Victims Of Spontaneity
I am a girl who suffers from serious FFF (Frivolous Fashion Fanatic), and I know I am not alone! How Europe taught me to control the fashion devil.
I feel like there is a lot of beauty in spontaneity. However, spontaneity can lead to ugly truths. When the universe says no, my bank balance says no and my mum says no I still buy the pair of shoes and the cute dress. It’s generally on sale, looks great and is in my size… or my biggest weakness is when it is the only one left in my size. Retail therapy is how I justify this spontaneity-shopping spree to myself by thinking “I did really well at uni this week… I showed up to my lectures.” Before my big Europe trip which I was meant to be saving for, my excuse was “This will look great in Europe.” Now that I am home and seriously broke I still somehow find spare dollars to buy more clothes to add to my already overflowing cupboard. I mean I survived travelling Europe by myself, surely I deserve some gorgeous tops right? It’s like a disease; an obsessive-compulsive disorder and I know I am not the only member of the next level psycho shopping club of what I am going to call FFF – Frivolous Fashion Fanatics. Many of my girlfriends are the same. There is no in-between with this disease, you either have it or you don’t. It’s like cricket or tennis you either love it or you hate it (I hate both, they are seriously soul sucking boring sports), its black and white. Anyone who has had misfortune of shopping with me or other suffers will know, that it is like another person takes over the victim, the shopping demon over takes the body, the mind, the soul and I myself can’t help but watch my debit card swipe away my savings to which I have no control over. My head spins with the word sales imprinted into my eyeballs. My eyes go so wide it is like I am high off ecstasy.
My point is I would always take for granted that I had a pretty good cash flow to maintain my generous spending. I actually would always bitch and moan about how I was slave labor at Coles and go on and on and on groaning “HOW THE HELL AM I SUPOSE TO LIVE OFF THIS!” I ended up getting two more jobs at a bar and looking after foster kids at my grandmother’s community center because I thought I simply wasn’t earning enough. It was more I was suffering from FFF and should have saved more of my Coles pay and NOT have spent it on clothes...but I will never admit that to my mother. Society is so consumed with being rich and portraying a lavish lifestyle that they forget that in places like Europe and America, earning the amount we do is a distant dream, travelling Europe like so many Australians do is simply not achievable. Friends I made overseas were telling me about their hourly rate and what they generally earn in a month… It is ridiculously lower than what I earn in a month. They were telling me about the consequences of inflation and stories about different European nationalities just scraping through on 2 euros or less an hour, which I found quite shocking. Hearing stories about people struggling always puts in perspective just how lucky we are to be Australian. It makes me feel guilty that I have to make up a disease to justify my spending on materialistic items. I solemnly swear never will I bitch and moan about my pay ever again... and try and control my crazy FFF habits.
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