Yeah. I’m reminded of the PBR-drinking American Spirit-smoking hipsters back at my old LA haunts when I say, “It’s a Buick Regal TourX; you probably haven’t seen one.”
But really, that’s the consensus. “What the hell is it?” “Is it a Volvo?” “Is it an Acura?”
Technically, it’s kind of an Opel, but that doesn’t help much. In full form, it’s a Buick Regal TourX AWD Essence. That’s a mouthful, and she’s kind of the forgotten Gen-Xer of the AWD Sport Wagon segment, so I’m calling her the Latchkey Kid. And I LOVE HER.
The Buick Regal TourX was the first wagon for Buick after retiring the iconic Roadmaster in 1996. Hopefully, you know how much I love Roadmasters at this point. I was skeptical but intrigued when I saw this new foray into wagon-ism at the Autoshow in 2018. I’ve always loved classic Buicks, but would I really find myself in a modern Buick? No, right?
So What’s a Buick Regal TourX, and…WHY?
I decided to sell the Raptor, closed my eyes, and pressed the buttons. It became a “now what” scenario really quickly, and I only knew a few things. I needed a payment that was way—like wayyyyy—less, I live in a four seasons state, and the snow here can get brutal; I don’t like sedans, I don’t like SUVs, and I don’t like typical.
Oh, and we have FIVE DOGS. It became clear that my future vehicle would probably be a sizeable wagon or hatchback. Also, I’m a tinkerer gearhead that can’t leave shit alone. I might as well own that fact. At this point in the discussion, in the craft, there is almost always an argument about Subaru, BMW, Audi, and Volvo. Hardly anyone mentions the humble 3-year run of the Buick Regal TourX.
I don’t know why. It’s incredibly well equipped—the Lexus vehicles I used to sell were equipped like this, and they were…ahem…pricier. My TourX has leather, adaptive cruise, lane keep, pano sunroof, etc. The little turbo 2.0L isn’t overwhelming, but it does its job, and the AWD is capable. She also swallows an impressive nearly 75 cubic feet of cargo space. That’s a lot of groceries. Or…dogs.
While I don’t foresee any LS swaps in the future with the Latchkey Kid, I have already accumulated a list that includes the Trifecta Tune, HR Springs, Rotiform LAS-R wheels, and window tint. It’s little stuff, but it makes her mine. She’s rare. She’s a conversation piece. She’s kind of weird, and I like weird.
Everyone liked the Raptor. There was not much “me” in that truck; it was neither contentious nor challenging. Everything was easy for CleverGirl. The Nova—that vehicle divided people. It created discussions and debates. I loved that; I used the Nova to meet people and network, and honestly, 80% of the roles and relationships I forged in Hollywood were because of that silly, divisive rust bucket. The TourX reminds me of her. People ask what it is and judge. They either like it immensely or roll their eyes.
What this car actually does is serves up the financial freedom to foster a child. Or travel. Or frees up the finances to pay down more debt. Or allows me to put money into the original Buick—Roadmistress. After all, she is a first cousin, and shouldn’t she help finance the resurrection of her elder?
In any case, she’s a vehicle (no pun intended) to new adventures.
Did I tell you about the last two years of my life?
Mr. Manne died. I moved to Ohio. My mother died. My father died. I married the love of my life, with whom I had only spent four weekends since 2005.
So it goes, right? That’s how everyone rolls through life, right? Life seems uncertain, and then BOOM—you hit forty and do everything all at once, No? Just me? Okay.
Just after the wedding, I started this experiment of purchasing nothing. I decluttered (and am still decluttering), reviewed my finances, and realized that, oh CRAP—it’s a mess. It’s always been a mess.
I looked at everything except vehicles; my vice and passion were left off the table for scrutiny. I had trimmed the excess fat off every other expense and bad habit. I’ve even cut out 90% of my eating-out and take-out coffee. It’s not perfect, but I sincerely thought I’d do worse with this.
