The daughter of a frugal woman ponders her legacy
Among the handful of blogs I read regularly is that of Frugal Scholar, an articulate university prof who is (her term) "pathologically frugal". She's written a from-the-trenches post, "Is Frugality Fun?"
Spoiler alert: it is for her.
Frugal (We have corresponded personally so I am privileged to use her first name) makes a bit of money re-selling thrift finds and scores nifty gifts for her young children and their friends. Very occasionally Frugal hints at the dark side of frugality, a tendency to buy just because something is such a deal. (She often spots this and resists.)
I am the child of a Depression-era, penny-pinching woman who had little of Frugal's zest, and heaps of the self-righteous judgment some uber-frugal can display.
Every blessed time she saw me, Mom asked how much I paid my hairdresser and would then upbraid me; she never met a MagiCuts she didn't like. One day, I shot back, "But see what you get for $16?", which spun her into huffy silence. But, I felt, she asked for it.
I am dismayed when frugality tips from responsible, value-conscious consumption into anhedonic self-denial that sucks joy out of life. A childhood with just such a mother formed us.
My brother lives large (and made sure he could fund that). My sister, who died years ago, married a man so cheap that he permitted them to own but one set of sheets at a time. My modus operandi has been to closely observe consumption—including its rationale and results—while rejecting frugality as a paramount principle. Dad's bon vivant genes mitigated Mom's.
I'm especially annoyed about freeloading. The community agency where I take French class sometimes places bags of free bread on a bench for clients to take; one of their programs is food security for families in need. A classmate takes a bag each time, saying "I only eat bread when it's free." I know she has a very comfortable financial situation. (For that reason, Dad forbade Mom to shop at charity thrifts; we had to sneak as if visiting a shooting gallery.)
And yet, inside me is a frugal woman screaming to get out. Sometimes, I let her. As Frugal says, a Goodwill score is terrific fun, and you've rescued a garment (Frugal finds Chloe!) to live another day. But mostly I'm frugalish, reheeling shoes the second they begin to tilt, refusing overpriced, logo'd goods, avoiding out-of-season produce: the usual good habits, nothing fancy.
Mom's influence is never far, so when I buy something at full price—even if I urgently need it—I see her pursed lips and practically hide it from myself as I carry the bag home.
Frugality relates to self-worth, security, and our reaction to the rapid running of life's hourglass. Like other virtues, it can't exist without its opposite pole, so let's splurge occasionally—a fine bar of soap? a box of ruby raspberries?—and enjoy every last morsel with vibrant, intense pleasure.
Morning, Mom; call if you want to go to the Sally Ann.
Spoiler alert: it is for her.
Frugal (We have corresponded personally so I am privileged to use her first name) makes a bit of money re-selling thrift finds and scores nifty gifts for her young children and their friends. Very occasionally Frugal hints at the dark side of frugality, a tendency to buy just because something is such a deal. (She often spots this and resists.)
I am the child of a Depression-era, penny-pinching woman who had little of Frugal's zest, and heaps of the self-righteous judgment some uber-frugal can display. Every blessed time she saw me, Mom asked how much I paid my hairdresser and would then upbraid me; she never met a MagiCuts she didn't like. One day, I shot back, "But see what you get for $16?", which spun her into huffy silence. But, I felt, she asked for it.
I am dismayed when frugality tips from responsible, value-conscious consumption into anhedonic self-denial that sucks joy out of life. A childhood with just such a mother formed us.
My brother lives large (and made sure he could fund that). My sister, who died years ago, married a man so cheap that he permitted them to own but one set of sheets at a time. My modus operandi has been to closely observe consumption—including its rationale and results—while rejecting frugality as a paramount principle. Dad's bon vivant genes mitigated Mom's.
I'm especially annoyed about freeloading. The community agency where I take French class sometimes places bags of free bread on a bench for clients to take; one of their programs is food security for families in need. A classmate takes a bag each time, saying "I only eat bread when it's free." I know she has a very comfortable financial situation. (For that reason, Dad forbade Mom to shop at charity thrifts; we had to sneak as if visiting a shooting gallery.)And yet, inside me is a frugal woman screaming to get out. Sometimes, I let her. As Frugal says, a Goodwill score is terrific fun, and you've rescued a garment (Frugal finds Chloe!) to live another day. But mostly I'm frugalish, reheeling shoes the second they begin to tilt, refusing overpriced, logo'd goods, avoiding out-of-season produce: the usual good habits, nothing fancy.
