About
Most JAPs are conditioned to love, honor and cherish brand names till death do them part. So when Daddy took away my Amex and, subsequently, my access to the shoe, clothing and bag labels I’d devoted myself to for most of my 23 years, I’m not exaggerating when I say a small part of me died.
Fine, I still had closets full of unreasonably priced wares to enjoy, and probably should have been grateful that I’d finagled so much JAPtastic stuff out of my parents over the years. But most of my shit was already soooo last season, so eff that. I wasn’t grateful; I was petrified. I was on the brink of losing one of my greatest loves and needed a means to keep the fire alive.
I initially suffered the standard symptoms of heartbreak - I couldn’t walk past Barney’s, Scoop or Saks without getting fahklumpt, couldn’t join my friends on weekend jaunts around Soho, couldn’t pre-order the latest albeit soon-to-be heinous It Bag. I shut myself up in my apartment and ate a lot of Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches and cursed a world I could no longer afford.
Then, I had a revelation. My greatest love wasn’t the end itself; the wearing of the clothes. It was the means to that end; the shopping for the clothes. If I could figure out a way to shop on my very small budget, I could maintain (and maybe even improve on) my fashion prowess.
So I shed my inner label whore, hoping to acquire the knowledge that would enable my survival in a city all about appearances. In New York, you need to look loaded, obvs. But that doesn’t mean you can’t do so on a salary that - if it weren’t for your parents supplementing your rent - has you hovering close to the poverty line.
If my spoiled ass can shop cheap and still look loaded, yours can too. Rest assured that even in this big, bad, bitch of a city, no one knows the difference.
Top, Theory, $90. Skirt, Forever 21, $24.99. Heels, Guess, $80. Karen Sterling Photography.
Cheap JAP welcomes gushing only at cheapjap@gmail.com.