Then came the honesty—I’ve always spent too much on my cars. I’ve typically had more than two cars for my entire adulthood; usually a classic (or 2 or 3) and my daily driver. All of these cars would be purchased, registered, and insured and start the lengthy, neverending, expensive process of modification. What can I say? I am, always have been, and always will be a gearhead.
I remember when I found my Roadmaster in a field in Pensacola during my Freshman year of college. She practically mesmerized me, and I thought about her nonstop until she was mine. At that point, I had the Nova, a little 5sp V6 Ranger, and then added the Buick into the stable. I was the only college Freshman I knew that had multiple cars.
It wasn’t like I easily had the money to do this. College was spent living with family, forgoing parties, bringing my lunches with me, and living like a miser in every other way. Then at night, I’d plug in the work light and tinker under the hood until my body ached with fatigue. Everyone else was partying, networking, drinking, and creating social bonds. In hindsight, I can’t say this was the best way to spend my college career, but it kept me out of trouble.
So now I look at these expenses, and the blaring cost is my Raptor. These days I only have 2 vehicles: the Raptor and the Roadmaster. I reluctantly put the Roadmaster up for sale. She’s a challenging sale to anybody but the most fearless of us petrol-headed type people. While the big stuff like engine, transmission, brakes, and suspension are present and accounted for, countless things need to be finished, installed, and buttoned up. If she weren’t mine, I would read that ad and think, “Yikes, too much work.”
I did this.
My Raptor, though…
I decided to trade her in on something cheaper, reducing payments and overall cost-to-own. Cost-to-own is one of those sneaky topics that is easy to overlook. For me.
I test-drove. I tried. Folks—I’m skeptical that this part of me could ever…EVER…be subdued. The minute I started driving these potential replacement vehicles, I was picturing the mods. A tune, no doubt. Maybe lowering. A wrap? Yeah—I didn’t really like the color. Turning that part of myself off seems like an impossible task.
So, I have backtracked on this part of my expenses experiment. These last two years have been chaotic, and feeling like one thing is staying the same brings comfort. Sometimes that alone is worth hanging onto, even if the actual cost is monetarily higher. This has been the one constant in my life since I was three years old, and I’m okay to pay extra for this one thing.
I guess my silly ass will just accept the expense.
I know I must answer for wasteful buying practices, blind purchasing, and emotional shopping. And a dining out proclivity. And relying on to-go coffee. Subscriptions. Ugh, the list goes on.
I have planned and listed plenty of things for this year of adaptation.
The one thing that was suspiciously left off these lists were my most significant expenses: mortgage, which I can’t change at this point, and I feel like my rate and payment are fine, and vehicle.
I drive a Ford Raptor. I LOVE this truck. It has saved my ass several times by practically driving itself with Advanced Cruise Control and Lane Centering when I’ve been sick and had to get myself to work or the doctor. She has been a champ during the Ohio winter months through sleet, snow, and ice. On a treacherous night in my previous position as a Field Rep, the biggest blizzard I had ever seen seemed to bear down on me in particular. My windshield wipers were so frozen they would barely move, and I was in the outer stretches of Ohio by West Virginia in the Appalachian Mountains. My CleverGirl triumphed through it all, and I was high and dry inside. It felt like she did that alone, and I was merely a passenger enjoying her bulk, strength, and capability.
If that sounds dramatically attached to a vehicle, you should know it’s just the tip of the iceberg. I have a relationship with every car I’ve ever had. My 1954 Buick Roadmaster sits in the garage unfinished, but I say “Hello Mattie” every time I see her. I have put blood, sweat, and tears into that machine to get her this far, and I would do it all again.
Automobiles aren’t A to B tools for me. Cars are the one place where Art, Physics, Design, and History meet a usable, tangible thing. The car has been alongside epic moments, moving our society forward. Think of JFK for just a few seconds and tell me—tell me that you don’t see his Lincoln Convertible attached. I can tell you many more examples, but know that for me- I cannot untwine the vehicle, history, art, and culture.
