Sweet, Sweet Fantasy (with apologies to M. Carey)

(the popular fantasy of an apartment in Harlem overlooking Central Park)

Several years ago, Miss Cheapist tried therapy as a way to navigate different transitions that she faced. At the time, it was productive, primarily because she realized how little she really understood about herself. One memorable evening on the couch, she shared a feeling of suffocation from the desires and expectations of those closest to her. With fatigue, she sighed, “I’m just so overwhelmed with everyone else’s fantasies!” Her therapist, a woman who never changed the register of her voice, and colored her office with photographs from travels in the Himalayas, responded, “And what is your fantasy?” Her question gave Miss Cheapist pause. She wondered, when it seemed easier to respond to others, rather than barrel forward with her own dreams, did she really dare to fantasize? Or by doing so, was she only setting herself up for failure? Even after using the word so glibly to describe the predicament of others, when she had to look inward, the concept of “fantasy” really seemed so difficult to define.

In the holiday season when everyone is determined to articulate their wishes, and for the less cheap, make the wishes of others actually come true, it seems appropriate to determine the value of fantasies. Who can even afford them? At first blush, it seems that fantasy comes easy, especially through television. Miss Cheapist, most recently, has thrown herself into the unexpectedly enthralling Gossip Girl: a constructed TV world of earnest, class-conscious teen love, self-congratulatory WASPdom, unfettered bitchiness, and photogenic NYC streetscapes. The unapologetic Whiteness of the show was potentially alienating, and yet Miss Cheapist found herself emotionally drawn to the characters (who doesn’t want to be Serena Van der Woodsen). This show has become a panacea for the seasonal affective disorder that inevitably arrives with late autumn. Can we call that appeal anything other than the power of fantasy? Yes, television, with its porn aesthetic and ability to take ordinary people and transform them into 21^st century beauty queens, definitely provides fantasy.

However, underlying our fantasies is the belief that we can access them, making them another type of aspiration. Are fantasies our generation’s way of setting goals? The fantasies of Miss Cheapist’s peer group are diverse. Some revolve around getting out of work for the rest of our healthy, able years: spending ones days trying to catch the largest fish imaginable on a fly rod, becoming a trucker and traveling the highways of America with ones spouse in the passenger seat, moving to rural America and owning a gun, or having a baby and becoming a stay-at-home mom. And other fantasies seem more pragmatic, a way to cope with everyday anxieties: having one extra bedroom, buying a brownstone in Bed-Stuy only to have the market immediately take off, renovating a kitchen in the Provencal style, affording an original Eames chair, and of course, marrying rich. Other fantasies involve wealth achieved by artistic impulse: producing the next home design trend from ones Bushwick studio based on an art school thesis, going to architecture school and becoming the next Maya Lin, establishing a homemade jewelry business, selling restored vintage clothes on E-bay, moving to China and capitalizing on the new contemporary art scene…and of course, the fantasy of having ones blog discovered by an book agent and becoming the next Bridget Jones! Miss Cheapist is even willing to admit that she recently wished for unnamed forces to catapult her small, episodic blog about an whiny, cheap, Asian girl into a cable television show that rivaled “Sex and the City” in its scope and impact.

Will these fantasies be mocked years later as mere indulgence? Will they be seen as suffocating the less fortunate of this post-Gilded Age? Or will the residue of Internet millionaires (hello, Wikipedia, Facebook, Google, et. al) and Myspace-created celebrities actually mark this decade as a revial of the American dream? Are fantasies heightened because people believe now, more than ever, that they can be realized? Or perhaps we are craving fantasy in the face of an impeding national crisis: economic recession, environmental catastrophe, recognition of the limitations of democracy, heightened nativism, and a loss of faith in the ability of public institutions to lead and provide a safety net for the neediest. Oh Miss Cheapist, really, what is your fantasy?

Down with Downward Mobility

Ten years of working as a teacher, and two expensive degrees later, Miss Cheapist contemplated the notion of downward mobility—or more specifically, whether or not her personal ethos of fiscal cheapism and emotional generosity was working for her. She began to yearn for the advancement experienced by her corporate lawyer friends, who once toiled away at teaching and publishing jobs, and years later, regained consciousness and chose to obtain marketable graduate degrees. Now they make six figures with chunky bonuses. When the thrill of being the first in her family to receive such an elite education finally subsided, Miss Cheapist had to question the true value of her education and the cost of her parents’ sacrifice. Was teaching a true calling, or was it delaying her from developing ambitions and a sense of practicality? Moreover, was she isolating herself from others with the claim that “money didn’t matter,” and that she couldn’t do a job “just for the money?”

After a quick survey, she identified three distinct groups of peers:
1) those enjoying life without analysis, primarily with inherited wealth and expensive hobbies
2) Those who pulled themselves up from their bootstraps, claiming they “earned” it all themselves; and,
3) A nebulous group of others who lived paycheck to paycheck and seemed socially assimilated, but were not on track to meet or surpass their parents in income, assets or sensibility.

This final group remains the downwardly mobile. They are often overwhelmed with the achievements of earlier generations, but believing that their parents sacrificed for their happiness, can justify their own personal choices. They say things like, “I can’t believe my mother held a full-time job, and had dinner ready for us when we came home,” or, “how did they have two kids and a Jetta by the time they were our age?” The downwardly mobile are insightful and articulate--but can they truly be happy if they do not reproduce the life their parents provided for them?

