CheapJAP

Label Whore

One Fab Score: Chloe at Beacon’s

This past weekend I had not one, but two, magical thrift store experiences. One involved black and purple, over-the-knee suede boots; another story for another day. The other resulted in my snagging of the most JAPtastic items in my wardrobe to date.

Unlike more traditional thrift stores, Beacon’s Closet has as many recognizable brand-name wares as it does no-name hippie garb. You just need to be willing to hunt for the Pucci in the polyester. I knew I was getting good at unearthing designer gems: This shirtdress affirms that I am, in fact, a shopping predator.

Finding anything Chloe at a thrift store is an event of mythic proportions - I had to try it on before I really believed my ridiculous luck. The dress oozed quality and class and fit like a glove. I only belted it because it’s missing its two topmost buttons (a flaw currently being addressed by my seamstress…I should probs learn to sew at some point, whatevs).

Chloe dresses retail anywhere from $500 to $1000. Mine was $29.95. A big, fat, OMFG to that. I can still hardly believe it myself.

Splurgy Poo

“Needs”: The Transitional Coat

I talk a lot of smack for someone who’s still continually spoiled by her parents. I stand by the fact that when I shop alone, it’s always on my own dime and subsequently, always a budget-conscious activity. But when I shop with Mommy, we don’t let icky, annoying things like the cost of this Manoush Belted Ruffle Hemmed Trench inhibit our experience.
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Mommy's Closet

You’re Never too Old to Find the Afikomen

I’m not overly religious, but I luuurve Jewish holidays, in part because they’re an excuse to see the thirty or so members of my family. (The extent to which we’re more culturally Jewish was affirmed at last night’s seder, when we arrived at the dip-the-parsley-in-salt-water-to-represent-the-tears-of-the-slaves part and realized we had no salt water. “Dip it in the wine!” yelled my Uncle Eric. We collectively deemed this an excellent solution, and continued seder-ing without incident.)
But JAPs - even those of us who genuinely adore our parents, grandparents, brother, nine aunts and uncles and twenty cousins - don’t go home for Passover just to hang out with our families. We go home to hunt for the Afikomens of Mommy’s Closet. My finds this trip (taken with Mommy’s consent, of course): A gauzy, orange, white and blue checked Burberry spring scarf; A pair of hot white Theory pants (purchased via Woodbury Commons, natch); A green, Gucci clutch with a detachable strap that doubles as a fab, skinny belt. A grand total of four JAPtastic pieces, just for going home for Passover. If that’s not worth giving up bagels for, I don’t know what is.
Chag Sameach to all my fellow JAPs

Oy Vey!

Happy JAPnukah to Me

I didn’t ask for anything this Hannukah season.

Not because I didn’t want anything, but because - for the first time, um, ever - I felt a slight twinge of Jewish guilt at my parents paying half my rent.

Dad: Mom wants to know what you want for Hannukah.
Me: I honestly don’t want anything Dad. Really.
Dad: That’s very sweet, but she’s going to buy you stuff anyway, just some little things.

My dad continually chooses to forget that “little things” mean he’s out at least $600.
I insisted on wanting nothing, both parents ignored me, and Mom showed up in the city with “little things” in tow. Among the little things: BCBG puffer coat, hot BCBG top, C&C turtleneck, Scoop textured tights and Tory Burch pony hair flats. JAPpot!

My holiday cheer was marginally corrupted by the fact that my mother had left the pricetags on most of the gifts. This haul of “little things” was way out of the usual range; that goddamn Jewish guilt was creeping up on me again.

Me: Mom, this is way too much.
Mom: Sweetie! Everything was half off!

Okay, so Mom’s idea of a deal is a $500 coat reduced to $200; she’s not a Cheap JAP just yet. But - when she told me everything was half off - she had that same triumphant look on her face that I get after a
trip to Forever or Beacon’s. Maybe we’re all bargain hunters at heart.