All this is to say, I’ve justified CRAZY high car payments because my vehicle is much more than a vehicle. A look back at my automotive past shines a light on the willingness to accept that a sizeable chunk of my income would be spent on vehicle-related items.
GS300
Lexus into an F-Type
Silverado 6.2L 4×4 into Charger Daytona Scat Pack
From custom Mustangs to an F-Type to a loaded Charger Daytona Scat Pack and more—my vehicle purchases have been mainly for enjoyment.
And that brings us to now, with me listing my expenses meticulously and planning ways to do better. I have dissected everything in my life…except my costs regarding automotive. I LOVE my truck, but the truth about this Raptor is that it’s expensive. My monthly payment is crazy, insurance isn’t terrible but could be better, MPGs are deplorable, and anytime I have to replace something, it is UNGODLY expensive. Tires–minimum $2500. Tailight lens: $1200. You read that last part right: I had a pinhole in my taillight lens, and because of equipment like Blind Spot Monitoring and Cross Traffic alert—you can’t have ANY moisture inside those lenses.
If I’m honest with myself during this year’s experiment, I will say, “Self, you spend way too damned much on vehicles. What would you do with the money you saved from driving something less expensive?”
The answer to that is multifaceted. My husband and I want to foster children, which is enough for most people to make changes. We also have five rescued dogs, which are a big part of my monthly budget and absolutely my passion. If I needed to move five dogs in an emergency, it would be really hard in the Raptor. If we foster children, where would I put ALL that equipment you have to carry with you? Toss it into the bed? I won’t put dogs in the bed of a truck, and I don’t think throwing strollers, etc., back there is a fantastic idea.
And then there’s the hard truth: I have back-burner-ed until now: I NEED to trade that truck. I am not complaining about my pay or the teamwork I have with my husband, but I am not in the income bracket to easily drive this truck without stressing about costs. I would like to be, but I am not. Especially since I have, I have a debt to pay down.
And so—your humble narrator has done the one thing I have tried to avoid since starting this experiment (and since…birth). I have committed to selling this truck and replacing it with something dog and family-friendly. This is the way.
I knew going in that if I cut everything 100%, I would soon see my vices and downfalls. I knew—I mean, how could I not know—that the #1 Vice in my spending would be coffee.
And oh, yeah…it’s coffee.
To date, since starting tracking everything, which began 8/15/22, I have purchased three coffees. THREE. On a normal “whatever” no budgeting type of week, I would have stopped nearly every morning for coffee and thrown in a donut or brekkie sandwich, so I’m not going to beat myself up for grabbing 3 Grande Pikes in a 2 week period. I can do better, but at $2.95/pc, I’m still okay.
But the other vice, I’ve found, is even worse! I intend to rectify my bad habits with DoorDash.
Tired, long hours, sick, busy: these are the buzzwords that keep DoorDash afloat, and they 100% are the reasons I tell myself to “go ahead and order.” I’m actually writing this currently with some DoorDashed Indian food. Womp, womp.
Not only is DoorDash riddled with delivery fees because of the convenience, but it’s also JUST PRICED HIGHER to build in profit. I work in sales management, and I understand that profits must be made where we can and then shuffled through operations in order to pay our overhead. It doesn’t mean I have to fall prey to these costs elsewhere, right?
Let’s take this Indian Food, for example. On Door Dash, my go-to meal is
And at the restaurant, this go-to meal is:
It was only $1.00 more, but these recurring charges do add up. When I forgot to bring lunch, I DoorDash. When I’m super tired and heading home from work, I check in with my husband and see how he feels. If we’re both in that same headspace, I jump in, have food delivered, and don’t think about the expense.
This exercise is supposed to MAKE me think about the expenses, so I am. And it DOES add up, particularly because my goal is to eat at home. The answer here is to MAKE SURE that home has easy meals intermingled with the meal plan of homemade dishes. On my next shopping list, I’ve included frozen pizzas and some microwaveable entrees that can fill this gap.