Sadly enough, Miss Cheapist never imagined herself being downwardly mobile. After all, she had a work ethic (think Lloyd on Entourage). Initially attracted to teaching because it was creative, autonomous and ‘meaning-driven,’ the profession lost some of its luster when her former colleagues left schools for corporate America (upwardly mobile), or to work in restaurants and make more money in tips alone (upwardly mobile?), and new colleagues entered as “career changers,” receiving bonuses for their “past work experience” in valued sectors (downwardly mobile, clearly). They were all good people who helped her to feel a part of a dynamic educational community. But after accumulating years of street ‘cred and few transferable skills, Miss Cheapist quickly learned that the only way to make more money was to become a principal. Unfortunately, she did not have the same drive as those who had taught for only few years and felt qualified to run a school, or others who could really serve as vanguards in their own communities. The thought of starting up a whole institution from scratch and carving away a cult of personality in the name of school reform seemed even less suitable for Miss Cheapist than finding work on Wall Street. She was never a fan of reinventing the wheel.

So will cheapism sustain her? Is it realistic to make a difference, but not make a dime? The new climate of transforming the public sector into a “business model,” has pushed for a new language of quantification, and forced all employees to become professional fundraisers and data hounds. Few went into the field for that kind work, especially not to receive lower pay than real bean counters! To many it seems like a wasted investment on education to toil away in the world of middle-management at ones community grassroots organization, and watch CEOs become Executive Directors of the United Ways of the world. Her skepticism depresses Miss Cheapist more than her paycheck. Perhaps she would feel better and develop some real ambitions if there was more respect assigned to the field, and if others could recognize that she doesn’t get paid less--others just get paid far too much! In the meantime, she just has to stay cheap. And maybe get better at math.

Battle of the Sexes: Cheapism & Expectation

A friend once told Miss Cheapist that in finding a man she had to choose between two types: one who made a great deal of money and was emotionally unavailable, and one who made less money, but was more generous with his time and feelings. In the mid-1990s, it seemed that there were indeed these two types of guys: investment bankers who seemed often were first to offer free rounds of drinks and at the same time justified their binge drinking and strip-club addictions to an intense work life. The other group consisted of men dedicated to art and social justice, who had to actually work out their character flaws and pursue sensitive pastimes like yoga and listening. But did sensitivity make a man more reliable?

At that moment, in her early 20s, this friend’s binary of manhood made sense. Realistically, how could one expect a male partner to really embody all desired virtues? After all, Miss Cheapist heard repeated warnings to young women in this post-feminist era that it was impossible to have it all. However, in light of recent facts and anecdotes, she has come to question this idea that women must limit their expectations, in the face of a cheapness of will from the opposite sex. Even when she could accept that women couldn’t have it all, and men couldn’t be all that, she still had to figure out if it was because men were cheap in their motivation, or if they just lacked the ability.

The New York Times recently published an article about successful career women who feared showing off that they made tons of money when dating, for fear that they would scare off men. In the same article, the writer reiterated the latest trend that young women are graduating from high school, and attending college and graduate school in greater numbers than young men. In effect, various sources have implied that there is an impeding crisis in this country; attributed to education, parenting, and even a shared cultural ethos around masculinity.

Many of Miss Cheapist’s female friends have already accepted this reality. They make more money than their partners, choosing to maintain slightly predictable office jobs or going to graduate school to make more money. Meanwhile their partners or husbands are able to maintain free-lance jobs or pursue their artistic passions, often not lucratively. Free from bitterness, women like N. actually prefer that their partners are able to follow their dreams and have passions. N. never wanted to be blamed for robbing a man of the opportunity to find himself (as if all of us have that luxury), and at the same time, believed she could leverage her permissiveness by expecting his domesticity. N.’s criteria for a man was: must be emaciated and hot (in a Diesel model way), artsy, able to complete house chores and, possibly stay at home with the children. She believed that these qualities were actually possible to find in a man, and she had no problem with the role reversal, so long as he fulfilled the role adequately. Somehow she had the fantasy that male pride was not an issue.

Miss Cheapist initially bought into this notion that men would embrace this role, probably because those female friends were wildly successful, and she also heard of men who made sacrifices in an effort to build a nest egg and at the same time, made themselves emotionally available. But slowly she began to realize many men were not interested in taking any responsibility whatsoever, whether it be making enough money to raise a family, or making sure the trash was taken out. It didn’t matter what their occupation--many men did not feel they had to work as hard as women, and scorned conformity as oppressive, but still felt entitled to an upper middle class lifestyle. Miss Cheapist began to hear more stories like those in the New York Times--men who were intimidated by women who made more, but yet weren’t willing to subject themselves to the banality of a desk job or confined to a classroom so that they could be on “equal” footing.

And in the midst of this changing social tide, Miss Cheapist recalled the axiom of her favorite college professor who declared, “Feminism should not eliminate male responsibility!” Did male responsibility become a thing of the past? She was starting to suspect it was a myth to begin with, and for a second, she felt bad that men had such limited options in choosing their identity—"provider," "Mr. Fix-It," "deadbeat," "effeminate." Still, given the history of patriarchy and presence of sexism even today, Miss Cheapist did not want to compromise her expectations for men. Who could she blame? She too wished to pursue her dreams, escape responsibility and travel the Indian subcontinent, live simply on a tropical island. Yet her cheapness in imagination prevented her from envisioning what life would be like without a sense of duty, the predictable routines of being employed, and an unshakeable commitment to martyrdom. Was this characteristic of what society expected of women, or a burden she chose to bear on her own?

Not Ready to Say Goodbye in Long Island City

Still trying to find the next promised land, Miss Cheapist spent a Saturday afternoon with her two male friends, P. and E., hoping to catch up at PS 1’s weekly Warm Up event and see the disco throwback group, Escort, perform. E. had just enrolled in an urban boot camp with the hope that if he woke up at five AM for two weeks, and allowed three women to scream orders at him, he would be shaken from his routine. A better body was only secondary to being rescued from inevitable feelings of ordinariness. Several young professionals had already dropped out of the program, and E. was still hanging on.
With pride, P. announced that after living in the city for over ten years, he was going to leave New York. He came to realize that he could probably continue to maintain his personal artistic projects, earn money being a free-lance web designer, and remain self-employed at home in any other city. So why not move to Oakland, a place where many of their New England educated peers seemed to escape to and thrive? When Miss Cheapist asked what made him finally take the big leap, after talking wistfully about California for years, he responded, “I never really liked New York. My friends were all here, and now they’re gone. It’s just not the same.” Although she had just returned from a vacation in Hawaii, and was seriously reconsidering the value of being a New Yorker, Miss Cheapist believed that he had oversimplified the issues. She had loved the city once, and occasionally could still see its charm. Yes, many of her closest female friends had moved away and found tremendous opportunities elsewhere, but she could still tally up a significant number of acquaintances who lived there and could be counted on for good times. There would always be familiar people and places; yet it was so easy to feel left out of it all.

