamped
By Todd Pitock
If everyone is working so hard, why are they always at lunch?
(06/26/98)
Rich pickings, sour grapes
By Linda Tischler
A mother envies her daughter's lucrative entrance into the world of work
(06/19/98)
Get them while they're young
By Kevin Kelleher
Money managers are targeting children as the next growth market
(06/12/98)
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Money archives

GLUTTON FOR LUXURY | PAGE 1, 2
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My grandmother's generation saved ruthlessly, as if by tucking enough money under their mattresses, they could stave off future disaster. But sometimes it doesn't work. Jewish families lost everything when Hitler confiscated their bank accounts in the 1930s; countless American families lost their savings when banks collapsed in the 1920s.
On the way out of Las Vegas, we met two elderly men in a Winnebago on their way to Glacier National Park. One man was short and slightly bowlegged with a belly protruding over his Levi's, and the other was tall with a glass eye that seemed to search our faces on its own. The man with the glass eye told us the two of them had gone on a trip every year since retiring. His wife wouldn't travel anymore, he told us, because she thought she was too old. In fact, he was too old to climb the more rigorous trails at Glacier, he said, a fact that disturbed him greatly. "I shouldn't have waited," he told us. "I should have done this when I was young."
The man had worked six and seven days a week as a young man, and he wished instead he'd spent some of those days traveling. "Whatever you want to do," he repeated, "do now."
But does taking advantage of one's youth include unbridled consumption? In a culture where freedom is defined by one's power to buy, the line can get blurred. But somehow, I don't think the man we met in Vegas had an afternoon at Barney's in mind. Again it made me think of my grandmother. Her refusal to eat at fancy restaurants and to buy new clothes before the old had worn out was as much about priorities as frugality. She was no ascetic but rather found something almost immoral in waste. And perhaps that's the key. She loved to travel, so she did, every year; she didn't care much about food, so she ate at home, almost every meal. The hard part is to know what you truly want and not get suckered by what you think you need.
They say you are what you buy, but maybe in a culture where buying is the national pastime, it's more accurate to say you are what you don't buy. My grandmother's austere financial habits were a defining part of who she was and how she related to people. I remember bringing her home from the hospital last year after she'd been diagnosed with brain cancer. She and her friend Betty shared a house in those years, the floors covered with sensible beige carpeting, the cupboards filled with the same dishes that had been around since I was a kid and the walls filled with gorgeous tapestries my grandmother had collected in Thailand, Spain, Mongolia and China.
Betty was waiting for us in the living room, tapping her metal cane nervously against the edge of a 1970s reclining chair.
"Oh hi, you're here," she said, although I'd seen her peeking out the window as we came up the driveway.
My grandmother said hello and Betty told us she'd bought some salmon for dinner. This made my grandmother raise her eyebrows and widen her eyes. She leaned heavily on my elbow as she shuffled toward her friend.
"How much did you pay?" she asked, a hint of interrogation in her voice.
"Four-ninety a pound," Betty said, walking toward us on her cane.
"Acht, that's too much," my grandmother said, and the two women embraced.
SALON | July 17, 1998
Heather Chaplin is a freelance business writer in San Francisco. Her Reluctant Capitalist column appears on alternate Fridays in Salon.




R E C E N T L Y Our watches, our selves By Robert Bryce As the economy keeps on ticking, the watch industry sells the daze of our lives (07/10/98) Pot of gold or P.C. money pit? By Heather Chaplin Are socially responsibility mutual funds good karma or bad business? (07/03/98) Swamped By Todd Pitock If everyone is working so hard, why are they always at lunch? (06/26/98) Rich pickings, sour grapes By Linda Tischler A mother envies her daughter's lucrative entrance into the world of work (06/19/98) Get them while they're young By Kevin Kelleher Money managers are targeting children as the next growth market (06/12/98) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Browse the Money archives		GLUTTON FOR LUXURY \| PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - My grandmother's generation saved ruthlessly, as if by tucking enough money under their mattresses, they could stave off future disaster. But sometimes it doesn't work. Jewish families lost everything when Hitler confiscated their bank accounts in the 1930s; countless American families lost their savings when banks collapsed in the 1920s. On the way out of Las Vegas, we met two elderly men in a Winnebago on their way to Glacier National Park. One man was short and slightly bowlegged with a belly protruding over his Levi's, and the other was tall with a glass eye that seemed to search our faces on its own. The man with the glass eye told us the two of them had gone on a trip every year since retiring. His wife wouldn't travel anymore, he told us, because she thought she was too old. In fact, he was too old to climb the more rigorous trails at Glacier, he said, a fact that disturbed him greatly. "I shouldn't have waited," he told us. "I should have done this when I was young." The man had worked six and seven days a week as a young man, and he wished instead he'd spent some of those days traveling. "Whatever you want to do," he repeated, "do now." But does taking advantage of one's youth include unbridled consumption? In a culture where freedom is defined by one's power to buy, the line can get blurred. But somehow, I don't think the man we met in Vegas had an afternoon at Barney's in mind. Again it made me think of my grandmother. Her refusal to eat at fancy restaurants and to buy new clothes before the old had worn out was as much about priorities as frugality. She was no ascetic but rather found something almost immoral in waste. And perhaps that's the key. She loved to travel, so she did, every year; she didn't care much about food, so she ate at home, almost every meal. The hard part is to know what you truly want and not get suckered by what you think you need. They say you are what you buy, but maybe in a culture where buying is the national pastime, it's more accurate to say you are what you don't buy. My grandmother's austere financial habits were a defining part of who she was and how she related to people. I remember bringing her home from the hospital last year after she'd been diagnosed with brain cancer. She and her friend Betty shared a house in those years, the floors covered with sensible beige carpeting, the cupboards filled with the same dishes that had been around since I was a kid and the walls filled with gorgeous tapestries my grandmother had collected in Thailand, Spain, Mongolia and China. Betty was waiting for us in the living room, tapping her metal cane nervously against the edge of a 1970s reclining chair. "Oh hi, you're here," she said, although I'd seen her peeking out the window as we came up the driveway. My grandmother said hello and Betty told us she'd bought some salmon for dinner. This made my grandmother raise her eyebrows and widen her eyes. She leaned heavily on my elbow as she shuffled toward her friend. "How much did you pay?" she asked, a hint of interrogation in her voice. "Four-ninety a pound," Betty said, walking toward us on her cane. "Acht, that's too much," my grandmother said, and the two women embraced. SALON \| July 17, 1998 Heather Chaplin is a freelance business writer in San Francisco. Her Reluctant Capitalist column appears on alternate Fridays in Salon.