So far, the slip-ups have cost me :
Coffee-$8.85
Food Delivery-$164.52
I do have positive news about the close look at spending and purchasing during the first month of my One Year Purchase Ban:
It has helped me use Excel way more, and God knows I love a good spreadsheet.
The REALLY good news is that I have trimmed what seems like a ridiculous amount: $19,000 annually. I checked and checked and rechecked this math. What adds up in my life are services, mainly. Manis/Pedis, hair cut and color, BarkBox (sorry, pups), streaming services, and convenience items like house cleaning. Those are things I’m willing to give up. On the PETS side of the expenses, I am not willing to compromise on their food and medicine, but I know I can do better with toys and accessories. The entire list of items and services that I have trimmed or canceled:
That’s a pretty long list. Alcohol has never been a big bill for me; I’m topped out at one beer when I DO drink because of my Brain Injury. You may notice “ATV” and “ATV Insurance” on this list and find yourself wondering WHAT she was thinking. Well, we live in the woods, and our driveway gets iced and snowed over through the winter, so the ATV was fun but ALSO practical because it had a snow plow. I decided we could live without this additional cost and sold the ATV.
I don’t know if we can attach a snowplow to a Nissan Maxima, so this winter may get interesting. Either way, the monthly expense didn’t make sense for a tool that really only gets to shine 3 months out of the year.
I know that when starting this project, I was rather reckless with spending, but never in my life did I think forgoing some services would save me this much money. Naturally, having been wreckless, the money I save I don’t really see. It’s going straight into Debt Management (another big, long, WOMP WOMP.)
“You deserve it,” says my inner voice after convincing myself that a day of bingeing Stranger Things has somehow earned me a reward.
This is just one more small purchase that will show up in my delivery box with that very familiar Prime logo, something that we’ve all grown to recognize. Those Prime boxes have recently piled up in our garage for several reasons: I like to shop for our daily necessities with the ease of single-click buying, and we used Amazon for our wedding registry.
Honestly, though, it’s too easy. We sling our data everywhere carelessly while, at the same time, every type of digital fraud is creeping. You name it, and there’s a data thief capitalizing on these easy experiences. Smishing is up by 700% (and that was 2021—let’s see what 2022 brings!), according to Proof Point. So that’s just text—that’s just ONE little point of data where thieves are trying to steal your digital fingerprint.
Security aside, there are all of the other downsides of shop till ya (virtually) drop. Money. Waste. Carbon footprint. Clutter. Duplicate items. And again—-money. For someone who has bought duplicate items more times than I care to share, hitting that “buy now” button a little slower may have helped me collect fewer tubes of toothpaste that simply pile up. The truth of that “buy now” button is worse than a few spare Tom’s Toothpastes. It adds up to blackout purchases, over-consuming, compromised data, and the endless cycle of buy-get targeted ads-buy more.
I recently listened to Cait Flanders’ book, “The Year of Less,” and realized that her 2-year experiment is exactly what I’d already started blueprinting in my head. Now it became clear I had to put this plan onto paper, in an Excel Spreadsheet, and then do the scariest part: declare it out loud, with purpose, and share it on Social Media so that I could be held accountable.
First, the why: bottom line, I spend too much and buy too much. I’ve been in the practice of wanting/needing something and simply buying. Being independent and, previously, before my husband showed me that men can indeed be capable providers, I was the breadwinner in almost all of my relationships. Responsible for myself and often my significant other, I blindly purchased the needs and wants of TWO people and carried more than my fair share.
Now, I have an incredible husband who is a minimalist and spends much less than me on consumables, clothes, toiletries, etc. Having spent a few months burning up the credit cards for services for our wedding, it became crystal clear that there are two truths to my shopping habits: I spend too much too often, and I buy things practically with my eyes closed, relying on the virtual wallet saved in these shopping carts and feeling numb to the reality of WHAT I’m buying and if I need it.