“Warm-up” is a dance party and beer fest set against the backdrop of pre-war architecture, bad contemporary art, and tribal house music. The three of them moved shoulder to shoulder with crowds of sweaty, enthusiastic outer borough hipsters and their European friends. There were even Black and Latino participants, a surprisingly diverse group so close to Bedford Avenue, and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves equally. Quickly the trio became aware that there was something special taking place at P.S. 1, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the exhibit. E., often reluctant to admit that he spent much of the late 80s at the Limelight and other haunts with his Persian elite friends, was the first to comment on the fact that this party was actually fun. It had been a long time since he felt the urge to move with such abandon in a public space. What’s going on here, he kept murmuring. Am I still in New York? Miss Cheapist shared E.’s enthusiasm. They danced with nostalgia, and both of them felt for the first time in a while that they could belong to something, even if it was temporary and somewhat superficial. It was unusual to feel a tone of inclusion in a space intended for people to gather in the name of art and leisure. As trite as it may be to assign so much meaning to a makeshift dancefloor, under fuschia plastic architecture, the group was offered a place for anyone willing to participate.

A scene like this may not have convinced P. to stay longer than the autumn in New York, but it did give Miss Cheapist some hope that she could hold on a bit more.

Class loyalties tested on not-so-deserted island

Recently, Miss Cheapist was fortunate enough to spend time on the island of Molokai, Hawaii. The experience could be summarized as unsettling solitude, unmitigated natural beauty, and a home-stay with a transplanted East Coast couple, whose lifestyle embodied a "back to the land"ethos not recognizable as belonging to the 21^st century. Upon her return to New York, Miss Cheapist was forced to revisit the question: What was the city worth to her?

Unlike other islands in Hawaii, which have been developed into tropical play-lands, Molokai and its residents have fought to maintain a landscape and community preserved in time. Its main road runs less than 50 miles, from east to west, without a traffic light. It is dotted with homes of native Hawaiians, many of whom post hand-made signs protesting La'au Point, a concession made by a local group to allow a developer to build on one area for high-end eco-homes, in return for the protection of many more acres for generations to come. Four years ago, the hot-button topic was fighting the influence of "ice" on local youth and families.

With few hotels, paved roads, or shopping centers, one accustomed to the conveniences and luxuries of an island vacation might become frustrated. Not only could the island be much more pleasurable without blatant hostility toward outsiders and more access to recreation outside of expensive or extreme sports. The native-led moratorium on development also seemedl to undermine the chance of improvement in the island residents' quality of life, and many do struggle with the worst poverty in the state. La'au Point was not exactly an eminent domain story of a Bruce Ratner displacing whole communities to build a stadium, a borough given over increased congestion, noise and obnoxious land-grabbing. These proposed homes will barely leave a carbon footprint on the island, and the money from sales will allow the developer to reopen an old hotel, creating more jobs. The amount of protected land offered in exchange is far larger than any won by a grass-roots movement, and would remain untouched into the future. The resistance from Hawaiian groups highlighted how fiercely a betrayed community will fight to hang on to their last remaining assets, expecting reparations for past injustices. Undeniably native Hawaiians have been subjected to a near-genocide in the process of American colonization of the islands. However, could this conflict stall the growth of today's generation of Hawaiians, perpetuating distrust and knee-jerk reactiveness to any change? Uncertain if she was even entitled to an opinion on these local politics, Miss Cheapist felt her class conscience challenged.

The setting allowed her to spend significant time before a vast and unforgiving sea, reflecting upon her existence. Without the distractions and desires of urban life, she quickly became frightened. Once dwarfed by the high prices and lack of authenticity in the city, she then found herself scared of the dark and unable to grapple with her helplessness in the face of unimaginable natural forces.

The city, she realized, allowed her (and many others, she supposed), to delay a necessary process of self-actualization. With nightlife, shopping, and other opportunities to pursue pleasure and companionship, she never really needed to test her own physical strength and mental acuity. Urbanites tend to believe that because they work hard, play hard, and can withstand the threat of "crime," that they have truly challenged themselves. Yet, in nature, another set of skills were required. In New York, Miss Cheapist could always blame something other than herself; there was always someone richer, more savvy, more fit, and more educated than oneself in the city. Survival meant merely accepting this truth and coping with grace.

After Miss Cheapist came to this revelation, she began to observe the lives of her friends who moved there, the M. family. They were not intimidated by Molokai's remoteness, excited by the opportunity to create a garden, spear-fish with sharks for food, educate their child among people of a different race and culture, and actually integrate themselves into a community. They raised corn and squash. Their newly acquired chickens roamed freely on the property and ate homemade grain. After four years of attending an immersion school, their son was fluent in Hawaiian and considered the island his home.

At the same time, they worked crazy hours at their not-for-profit jobs, fought like any other married couple, and worried about paying their mortgage. Not completely disdainful of the trappings of modern life, Mr. M, had formed an unnatural attachment to his newly acquired iPhone. After a hard days work, he clutched it like a drink, taking in segments of Fox reality shows purchased online. It was clear some things would always be inescapable, regardless of one environment. Perhaps they also paid a price for their isolation.

Ms. M joked to Miss Cheapist that if the end of the world ever came, she could always flee to their home, which was created as its own self-sustaining entity. Mr. M. joked that Miss Cheapist would not survive one day in Molokai, silently condemning her existence to one of a spoiled, city girl dependent on a Candace Bushnell fantasy.

