A few days ago I went to Nordstrom to return a dress and weaved a familiar path through the aisles I’ve trod for 20 years, circling from the top until I arrived on the first floor at my favorite department: Designer Shoes.
I trailed my fingers over the lush leather goods as I twirled slowly through the latest arrivals, beaming apologetically at each salesperson who approached. I was just there to make a return, just on my way to dinner - just looking.
I left with a pair of $1,050 Fendi slingback sandals.
They fill a tidy gap in my wardrobe. My shoe collection has always consisted mainly of 4-5 inch pumps and flip flops, mirroring the extremes of my former daily life: from luxury downtown office tower to walking the dogs.
These sporty, low heels fill the casual-but-elevated middle ground of my new lifestyle since retiring. The shade is both neutral and unique, and the style can be worn nearly year-round in Texas (as opposed to the rust suede open toe Valentino pumps I also tried).
Feeling guilty about this unplanned splurge would feel like a sin against my new handcrafted Italian treasure. I even asked to wear them out of the store, visibly elated, spreading cheer to smiling passersby while clacking elegantly away on air and marble tile.
Expressing myself through my appearance and buying few, high-quality goods that will last many years are authentic values I hold.
So why does it feel like I shouldn’t relish this purchase?
When I created my first budget in Excel after graduating from high school, I added six columns; in addition to my “current” plan, I mapped out how I wanted each category to change over time as my income grew.
Yes, I was (and remain) an irredeemable money nerd. I funneled every transaction into four broad categories, and this is the ultimate breakdown I aimed for:
Starting out, my Committed Expenses were closer to 75%, Giving was in the low single digits, and Saving (including extra debt payments and investing) jostled with Fun Money right around 10% each.
With every raise or bonus, I could see exactly where to direct new money to inch closer to my target.
This was before the FIRE movement hit the scene and put the focus squarely on maximizing investments. Early adherents minimized spending at all costs in a race to retirement, even eschewing categories like transportation (Mr Money Mustache famously promoted bikes over owning a car).
I followed the conversation and published an anonymous personal finance blog of my own for years, but my goal wasn’t to retire early. It was to get the Fun Money category big enough to cover all my extravagant wishes.
I never identified as frugal, in case you can’t tell, though minimizing fixed costs was always a means to my end goal of quarterly vacations, monthly massages, and weekly restaurant excursions.
Looking back, I’m glad that maximizing my savings rate wasn’t the primary focus. Spending money is a muscle - and skill - that I learned to exercise from the start.
The term “lifestyle creep” refers negatively to any decision that permanently increases your spending. Upgrading a home or car are classic examples, as are raising your dining and travel standards.
Many worthy life goals naturally come with increased expenses though, from moving out of your parents’ basement to having children. Stockpiling money isn’t the real goal - it’s designing a life you love.
Using money to improve your life isn’t a mistake that delays arrival at a finish line; it’s the whole point of the journey.
Humans crave a sense of progress, and gradually increasing spending on material wants like clothing can be motivating, especially in early adulthood. Those rewards positively reinforce values like hard work and achievement.
Enhancing the quality (and usually, therefore, the cost) of needs like shelter can be empowering and stoke protective feelings of self-esteem and safety in midlife.
Improving your lifestyle may eventually entail a different financial cost: sacrificing income rather than increasing expenses.
Becoming a stay at home parent. Quitting your side hustle to have more time to exercise and socialize. Volunteering in your community instead of working overtime. Taking a sabbatical - and ultimately, retiring.
Even if spending big isn’t your thing, I think we can all get behind that kind of lifestyle inflation.
I help people get organized and use wealth to design a life that feels secure and aligned. A former Wall Street banker and CERTIFIED FINANCIAL PLANNER™, I act as an unbiased advocate without selling products or managing investments. To learn more, visit my website.
DISCLAIMER: I love writing about the personal, emotional, and practical sides of money, but please remember that my Substack is strictly for educational and coaching purposes. The insights shared here are general in nature and do not constitute specific investment, tax, or legal advice. While I am a CFP® Certificant, reading this does not create an official advisory relationship, and any comments or likes should not be interpreted as client testimonials. For personalized investment advice, please consult a registered financial professional.
Elizabeth, I loved your writing from the start, but this solidified you as my personal favorite finance blogger. I never understood that obsession with minimizing the spend by all means – sure, I will cancel my Paramount+ subscription if I don't watch it. But I know people worth 8 (!) figures, who still refuse to fly business class. It’s a 12+ hour flight and they’re 50+. Get the lie‑flat. When you die, they take everything from you. Oh, you want to leave it to your kids – well, the kids will fly business, why wouldn't you do the same? The whole point of working hard and making money and saving is so that one day you do something with this money.
P.S. The shoes are awesome and I support the 4-figure price tag – that's what money is for.
I am with you on ‘minimizing fixed expenses’ - especially any kind loan obligation. It builds room for splurges, aka ‘one time expenses’ like your fancy sandals.