"Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me." - F. Scott Fitzgerald in "The Rich Boy." A writer's rants today:

Let me preface, we are not rich. We live so comfortably and we carefully plan our frugal luxuries. We drink the best whiskey, but we fly economy. I'm in love with designer brands, but I shop on Amazon, at Ross and at thrift stores. We own our home and our cars, but we crash on couches everywhere we go. This trip around, we are crashing in the Upper East Side, the neighborhood of excess and abundance, and I've decided to dress the part for a little while. I love my bag and my shoes. I love how I feel as I walk down the avenues next to the impeccably attired 1%ers of America. At first I feel guilt. I have become more vain, it seems. Finally, I realize why. Now, in my 30's, I mentally have the chance to be part of the in-crowd, the same crowd that made me cry in my youth and made me feel like my dorkiness made me lesser of a human being. That same crowd that would snark about me, may now actually accept me as their own. Of course, it's all bull. Again, I reiterate to myself: "You are not what you own. You are not what you wear." One of my favorite mantras. So I splurge within limitations, but I do so with mindfulness. Never believe that spending thousands of dollars on bags is sane, something to admire, or something to aspire to. It isn't good. It just "is." It's just another thing one does, like spending money on movies or fancy dinners at the best restaurants. It is a personal choice, that can be reversed. It's not something to applaud or to judge. So today, I choose to show you a picture of unimportant riches, that I love to look at, that have given me short term highs, but that I will not remember on my death bed. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my thrifty finds: Chanel. #thriftyfinds #thriftychic #neverpayfullprice #chanellover