He was probably right, on some level, as the visit was more unsettling than relaxing to her by the end. Upon her return, the city no longer seemed to represent the center of the universe. Miss Cheapist knew there was more out there, and her ambitions leaned in a new direction.

But did she have the courage to pursue it?

Obama in Brooklyn: Grassroots-style

After paying $25 dollars to hear Senator Barack Obama speak at the Brooklyn Marriott, Miss Cheapist decides to enter the realm of political punditry, and contribute her observations.

Confession: while she is a regular voter, Miss Cheapist maintains a love-hate relationship with elections, keeping a distance in ways that betray the potential of Gen Y, the last hope for civic participation since the drop-off noted by Robert Putnam from the 1960s. Perhaps one could characterize her ambivalence as “political cheapness.” Realizing her limitations, (maybe she should have camped out in Ohio in ’04), Miss Cheapist attended the event because after reading Dreams of My Father and following Obama's senatorial victory, she felt some stirrings that America was ready for something new. Maybe she even had the ‘audacity to hope’ for a future in this country that embraced ambiguity and the intellect, and was willing to engage in unscripted, productive conversations about race, class and responsibility within the national and international realm.

While it was awe-inspiring to be in a room with the latest celebrity candidate and be surrounded by such a diverse group of potentially inspired people, little things kept reminding Miss Cheapist just how cheap her tickets were. Senator Obama presents himself as being the product of a grassroots movement, and there are probably many engaged with his campaign who had lost faith in leaders years ago, or never felt they had a voice. Still…why did grassroots have to feel so low-budget? Doesn’t the everyday voter deserve some respect and comfort in the political process?

Miss Cheapist would have been happy to hear him outdoors in front of Borough Hall, as his optimism and diction seemed well suited to the echoes of downtown Brooklyn--but, that was not an option. Miss Cheapist bought her ticket from a nice campaign rep via email, waited in line outside for over an hour just to enter the Marriott, and after being asked to show ID, was crammed into a large, hot, room with no chairs, unable to see the stage that would hold the guest-of-honor. Potentially, he could be the next President of the United States. But nobody under six feet really needed to see him.

Miss Cheapist expected live streaming video projected onto large elevated flat screen monitors sharing Obama's visage with everyone. This is a technology that has become de rigeur in churches with large congregations that rival the audience at the Marriott that day for that same purpose of restoring faith through personality. But no. She only saw him shifting between the backs of people's heads and shoulders. In contrast, the press corps and cameramen had a special platform that allowed them an unobstructed view, ready to bring Obama, unfettered, to the television screens of America, perpetuating the illusion that he truly belongs to everyone. Meanwhile, those interested in hearing him without the interference of media personalities were treated like cattle.

Miss Cheapist doesn’t want to lay blame. Committed and talented people run the campaign, of course. And the event was an earnest effort to include as many people as possible. After all, everyone who is anyone lives in Brooklyn now. It’s important to get involved! According to The Brooklyn Paper online, Obama attended a private fundraising party on Tuesday night, prior to the Marriott, at a mansion in Brooklyn Heights, adding to the $61,000+ he has raised from that neighborhood alone (all necessary funds, no question). In addition to food and drink, Miss Cheapist is certain that this elite group of guests had direct, personal contact with Obama, and seats were probably available, when they wished to appreciate him from afar.

Of course, Miss Cheapist does not wish to trade her experience. Being in a room of thousands, all seeking some kind of connection to the political process was certainly moving, and it was interesting to observe that not everyone had made up their minds. The room was filled with curiosity, as if people wanted to experience the Senator for themselves, hear his strategy, insight and intonations, perhaps test his sincerity. The people were the true celebrities of that evening, and Obama worked hard to win them over, and speak to their issues, touching on gas prices, CEO vs. teacher salaries, an end to the war and the closing of Guantanamo Bay. His ideas were met with applause and shouts of affirmation. Still, this event intended for “everyday working people,” as Obama referred to the audience, also unintentionally pointed out in uncomfortable ways the inequalities that exist among voters. It proved again, in our democracy, sometimes you don’t get what you pay for. Or maybe the people just haven’t paid enough.

It's not you, it's me: Reflections on the Emotionally Cheap

Moving away from issues of class, Miss Cheapist ponders the existence of a priceless, and common form of cheapness: emotional withholding and its counterpart, cowardice. Although Miss Cheapist has maintained a somewhat functioning, stable relationship for many years now, she has observed and noticed among her friends' mates, and even, occasionally, in the behavior of her own current and past partners, the phenomenon of emotional cheapness.

In 2001, Miss Cheapist dated a Manhattan assistant D.A., who, at first blush, had the looks, literacy, and quick wit of someone worthy of a serious crush. Things skipped along for at least four months, and he had even dropped the L word, when the terror attacks of September 11 took place. Miss Cheapist, completely overwhelmed with feelings of vulnerability (shared probably by many in the tri-state area and nation), was traumatized by images of bodies falling out of the sky, which triggered memories of past losses. Naturally she became somewhat "needy," clinging to the D.A., as a beacon of hope in a world that seemed to be dismantling. Instead of responding with understanding, or even puffing up with some constructed sense of masculine protectiveness (after all, he did have a gun collection, and was ready for the end), this Mr. Perfect responded with disgust and old-world stoicism. A month of withheld intimacy later, he retracted his declaration of love and said he changed his mind about everything. Then he disappeared, never to be contacted again.