Mom's influence is never far, so when I buy something at full price—even if I urgently need it—I see her pursed lips and practically hide it from myself as I carry the bag home.
Frugality relates to self-worth, security, and our reaction to the rapid running of life's hourglass. Like other virtues, it can't exist without its opposite pole, so let's splurge occasionally—a fine bar of soap? a box of ruby raspberries?—and enjoy every last morsel with vibrant, intense pleasure.
Morning, Mom; call if you want to go to the Sally Ann.
Comments
I'm sure you understand all the ramifications of being raised by someone who lives a life based on scarcity instead of abundance.
I will say that I think it's important to separate "frugal" from "virtuous." The two are so often conflated. Frugality can be virtuous, but isn't so necessarily. And there's virtue in abundance, when it's ethical and generous.
Truly fascinating topic.
Reheeling is important. Those chic Frenchwomen constantly mentioned reheel, and mend.
I have an aunt whose husband, a doctor, was a pathological skinflint. My cousins ate worse food than we did (also because this aunt was a less-skilful cook than my mother).He died and left a huge estate, though his son had to leaf through mounds of hoarding to find those stock certificates.
I know you can't tell your classmate off, but she is taking food from hungry people. The lovely nuns who run the centre between your home and mine work tirelessly to feed hungry families in the neighbourhood. And if it is another community centre (I'm familiar with them all, as I've worked in that field, in Villeray) it is the same story. They leave the bread to preserve people's pride.
But charity shops and bazaars are for all.
frugal: Oh, I think you know what you want, as you have written about certain objects and experiences; it's a matter of giving yourself permission.
materfamilias: You have written wonderful post about your family's influence on your habits, thank YOU.
LauraH: Once my father died (she was 84), Mom loosened up; he never seemed to object to her spending so I couldn't figure out the dynamic. I'm glad your mother can enjoy life.
Susan: 91! Yes, my mother criticized family members' spending till the end- age 99.
LPC: Ah yes, preserve the capital was a family mantra, too.
lagatta: I have known a number of poor people who were not frugal, as well as rich people who are; the trait does not seem to attach wholly to income level, in my experience. Yes, it's the agency next door... I'm working up to saying something, discreetly.
The ultimate frugalista was my grandmother who learned how to save during the Depression, she taught me many frugal tips in home keeping and cooking. I cherish her chats with me over tea...
BTW my own mother cuts her own hair to save money yet she spends thousands every year on clothes and she does a pretty good job.
My mum loved a bargain and a sale and I've certainly inherited that. I am trying not to fall into her trap of buying things that aren't quite right just because they're on sale or I want a pick-me-up. It's a tricky balance but I think I've gotten a lot more thoughtful about purchases, generally.
You can take some credit for that Duchesse, as well as all the other excellent bloggers I've been reading for the past few years.
C.
BTW, we have had 6-7 week trips to Europe for each of the past 4 summers, several times treating one or both kiddos, so I don't think we're tooooo self-denying. I've really enjoyed reading the comments.
When she visited me, she wanted to go to Value Village, where she would park her Caddy in the parking lot, and try to get them to drop their prices!
Wendy
If I could favorite this, I would. Unfortunately, the conflation of the two is practically an article of faith in New England, where I've lived most of my life. (A friend says that when he visits his parents, his dad will turn off lamps in the living room when my friend puts down his book to, say, get a glass of water or use the bathroom.)
virago: A longtime friend still talks about visiting my parents' with me. My mother gave us paper napkins at breakfast, and penciled our initials on them so they could be re-used the next morning. I think we used them for at least 4 days.
Mom to Le Duc: "Those French really put it over on us, trying to get us to believe what year they made the wine makes a difference!"
Le Duc: "But, Mrs. C., it's true."
Mom: "Nonsense!" Pushes her glass forward to indicate she will have more Puligny-Montrachet, which she intuitively senses is pretty good.
I would let the freeloader(s) go scott free. Evidentally she/they feel scarcity and the bread fills the lack. Bread represents hospitality and love. Let her have it. It would be a bad thing for the charity to get strict about proving credentials of the people served. It would discourage the most vulnerable from applying for and receiving help.
1. The organization has a stated mandate to distribute food to people •in need•.
2. The organization is struggling to survive. They are trying to stretch dollars to feed hungry people.
Therefore, a person not in need of such support takes a limited resource not intended for him or her when she takes the bread she does not need and does not normally eat.
Rather than inferring that she "evidently feels scarcity", I am more inclined to think she (whom I know well) is just not thinking about whom the bread is for and regards it like free samples handed out in the subway.