On leverage and the limits of retail therapy

I’m one of those few elder millenials who is not over-leveraged. I’m used to living well within my means, and have sacrificed quality for function placing somewhat of an ascetic world view on my life. I aim to be minimalist and utilitarian.

It’s been a successful strategy because I’ve managed to annually save about a fifth of my salary since 2022 when I started with my current employer. Retail therapy is not something I know well, but re-adopted recently. I’ve quickly learned the spending strategy just feels like the bargaining stage of death and dying; it’s so not for me.

What some might call procrastination, I’d prefer to see as curation. My place is still being decorated because make-do is not good enough. It is the way I was raised, but it suffocated my family. One should love the things they have, truly take pleasure or at least usefulness in all of their possessions. From clothes to furniture to art, why own something that drags you down or fits poorly. Either on your body or with the lifestyle to which you aspire.

But leverage is the key to this.

In investing, you calculate leverage ratio by comparing debt to equity. If companies use a lot of debt to finance growth, they are riskier investments because they put shareholder’s equity on the line. I think it’s safe to apply this concept to humans, too.

Aspiring to the lifestyle of the over-leveraged is a risky endeavour. Engaging with over-leveraged people is also a ticking time bomb for something to go wrong in their lives where they’ll start asking for your financial assistance too. Or worse yet, use not having money as an excuse to bail on you. But I digress…

When it comes to retail therapy, now that I’ve dabbled, it’s just not a sustainable practice. Almost everything you can buy that you want is a poor investment; it depreciates the second you remove the tag or use it at all. Think of a candle, even if it has the most amazing smell, there’s no way it’s worth $20 dollars to resell, limited editions excluded.

There is not much reason to use debt to pay for your life (food and shelter excluded). You might get gamefied by the points system, collecting Airmiles or something like that is not a worthwhile reason to spend. Wanting less is a far better solution for a true happy life.

Within the next month, I will curate my balcony into the green oasis a second floor dweller forgoes with their housing choice. There’s quite a bit to buy still to fully furnish my home, and I don’t believe it’s possible within a $10,000 budget that’s also Ikea and big box store abstinent. I’m starting with the detailed spaces. The linen closets and the balcony and finishing my living room and kitchen. The hardcore goal is to get to my spare bedroom in hopes for future visitors.

Soon my life will also be fully digital. No more notebooks, soft copies, or hardcopies. I’m going to be using only the library and inter-library loans. I’m done with papers floating around, I’m done with junk too. Only quality moving forward and only financed within my budget.

I thought there’d be more, but turns out I got everything except the Japanese table that used to belong to my Papa and Babci. The utilitarian in me wanted it, even though it won’t match the white in my living room and kitchen. Any design ideas are welcome and appreciated.

This upcoming week will be busy. Appointments and chasing down the re-booking of appointments. Getting tires changed. Stocking my fridge. Hosting company for the first time. Spa appointments to make. Gyms to go to. And continuity with the self-care rituals, which now include fake tanner.

I’m so grateful to have an employer where a mini-retirement like this is an option. As I’m starting to manage my stress, I think I’m going to be one of the 65/100 folks with metastatic melanoma who is still alive in 5 years.

The MRI came back and there’s zero evidence of metastasis. I continue to celebrate small wins and make incremental gains. No need for leverage, instead I’m moving back towards slow, meaningful acquisition.

My only debt-inducing purchase is likely just a bed for my guest bedroom.


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