Miss Cheapist, humiliated, but quickly realizing that friends were far more reliable in the healing process than any romantic entanglement, quickly erased him from her short-term memory, only using him as an cautionary tale for how signs of emotional cheapness can rarely be detected in the first few months of dating bliss, when one is blinded with the possibility that she has found someone compatible, someone who "gets" her. Miss Cheapist has heard similar stories of emotional abandonment from her attractive and successful female friends, who at first find seemingly "perfect" men who are unbelievably smitten with them. It is only after a short period (no more than 6 months), when Mr Perfect's character or abilities are tested; the woman makes the terrible mistake of "asking for more," and suddenly, the man is inscrutable, claiming that he has nothing to give, and thus, can not commit. How could she not see that he is not "ready," he asks. In fact, many of these men don't even have the courage to break up; they withhold emotion and compassion, with the hopes that they will appear so repulsive that the woman will do the dirty work for them and say goodbye forever in some hysterical and typically "crazy-woman" manner. How cheap. It's the emotional equivalent of walking away from the bathroom when the bill comes, so that the other person feels obligated to take care of the check.

In fact, it is difficult to detect a man who possesses this quality of emotional cowardice. One can easily present himself as charming and understanding at first. So impersonal and easy to play a role! After all, the D.A. even claimed to Miss Cheapist that he read fiction, his favorite being Michael Ondaatje (the lesser known works, not just The English Patient) to sustain his access to the free and unencumbered. For another friend, M., Mr. Right for Right Now (RFRN), a seemingly humble and socially conscious teacher, claimed that he had no interest in dating other women, until he had a chance to visit Venezuela, where obviously, the sex was so abundant and irresistible that he could no longer maintain their monogamous relationship. In a fit of greed, the RFRN tried to prepare M. before his trip, letting her know that it was impossible for him to pass up "hooking up" with others, if the chance arose, because then he would lament the fact that he was not having "enough fun" while on vacation.

This notion that one must "have fun" at the expense of everything, is the primary engine of emotional cheapness. The emotionally cheap is actually an indulgent and greedy small-brained monster, who actually wants to consume everything it desires, at no price. After all, few really want to deal with the complexities of individuality and eccentricity, when so many industries of the world (not just the nation) are set up for Americans, especially men, to enjoy pleasure without emotion! Why commit to one person, when for the same price of a free dinner, you can have another? Yes, the illusion of variety also perpetuates emotional cheapness, because at a certain point, intimacy is not the goal, but instead test-driving and tasting in the name of knowing ones market is far more important. So in this climate, how does a woman protect herself? Hey don't take it personally. Yes, you may have little flaws and weird aspects to your personality, but that's not why he could not give you what you needed. Know that Mr. RFRN will eventually tire of the pursuit and test drives, only to settle down with someone no more exceptional than yourself, then withholding emotion on a long-term basis, until he can't bear it anymore. After all, you believed he was perfect before you got to know him; do you have the patience to tolerate all of his problems and imperfections if he really came back, begging for forgiveness? Unlikely. Hey, you can be cheap too.

Cheap, Not Slutty

Miss Cheapist wears shirt (14.99 from Strawberry Jam), shorts ($14.99 from H&M), & metallic sandals (39.99 sale Ken Cole Reaction).

Once in a while, a woman must contemplate what is appropriate to wear out on a hot, summer day. Miss Cheapist believes that the less you wear, the less you should pay. However, sometimes it is difficult to distinguish between the meaning of "cheap" as inexpensive and its more "street" defintion: "vulgar & worthy of no respect." In this day when women's style seems to straddle the aesthetics of socialite and porn star almost simultaneously, many people will pay top dollar for clothes that may enhance ones physical assets, but remain within confines of good taste. This entry is intended to shatter the myth that cheap means poor quality, or that price is can ever be discerned by those on the outside. With the assistance of photographer Cristie P., Miss Cheapist inventoried the clothing of her colleagues at the annual staff summer party, not surprised to find that many of the women had pulled together terrific outfits between $25-75; a cost that often included their accessories. It has become a common exchange at work to compliment an outfit, only to then learn its unbelieveable price. So, how does one buy cheap without looking cheap?
Cristie (above) always finds dresses and separates at discount stores and vintage shops, and manages to pull everything together into unique ensembles. The dress above was purchased at Rainbow on DeLancey Street for $16.99. In total, her wood accessories cost $10.00, from the same store.
Rule #1 : It's important to wear something that fits. Pay particular attention to proportions, and invest in alterations if neccessary. Rule #2: Hair, makeup and overall fitness help enhance cheap outfits, rather than degrade them.
Erika (above) is also quite talented. Her approach is to regularly scour sale racks at middle-range stores for good finds. At the time of this photo shoot she admitted to paying more than usual for the blue tunic ($49.99), but found the metallic bag for only $10.99 at H&M. Her experience highlights Rule #3: To find these types of bargains one must shop constantly. In shopping constantly, one must be discriminating, as several cheap outfits could amount to one quality piece that you actually invest more in. The money adds up!
In order to maintain this lifestyle, one must have tremendous patience. One must endure large, warehouse-style chain stores that pay little attention to interior design or dusting, and where the clientele is large in number, diverse in background, and extremely agressive about finding what they want. Rule#4: When looking for a bargain, one must give up the fantasy of strolling casually into a boutique, looking at a few pieces and receiving large amounts of attention from staff. Never ask dressing room attendants to find it for you in another size.
Christina (above) is wearing a $24.99 jersey empire waist dress from H&M, and a gorgeous necklace ($9.99) from Forever 21. When asked how she was able to make the necklace look so classy, she replied that it was probably the choice of navy blue for the dress that made it look more appropriate. She was being modest, as it was not the color of her outfit, but the content of her character that made everything look more refined. Rule #5: Even if one shops among the Forever 21 set (literally, those age 21 and below), one should always carry herself with maturity and self-awareness. Even someone wearing couture can suddenly look vulgar if behaving badly.
Nikki (above) has recently indulged in a spree of consumerism, and spent a cool May evening trawling Broadway shops with Miss Cheapist. After months of depriving herself and not shopping for several months, Nikki reveled in buying everything she saw. Unlike others, she was able to engage in carefree spending because it happened so rarely. Her dress cost $14.99 from Rainbow, and flipflops were 2 for $5.00 at Old Navy. Leggings were $9.99 from Rainbow as well. Rule #6: It's fun to shop for bargains with a partner in crime. That person can be a sounding board for whether or not you are pulling off the "cheap, not slutty" look effectively. While Nikki does not always indulge in discount shopping, when she does, her finds are often quite remarkable, and her excitement impressive.
With this said, Miss Cheapist wishes you all some fine summer partying with your new point of view. Send pictures, prices and brands of your cheap, not slutty, outfits and stay posted for more insights on backtomotherland.blogspot.com, barring technology problems in China. Leaving you with this thought...
Final Rule: It's important to mix high-end and low-end pieces to keep people wondering.

