Blog 2

Every year I buy the really big fall issue of Vogue. You know the one; it's like 900 pages and looks more like a dictionary than a magazine. Now, I can't afford one single thing in Vogue, even the stuff in the occasional ad for Gap are out of my unemployed, single, full time student budget. So, why do I torture myself every year with this ginormous, completely out of my reach wish book on steroids? Because some day I want to have money, and when I do I want to know what to buy! I drool over the Blahniks, whine about the Prada, and covet the Armani, telling myself that "Someday, I can have these". But, what if I can't? Will my life be less complete without the trappings of femininity and privilege as presented to me in the glossy pages of Vogue? As much as I want to say that I am beyond such consumerism, I actually do think that I will die unhappy if I don't ever own a Louis Vuitton purse or Christian Louboutin pumps.

So, call me shallow, call me materialistic, whatever. But, when you grow up "government cheese poor" (as my family likes to call it), you learn to suppress your desires for anything other than the absolute necessities of life, like food, and a roof over your head. Everything else is extraneous. I remember in high school, all I wanted in the whole world was a pair of Doc Marten boots. Even though they were only $100, I knew that I could never have them. So, I stopped wanting anything. But then, I grew up and realized that if you stop desiring anything, then you are going to lose your ambition to accomplish anything. So, I buy my Vogue and circle the stuff I really like. It keeps me working toward a goal. I will finish college, I will go to Grad School, I will get tenure, if for no other reason than I really want over priced couture.