Guess I’m Thankful for the Early Lesson
While my needs were always met as a child, my family didn’t have excess funds for frivolous things. My parents are also very conservative, so even if they had had unlimited resources, the foolishness of expensive clothing for their teenage daughter would not have been a priority. This did not stop me from admiring the popular girls’ seemingly endless supply of Esprit sweatshirts, Liz Claiborne purses and Eastland slip-ons, and figuring out ways to procure pieces whenever possible.
I observed the pretty girls with the designer label clothes and assumed that was the secret to happiness. If only I had some Guess jeans, I too would gain the attention of the cutest boys and be asked to sit at the coveted popular kids’ lunch table—my life would be perfect.
The first couple months of the school year, I sported my acid washed Levi’s pegged like a pro. At first I tried to convince myself they were cool, but I knew when I stood at my locker, taming flyaways with my Rave hairspray, it was apparent that magical triangle was missing from my backside.
By my 13th birthday in October, I had set my sights on my very own pair of Georges Marciano’s. I was convinced those jeans were going to transform my life. I started dropping unsuccessful hints to my mother, who is way too smart to fall for the trappings of materialism. I could see I would have to call in reinforcement—my older, wiser, much more fashionable brother, Jeremy. With him as my advocate, I’d be sporting those jeans in no time.
Jeremy reported back that birthday was a no-go, but I held out hope he was in on a surprise. As it turned out, my mother had already purchased a lovely birthday gift, an opal ring set in yellow gold, to celebrate my milestone of becoming a teenager. I did love the ring, and still have it actually, but a big part of me was disappointed when I was presented with a small box that I was certain wasn’t hiding a pair of jeans.
Next, I set my sights on Christmas. I was sure if I could get my mom to take me to McAlpin’s, she’d understand the magic that those jeans possessed and throw down her McAlpin’s charge without hesitation. And if I were really lucky, she’d take me to the Kopper Kettle for a bacon and tomato sandwich and stale potato chips for lunch.
Mom agreed to go Christmas shopping at McAlpin’s, but when she saw the $75 price tag (this was 1989, so that was some serious jing), her eyes bugged out of her head. As I stood there holding the prize, realizing I would have to put them back on the rack and walk away, I desperately pleaded with Mom. She eventually proposed a compromise—she would buy me the jeans, but that would be the ONLY thing I got for Christmas that year. She suggested that this wasn’t a wise decision, but without hesitation, I agreed to this arrangement.
Christmas Eve came and I watched everyone else unwrap several packages as I impatiently waited for my jeans. True to her promise, my mom did not buy me other gifts. And I’m really grateful she didn’t. Those jeans taught me the best lesson in smart consumption I could have asked for. She did overstuff my stocking with super cute socks and hair accessories because she wanted to teach me a lesson, but she also has a huge heart.
Turns out, I HATED those jeans. My round ass looked nothing like Claudia Schiffer’s and my growing legs meant there wasn’t enough material to cuff. I wasn’t magically transformed into Molly Ringwald. Jason Bateman didn’t ask me to the 8th grade dance. I was still sitting with the same kids at lunch (and thank God I was because Amy Grow and Allison Williams are still my friends 30 years later!). My life wasn’t suddenly charmed when I pulled on those jeans—quite the contrary actually. I was too embarrassed to tell my mom, who watched from the sidelines knowing I was disappointed, refraining from telling me she knew better.
I got to thinking about this incident because Ollie needed new shoes and he was hellbent on a pair of Nike that were $85. I found another pair on Kohl’s clearance for $25 and I suggested he could get those shoes and a pair of soccer sandals OR he could chip in $50 of his own money for the more expensive pair. After much debate, Ollie made the wise choice which gives me hope that he’s a little smarter than I was way back when.
After the Great Guess Jeans Debacle of 1989, I became a wiser shopper. By the end of the school year, I was back to wearing my Levi’s. They were way more comfortable and I didn’t feel foolish every time I pulled them over my plump behind. To this day, I shop for quality and value and couldn’t care less about labels. Allowing me to make that bad choice was the biggest gift my mom gave me that year. I hope I’m able to share this gift with my boys in a way that is half as smart as how my mom taught me.