Need, Want and Wedding Talk

(what free decorations look like, above, the backyard, complete with crew, below)

Often, need and want are mistaken as the same sentiment. Miss Cheapist has often heard people say, one should spend whatever is needed on a wedding because it "only happens once." This tiny phrase seems to give credence to a year of manic spending and anxiety about a simple performance of love and corresponding free dinner that introduces a couple and their surrounding community to a promised "forever" of marital bliss.

Miss Cheapist, often feeling that little is really worth the listed price, much less the energy needed to achieve true perfection, has advised brides that the little priceless touches like toasts and performances by talented friends, often make weddings unique.

A bride-to-be responded to her wryly, "Really? I thought the things you spent extra money on made it unique." It is this exact feeling that leads couples to go into great debt on investments like bridal "boot camp," party favor schwag, gilded cane chairs and Vera Wang fairy dresses. The unlimited market of wedding magazines, reality shows and romantic comedies has led everyone to believe that if they are spending so much money anyway, they deserve a dream wedding...and it better look good in pictures. Consider the story of S. and her wedding:

S. is a community health clinic manager. Her partner is a not-for-profit event planner and aspiring writer. They were offered the opportunity to have a backyard renovation and free garden wedding if they agreed to have the entire experience filmed for a cable TV reality show about do-it-yourself home improvement. The catch: the couple had six weeks to plan everything and only 40 people could fit into the new back yard. S., eager to clean up her overgrown doggy-run of a backyard for free, and hoping to avoid the overspending of her bride friends, accepted the offer. The benefits seemed impossible to resist. Free wedding, free backyard.

Over the six weeks, S. quickly learned, “nothing in this world is free.” After countless arguments, she decided the constraints of the television network were too great, as were the family pressures. No 4^th generation Chinese American princess with extensive family networks in the Bay Area could get away with a small wedding, free or otherwise. So instead of turning down the television offer, she decided to have two weddings...her fake t.v. wedding and a real one as well. The real one would take place a day after, with 250 guests, in a sun-lit downtown Oakland venue. Note that S. is one of those people who does better when the stakes are higher, conditions are artificially constrained, and when situations demand lowered expectations. Each time her ability to work within these self-imposed parameters helped her overcome an obstacle, her sense of nobility grew. She wasn't just planning a wedding...she had a point to make.

In the end, the two weddings were beautiful. As were her two dresses, two dinners, and two bouquets. Miss Cheapist shot several pictures and enjoyed S.'s gay best man's touching rendition of a Tracy Chapman song, which left the Y-generation sobbing and the elders quite confused. Miss Cheapist felt happy for her friend, who had found someone with the same sense of spontaneity as her, with abundant love to offer. More importantly, he embraced both her class guilt and entitled need to "get something for nuthin." He even cooperated with her in the process! In her pursuit of a free backyard, she probably spent as much as any other cost-aware bride, yet, with a shorter planning period, and probably equivalent stress. In the process, she gained a deeper connection to her own "wants," and learned she was capable of paying a little extra to have it her way. However, she also made wedding planning into a sport, managed to shed unnecessary details, infused the experience with a sense of humor, and also made it available to all of us this month to learn from on national television. Kudos to her for that.

Cheapism and Race Part II: From the Gym to Queens

Miss Cheapist belongs to one of those gyms in New York City that costs almost a hundred dollars a month for the convenience of visiting any one of its many branches, in any neighborhood, at almost any hour of the day. Last week a computer glitch required the manager to summon Miss Cheapist from the treadmill, into his office. The Manager, a 20-something man of African-American descent, who obviously enjoyed his access to human vulnerability as a salesperson, gave her the usual "I like Asian girls" once over, looked at her account and said:
"You know, you've been paying too much. Wow."
Miss Cheapist, always suspicious that everyone at this gym paid a lower rate than her, first felt vindicated. Then she needed more.
He continued, "I can get you a deal. I’m your new friend ‘cause I’m going to do something for you.”
"What's the deal?" she asked blandly, trying not to use her sexuality as a negotiation tool.
"Are you a student?"
"Sure, I took continuing ed. class at NYU in the spring."
"Perfect, I'll close your old account and start you with a student discount. You’re going to really like this."
As he processed her application, Miss Cheapist decided it was only fair to reciprocate and show superficial interest.
“Do you like your job?” she asked.
“Love it. I used to work for GEICO. I like this so much better. There I was like, ‘hi, this is GEICO, how may I help you.’ Here I am really helping people…I mean, everyone needs health.”
“But car insurance is mandatory.”
“Too boring. They kept saying, don’t do this, don’t do that. Here, I can hang out, manage a great team of people, get a little flirt on, you know…”
“Yah.”
“And you know how much I make? 50,000 a year before commissions!”
“You really know how to work the system. They pay you, and you screw them by giving out discounts to people you hardly know.” Her light cynicism was unexpected, perhaps precipitated by the boundaries he crossed by sharing his salary with a complete stranger. Even for her, this was candid.
The Manager responded conspiratorially: “No, you get into positions like these so that you can work the system for your friends and family. Got it?”
His cell phone rings. Beats from L.L. Cool J.’s “Mama Said Knock You Out” vibrate from the phone.
“Hold on, this is my fiancé.”
Maybe it was the L.L. Cool J. song. Maybe it was his comfort with her kind. Miss Cheapist could not help but test out her rules of urban anthropology. Was he from Queens? She asks:
“What high school did you go to?”
He seems pleased that she is taking the interaction further. ”Cardozo.”
“In Queens?”
“Yup, Bayside!” he added.
She said, “I know a lot of people from Cardozo,” she offers.
“Really? Tell me their name and I probably know them.”
“They’re Asian.”
“Ya know it! Tons of Asians in Bayside.” The Manager is strangely gleeful. None of the usual territorialism of “Menace to Society” dramatics or the derision of early Eddie Murphy penis size jokes, much less 19th century “Yellow Peril” hysterics, were present in his tone. As a matter of fact, some of his best friends were Asian.
Miss Cheapist abandoned urban anthropology. So racist of her to assume…
The Manager leaned in again, ready to share another insight.
“You know, what race I like, second to my own?” he asked her. “Matter of fact, just as much as my own?” He paused for a beat, “Asian people! You guys really stick together, help each other out. One person opens a store, everyone else rushes to help.”
Miss Cheapist tries to convince her that this is certainly the case for other racial groups but he contradicts her, with the authority of his membership.

