Something's up with buying nothing

A mini-trend has hit, that of buying nothing for a year.  Here I am in Paris, with one window more alluring than the next, and I'm thinking about this, perhaps because of the contrast.

The definition of "nothing" varies from no clothes or accessories and only basic replacements for cosmetics and toiletries, to more rigorous abstention that includes no trips, gifts, takeout coffee; grooming and haircuts strictly DIY.

The approach has been slammed as "poverty tourism", which is unfair, because writers acknowledge that they can pay rent, maintain a car, or take care of emergencies. Cait Flanders' book title reveals the outcome: "The Year of Less: How I Stopped Shopping, Gave Away My Belongings, and Discovered Life is Worth More Than Anything You Can Buy in a Store."

They report annual savings from $US 18, 000 to $35, 000, which means these women were spending at least $1, 500 per month in non-essentials. That sounds like a lot, but $375 a week slips away fast on $15 cocktails and nail salons. Throw in a shoe sale? Done.

Like subsisting on Jenny Craig's packaged meals, you can't live that way for life. (Some women do mount multi-year marathons; Sal, of the blog oneemptyshelf, extended her run into a second year; Flanders' book covers the first year of two.)

The most relatable writers said, in one way or another, "Find what's worth owning, get rid of the rest." Sal spent to rebuild the library of books and CDs which she had given away without digitizing, but as she said, "No more wardrobe full of generic high heels."

I think it's smarter to learn how to manage money, but for those with a big shopping habit, abstinence is sometimes easier than moderation—and going cold turkey might get you a book contract.

The common elements for a long-term moratorium:
1. Take a fearless spending inventory.
Flanders was amazed how much dribbled away on non-essentials. For many women, that step alone incites change.
2. Go public.
Put your commitment on your blog, Facebook page, or in front of your (non-enabling) friends. Get an accountability buddy. Roommates or friends might make a pact and do it together.
3. Set explicit rules.
Will you buy and accept gifts? What about occasions for which you do not have the appropriate clothes?
4. Purge your inbox of all consumption-related e-mails.
Unsubscribe from vendors, flog-blogs, fashion-oriented Instagram accounts. You can't buy what you don't know about.

Cheats and treats

Unalloyed abstention makes dull reading. Falling-off-the-wagon incidents include visits to thrift stores, and hinting so broadly that she really really needed a new bag that the beleaguered partner bought it as a "gift". Ann Patchett allowed herself supermarket flowers.

One woman agonized about whether choosing replacement cosmetics to get a gift-with-purchase was cheating. (She concluded it was, and gave the gift away.) Someone avoided clothing but tumbled for house decor; another bought her sister a birthday spa day for two, knowing she would be the guest.

The author of one book, published over a decade ago, co-owned two houses (a summer and winter residence) and three cars. Needless to say, readers posted acerbic criticism on Amazon.

Age and stage

Moratorium memoirists are mostly in their thirties to early forties. Their wakeup call came from popular minimalism books like "Everything that Remains" by Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus, but more often, they were fed up with their credit card bills and decade-old student loans.

By the time we're fifty or older, most women see the folly of overbuying, the flamboyantly fabulous, nearly 97-year old Iris Apfel notwithstanding.

If your parents lived through the Depression, you grew up with the mantra, Borrow, Make, Mend. I've written before about Mom's voice in my head.

Still, our cohort is not immune. At a neighbourhood boutique, a woman around my age was just ahead at the cash, with an impressive stack of clothes that I admired as I fiddled with my three-pack of sneaker socks.

She said as she punched in her Visa card, "You can't take it with you, right?"

I thought, You can't take your clothes, either. But who am I to determine what's right for her? And Iris, who said in her documentary, "More is more, less is a bore", would approve.