Teenagers overspend
When I went to see Confessions of a Shopaholic, I expected an ultra-feminine chick flick comedy, comparable to any waste of tape featuring the latest teen sensations- $10 for a cheap laugh. I was pleasantly surprised as the screen before my eyes unveiled my mother’s lessons of self-worth.
The film’s protagonist, journalist Rebecca Bloomwood, played by Isla Fisher, recalls her shopping experiences as a child, her mother selecting the less-than-attractive shoes that she can purchase on sale and will “last,” hauntingly similar to my experiences with my own mother who insisted on what I considered horrid Sketcher shoes.
Though painful at the time, I learned the correlation between value and quality. Bloomwood’s experience, however, spurs her credit card dependency and overspending that lands her indebted to both her debt collector, and her friends and family.
My columns usually examine the value of human life, but let’s try on for size the value of human garb. I can’t help but relate Bloomwood to the people I know, to myself- how much we would spend on an image.
We are all guilty: $200 pair of designer jeans, a $30 tank top, or maybe a $12 bottle of neon hair dye for the “rebellious” types. Tsk, tsk. It’s not unforgivable, it is after all how we present ourselves to the world each day, but let me reiterate my mom’s point.
When l got picked on during my playground days, my mother told me bullies weren’t worth it. When I got a bad grade, I was worth more. And when my mom used the word worth, it stung. It meant something then- authenticity, character.
Yet, I can’t overlook the diction in some of our language’s most common sayings and cliches. They clearly demonstrate American, and really Western, society’s consumerist malady that considers an individual’s adequacy as a business transaction- what they’re worth.
And I hate to point out the elephant in the room, but in respect to the state of the economy, we can’t afford a name-brand mindset.
With prom just
The film’s protagonist, journalist Rebecca Bloomwood, played by Isla Fisher, recalls her shopping experiences as a child, her mother selecting the less-than-attractive shoes that she can purchase on sale and will “last,” hauntingly similar to my experiences with my own mother who insisted on what I considered horrid Sketcher shoes.
Though painful at the time, I learned the correlation between value and quality. Bloomwood’s experience, however, spurs her credit card dependency and overspending that lands her indebted to both her debt collector, and her friends and family.
My columns usually examine the value of human life, but let’s try on for size the value of human garb. I can’t help but relate Bloomwood to the people I know, to myself- how much we would spend on an image.
We are all guilty: $200 pair of designer jeans, a $30 tank top, or maybe a $12 bottle of neon hair dye for the “rebellious” types. Tsk, tsk. It’s not unforgivable, it is after all how we present ourselves to the world each day, but let me reiterate my mom’s point.
When l got picked on during my playground days, my mother told me bullies weren’t worth it. When I got a bad grade, I was worth more. And when my mom used the word worth, it stung. It meant something then- authenticity, character.
Yet, I can’t overlook the diction in some of our language’s most common sayings and cliches. They clearly demonstrate American, and really Western, society’s consumerist malady that considers an individual’s adequacy as a business transaction- what they’re worth.
And I hate to point out the elephant in the room, but in respect to the state of the economy, we can’t afford a name-brand mindset.
With prom just