The conversation carried on for a few more minutes, but the details were lost on Miss Cheapist. The credit card had to be applied. A photo taken, a new key pass reissued. The memorable qualities of this encounter were three lessons for Miss Cheapist to take away and apply to life:
1) Always assume there is a cheaper rate.
2) Volunteering your salary to a stranger can be socially acceptable, and sometimes even builds unexpected bonds.
3) Not everyone finds Asian people annoying. Some actually feel genuine kinship with them, primarily based upon assumptions about their relationship to money and community.

Going for 50/50: Cheapism and Love

It is said that money and housework are the most commmonly argued topics in a relationship. Sadly, these statistics may actually ring true. In addition to her writing hobby, Miss Cheapist plugs away at a stable, but not lucrative, public sector job, while her partner is a self-employed artist and consultant. Her work is routinized, interpersonal and service-driven. His work is technical, inconsistent and client-driven. Tensions arise whenever the subject of a shared income, and their obvious counterpart, shared domestic responsibilities, arise. When friends hear about his inability to adhere to a "chore wheel," the vitrolic arguments about who does more, riddled with phrases from childhood like "pulling ones weight," and his scathing critiques of Miss Cheapist's shoe habit, they usually shake their heads and say, "just hire a cleaning person." According to them, paying for someone else to clean allows a couple to elevate their relationship above the profanity of domestic life, freeing up their time to discuss more exciting topics like having better sex, planning a family, and buying a country home.

But Miss Cheapist cannot "afford" a cleaning person, nor does she think a working couple living together, without children or any limiting physical disabilities, should have to rely on one. Affording a housekeeper is a moral and financial issue for Miss Cheapist. Even though she is not struggling financially, she is not exactly thriving either. Like others in her peer group with higher educations and middle class families, she knows that she will never be destitute, and yet spending a few hundred dollars extra a month for cleaning seems an extravagance. Some would respond that they don't have the time to clean, and want to spend their free time on leisure activities. That's totally valid! Let's not discount the importance of relaxation, especially as employers demand more in this new economy. Still, it seems, if a couple can not learn to negotiate their work, leisure and home responsibilities, and devise a language of sacrifice around keeping house, it seems weightier topics will be equally difficult to tackle. Miss Cheapist has stubbornly refused to hire a cleaning person, yet she is bored with arguing. Is cleaning a metaphor for something else in the relationship? Is okay to let a couple "off the hook" by letting someone else do their dirty business? Isn't some of the "small stuff" worth sweating? If she hires a housekeeper, she may never find out.

We live in place that used to be cool?

(Miss Cheapist looks forward to free, open courts in suburb V)

Final thoughts on the suburban urban life. Please read previous entry, "Soul Deadening Suburbs?" for more context.

1) How many particle wood "designy" pieces of furniture can you buy?
Walmart has secured market share with the cheapist Religious Right in the exurbs of America. Target extends its reach into the urban market of Bravo watchers and dirty hipsters, into the outer boroughs of New York, thereby revitalizing the "inner city" with economic development, and good, cheap taste. Whenever Miss Cheapist goes to Target in downtown Brooklyn, there are lines of people roped around the store, often hidden behind carts of merchandise, eager to purchase. How many 12-packs of paper product can be squeezed into a NYC apartment? How many Issac Mizrahi trenchcoats can a person own? How ironic that the greatest retail excitement in the city seems to be the latest opening of a multinational chain store, typically found in the suburbs. Although it is usually cheaper to do this type of business outside of the city, urbanites have embraced big-box shopping, and as a result, the stores are multiplying by the day. There is no sweeter sight than sitting in Union Square, looking up at Filene's Basement, DSW and Forever 21. The city has become so expensive that discount shopping has become leisure and an aesthetic experience all at the same time.

2) Why does everyone in NYC own a Hummer?
What happened to living in a walkable city? Who are these war mongers driving their vehicles without apology, surging into crosswalks, unable to control the power of their V-8 engines, taking their kids to soccer at Asphalt Green and buying organic at Fairway? If these owners want a large car, they should live in the suburbs and have their own garage. Stop taking up street parking and wasting your time finding it. Isn't that cheaper?

3)"Our kind of People"
New York City has been declared in past years one of the U.S.'s most segregated cities, especially at the level of public schooling. Many may ask how that can be possible, given the high number of minorities who work in restaurants, ride the subway and serve as tastemakers for the My-Space generation. Miss Cheapist could provide nothing better than, "the city has become a place of haves and have nots," but she does know that if people want to create enclaves of people just like them, they don't need to live in a doorman building, or buy a brownstone with their friends in the hood. They can just move to the suburbs.

