Ollie is constantly calling me a battler. It’s kind of this long running joke we have about me just kind of struggling through life with a near enough is good enough attitude. He finds it hilarious (and somewhat frustrating) that I’ve smashed my iPhone and have had it sticky taped together for over a month, continuing to use it despite its impaired functionality. I guess it’s partly a money thing, I’m usually pretty skint and don’t want to spend my dosh stupid shit. But I also kind of just don’t fit into the consumerist landscape. I don’t get comfort from material things, I get it from friends, vino and my cat. I am a true basic bitch, I’m not about brands or cool products, I just like things to be practical, functional and help me out with my daily grind.
Every trip we plan Ollie looks into beautiful resorts and I’m kinda just happy with a pokey little studio apartment on Airbnb. We have this disconnect I guess, he’s earning way more money and wants to splurge and indulge, and I’m still a little pleb happy to get drunk on goon and have a trash bag night. I see him as frivolous and care free, he spends cash like it’s burning a hole in his pocket. And so he should, he works hard to get a good salary and should enjoy it.
I’ll never understand how or why he drops a couple of hundred dollars on a pair of headphones, when the standard issue Apple ones work fine. Just like he’ll never understand why I continue to wear my $15 Kmart sneakers when they’re clearly falling apart. I think it’s really good and healthy to have this friction. We challenge each other and question life choices albeit in a jovial manner. I love our banter, and the fact we pay each other out about our respective ideological beliefs and still have fun. I rant about him being a cog in the capitalist machine, a stereotypical rich white male, and he laughs about me being a fucking scab with shit all valuable possessions. But we love each other and it just works. We balance each other, help one another to see both sides.
I don’t know where my vehement opposition to branding has sprung from. I can remember as a kid being all devo when my Mum kitted me out in Pipping Hot swimwear instead of Roxy like the cool girls (yeah she didn’t do buck teeth, gawky Ray Ray any favours). So it meant something to me then, but not now. I think I just stopped caring. Don’t get me wrong, I like following trends. But I couldn’t really care less if I have the subpar product or rip off brand. These days our lives are just cluttered with unnecessary junk, my instagram feed is a flood of material things. It’s shoving products and branding down my throat and it makes me fucking sick. End rant.
I’m just lucky I have a man who embraces my inherent spendthrift streak.
Cheapskate for lyf.