Honestly, the answer to: “do I need this?” is almost always a resounding “no.” I made exceptions and excuses during the months leading to our wedding because it felt like the right time to splurge, and it was. Our wedding was beautiful and warm and loving, and I laughed from morning until night. But usually, the type of excuses I made to purchase items for the wedding simply won’t fly in everyday life. And the damage from these habits has built a web of debt, complex and deep.
Spending less has to happen, no question, and I’m doing this. But then there’s a deeper scar than debt and spending, and that requires a little unpacking, too.
When a person grows up in a traumatic household, their relationship with money and material things are complicated. My mother, who I don’t write about often, vacillated wildly between blaming us for everything that went wrong in her life and telling us that she couldn’t wait to “disappear in the middle of the night, and maybe write you sometimes but never include a return address,” and the 180-degree apologies. The down cycles were accompanied by violence and hostility, and then on the flip side, when she regained composure, taking us on shopping trips to buy whatever our hearts desired to make up for her hysterics. We looked great, had the newest, most fashionable clothes and shoes, but wore them with great conflict.
No one knew what was going on behind the scenes, and we certainly didn’t tell. Our mother had told me once, when I was 11, “NEVER write about me, Amy.” Each time I try to tell the stories, especially in print, I break down and abandon the project. Those words struck a chord that played into a lifelong writer’s block about mothers, and those actions defined my relationship with shopping for the next decades of my life.
Putting an end to all of that means writing rules for myself. Ending excuses. Finding the real “why” to my shopping triggers—which are often the memories of our mother buying these things and being deep in debt but feeling like no one could see through the armor of a put-together outfit.
So here’s the process and rules:
Declutter for quality. Get rid of everything that I have bought in an attempt to be something other than authentic. That beautiful blue pin-striped Boss suit? I promised myself I would wear it to executive functions and look my absolute best, or that someday when that big job opportunity came knocking, I would wear it to my interview, and somehow it would hide my insecurities and imposter syndrome. However, in the year since I snatched it up on sale at Macy’s, I have worn it zero times. Those executive functions and high-level recruiting just never happened. I won’t list here how many items I own that are in this category, but I will say that I have bags of things to sell or donate.
Declutter for quantity. I own duplicate items, which I think we all do, but the point of decluttering all of those things is to inventory what I need/use/have and then put a stop to purchasing excess. In the decluttering phase, putting like item with like item and assigning a home to these things—I have noticed that if you don’t know where everything is, you often buy another to replace that “lost” item. Thus, I have hundreds of pens, over a dozen spatulas, eight (EIGHT!) whisks, and groceries stuffed into cabinets that have expired or that I purchased because I forgot or couldn’t find the original. Sauces and spices—I’m especially bad at.
Implement the ban: technically, I’m already doing these things, but it really starts rolling when steps 1 and 2 have been completed. The ban is on:
To-Go and Take-Out Coffee
Clothes
Shoes
Bags and accessories
Household decor like blankets, pillows, candles
Makeup and toiletries except on a direct replacement basis when I run out
Cleaning products except on a direct replacement basis when I run out, BUT I am attempting to make my own before I purchase
Alcohol
Look ahead and keep a list of things I’m allowed to purchase:
Groceries
Pet food and medical
Direct replacement for a device or appliance, but only if it breaks and only if it’s not fixable
Gas and vehicle maint including tires in the next 6 months
Medicine (prescription and OTC on a direct replacement basis only)
Spotify account
Travel
This list will undoubtedly evolve as I go through this year, but I want the basic blueprint to remain. The point is to be more mindful, even with the “approved list.” For instance, I plan only to travel with money squirred aside from what I save based on the shopping ban itself.
It is an experiment, but I think it’s one that is long overdue and something I owe myself and my new little family. I know what needs to be done, and so it’s time—to just get to the doing.
Amy Liming 