4)Tennis anyone?
Miss Cheapist is not an athletic person, but she occasionally plays tennis, just to keep her calves slim. After April, it is nearly impossible to play. Not only has the price of a public tennis pass doubled in price over the last few years, but it is nearly impossible to get a court without a long wait, and sideways glances from regulars who want to turn the city's parks into private racquet clubs. Yet in every sweaty inch of the city, you see people exercising, jogging, playing touch football, birdwatching, and mountain-biking. At any given time, these experiences have the risk of some unpleasant urban interruption, usually from someone unable to share space. Some would argue exercise is the only way to leave our small apartments and meet people in this cold metropolis. But if they want to be outside and exercise so much, isn't it less hostile and cheaper to do so outside of the city?

Yet it's a free world.

Of course Miss Cheapist is not advocating a move to the suburbs. However, the life we cherish in the city is not sustainable (or pleasant) if everyone retreats into their own private enclaves, secured merely by the ability to buy a particular lifestyle. Beyond the cache of saying you live in a place that used to be cool when it was "grittier," or enjoying the new Bloomberg antisepticism, there seems no point in being a part of a city, if public life and its counterparts, access and conservation, are not a part of ones intentions.

Soul Deadening Suburbs?

(Miss Cheapist tests the suburban waters of a condominum pool)

This entry is dedicated to my dear friend T., who years ago, on the eve of her engagement, stated that a move to the suburbs was inevitable, given the high cost of living and limited school options in the city. Miss Cheapist protested that many working families make it in New York City by being resourceful (a.k.a. cheap), and seeking out as many opportunities as possible, meanwhile offering their children a culturally rich and multi-ethnic experience. Miss Cheapist wasn’t particularly persuasive, but perhaps other factors influenced T.'s change of heart, because a few weeks ago, she said would rather pay almost a million dollars for a Brooklyn duplex, so long as she didn't have to live in“the soul deadening suburbs.”

This past weekend Miss Cheapist spent time in an inner-ring suburb of Washington DC, and contemplated the question: Are the suburbs truly soul-deadening? During this time she basked in a condominium pool, cooling off after playing tennis in one of many community courts in suburb V, and doing extensive sales shopping at TJ Maxx, Target and Macys (at only 5% sales tax). In her blissed out state, Miss Cheapist came to a startling conclusion. In that vast unknown beyond New York City, there are probably suburban neighborhoods with redeeming qualities, even providing those accoutrements that we’ve come to love in the city at a cheaper price, and with even higher quality.

After all, suburban friend A. has a sizeable one-bedroom apartment in a full service building with 24 hour security and free parking. It's price: less than $300,000. Additionally, A. only pays common charges of approximately $300 per month. Compare that to an apartment in DUMBO, Brooklyn, of the same size costing nearly triple her price, (pre-construction), with common charges nearing $1000 per month, and NO PARKING for the 2007 Subaru 4WD. Furthermore, what does DUMBO have to offer in contrast to suburb V? The York Street F-train station, the soothing rumblings of the D/B train over the Manhattan Bridge, charming cobblestone streets that eat up kitten heels, and riverside city and state parks hostile to biking, fishing or people of color! In the name of hip sustenance, residents enjoy the fusion cuisine of the ever hip and insubstantial Rice restaurant, purhcase overpriced everything at Peas and Pickles grocery and treat themselves with the occasional Jacques Torres hot chocolate.

Reader note, Miss Cheapist is not here to endorse suburban living. That would be hypocritical. Miss Cheapist cannot leave the city until she overcomes her fear of houses and open stretches of land, and reduces her dependency on living near a full-service Chinatown. Instead, she wishes to highlight the absurdity of how urbanity has evolved into a more expensive version of suburban living. Read tomorrow's entry and see Miss Cheapist break down all the suburban components of an ideal lifestyle in NewYork, and tell her what’s really going on.

Cheapism and Race

In a certain faraway island patois, pake (pa-kay) means Chinese person. Ironically, it also means cheap. We can all read between the lines and figure out how Chinese people were "constructed" historically in this tropical paradise. Miss Cheapist does not mean to sing in the key of Asian-Am. H. Alger lovesongs, but this pake nature also allowed the Chinese to move from plantation work to saving enough money to buy plots of land from their bosses, who trusted them due to their docile, Confucian ways. Within a generation, shopping malls, and for those with smaller assets, shaved ice shops and grocery stores, to be enjoyed by the island masses were built on these plots and the money multiplied. So, as the Cheapist engages in the exchange of goods and services with other Chinese-Americans, urban and suburban alike, she tries to maintain a certain level of respect, if anything, for the sake of ancestral memory. Partially, because she suspects that the whole discourse of cheapism can be racialized, and because it's not appropriate to make fun of any other racial group besides Asians, and Chinese people are so remarkable in their diversity and behavioral range, this blog may spend some time focusing on them/us.

What is frugality?

This blog was initially conceived as the Frugalist, with inspiration from her mentor, The Materialist (with apologies), and as an homage to Miss Cheapist's high school students, who try if they might, could not memorize the definition of "frugal" in preparation for their SATs. Actually, they were only able to recall its meaning when they reminded themselves that "frugal" was synonymous with all the qualities of their dear teacher. Unfortunately, the Frugalist blog already exists to provide its readership with a guide to reasonably priced food. In contrast, the Cheapist will be dedicated to all things cheap, or, as she has been often corrected by more refined and less literal friends, "affordable."

You will be guided through cheap eats, travel, services, material culture, and even emotional experience in which feelings, words or gestures are withheld. She will go beyond describing the cheap objects in vulgar microfocus to fully capture the cheapist experiences, namely, the fraught interactions with those who partake in the exchange of all things cheap, as well as their surrounding environs. At times, Miss Cheapist may take on the tone of moral authority, as one should not be cheap at the expense of everything else. In a time when flagrant excess reigns, Miss Cheapist believes it is important to maintain a conscience, even when desire takes over.