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Growing up, I’d always felt limited in buying new things. My family was financially comfortable but never rich, and my mother had to keep a tight hand on our purse strings at times.
Upon becoming a working adult, receiving a pay cheque and controlling how it’s used was an immeasurably exciting concept.
Starting out, I was uncompromisingly thrifty with my hard-earned money. I used Grab rides and food delivery services only for work; I did most of my shopping on Shopee and Shein; I ate out twice a week at most, keeping it to a maximum of S$30 each time.
But the rigidity eventually tired me out. Endlessly scrolling through TikToks of people living their best Eat, Pray, Love lives convinced me that I should make the most out of my youth and create the life I desire.
Money, I fatefully decided, can be earned back — but not vibes.
I wasted no time in changing my lifestyle accordingly: I used ride-hailing services whenever I felt like it, and at least one new piece of clothing was added to my wardrobe every week. I became a magpie – except that it didn’t have to be shiny to catch my eye and get me to open my wallet!
Sure, I would still try to save about S$200 a month, but any savings I accumulated screamed “extra spending” to me — which would eventually lead me to a financial rock bottom.
I was on holiday in Melbourne this October enjoying the cold spring weather, the many thrift shopping options, and the delicious coffee and food.
Running low on spending money, I pulled up my banking app to transfer money into my travel e-wallet and stared in dismay at my phone: I had only S$20 left in my account.
Thankfully, I had extra cash on hand to tide me through to the next day, when I received my salary. But that new pay cheque did not last as long as it should have: Come Nov 1, I found myself yet again facing the exact same conundrum.
With only S$400 left until the next payday, I was anxious about how I’d survive the next three weeks. What about team lunches during work-from-office days? How would I afford transportation?
I also found myself grappling with a fear I’ve never known before: This was the very first time in all 23 years of my life that I did not have a cushion of savings that I or my family could rely upon in an emergency. I berated myself for not being more prudent the months before.
While I could blame a culture of consumerism, I admit that there really is something so comforting in buying something when you are having a tough time — after all, it’s called retail “therapy” for a reason.
But treating myself for tackling day-to-day tasks or just because “I deserve it” had turned into such a normalised coping mechanism that it had become unquestioningly harmful to my financial and mental health.
The self-control I’d exercised since childhood was switched off for such a short period of time, but had come so close to wrecking my life.
I knew I had no time to waste. Immediately, I started budgeting for the rest of the month.
Instead of eating Italian fusion food from a Tipo restaurant (about S$25), I headed to Saizeriya for my pasta fix (S$8).
I forced myself to wake up half an hour earlier for work and scheduled all meetings 15 minutes earlier than I needed to be there in my personal calendar, and managed to avoid resorting to cabs and Grabs.
Digging through my mountain pile of clothes, I resignedly listed the ones I knew I could instantly earn cash from on Carousell. I made S$20 in a week, financing two work-from-office meals.
More importantly, I embarked on a ‘No Buy November’ ban till my next pay cheque. This meant I had to turn a blind eye to the typical bevy of sales launched during this month — 11.11, Black Friday, Cyber Monday, and more.
Frankly, I thought this would be impossible. My friends, while supportive, had a hard time believing I would be able to persevere through it as well.
To my surprise, this new mission became an eye-opener for me: I learnt that I can appreciate an item — bags, jewellery, even simple things like stationery — without spending money on it.
The one silver lining of my shopaholic tendencies? All the CapitaStar points I’d racked up went towards necessary toiletries. It inspired me to become a full-fledged “auntie” and start collecting points on other platforms with benefits.
My crisis management measures paid off. I made it to my next payday — with S$30 to spare.
Throughout my no-buy ban, I saw multiple items I desperately wanted to buy in the moment — but looking back now, I cannot specifically name a single one.
This brought me to another revelation: On rough days, I feel justified to shop freely because I want to feel better, but with such impulse purchases, the rush of joy is only fleeting. I did not actually want the item I bought — rather, I liked the idea that I could have it.
Following my brush with financial ruin, I resolved to turn my bad money habits around.
I became diligent in tracking my expenses throughout the month with a handy Notion template. Its clear and neat categorisations help me easily understand how and where I’m spending my money.
This also helps me pare down on unnecessary costs. For example, this showed me that I’ve been subscribed to certain services that no longer benefit me and it might be time to end them.
A friend of mine has a “shopping risk analysis” system, calculating each item’s cost per wear: If a bag costs S$45 and can be used at least 45 times, the “value” of that bag is approximately S$1. If an item’s “value” does not hit close to S$1, he shelves the idea of buying it. I keep this in mind now whenever something catches my eye.
I still buy things I want — but not all of them, and no longer on impulse.
When you have a goal or purpose for your savings, it helps make the scrimping worthwhile. With a dream to move abroad someday, I definitely need a good amount of savings to fall back on.
This may sound like a contradiction to what I’ve shared so far, but there is undoubtedly a beauty in shopping and treating yourself — when done in moderation. Each of us have our own personal style and character, and there’s no harm in expressing these in the clothes we don or the little trinkets we put up on our shelves and walls.
However, I’ve learnt that responsible spending is about embracing personal style while resisting the urge to conform. Social media continues to expose me to a never-ending parade of shiny new microtrends and aesthetics, but I now understand that appreciating them does not mean I have to adopt them all.
Real talk: I don’t think I will ever completely eradicate frivolous consumerism from my life — but I can confidently say that its hold on me has drastically weakened.
With good planning and intentionality, it’s possible for me to shop consciously and authentically express myself without breaking the bank.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Larissa Santhana Nair, 23, makes sense of life and its complexities through song, dance and the occasional burrito. She can usually be found rewatching Mamma Mia for the 175th time or making her rounds in the Flower Dome for clarity of mind.
English