Stinge part deux

Hey, this isn't Dior!

Today is a Big Day in our household. It's not my daughter's birthday, first tooth or steps. No, today, I bought her a new item of clothing. A brand new, off the shelf, garment.

You see, as a rule, I don't buy new things. To my daughter, "new clothing" simply means 'previously unchartered skidmarks!' (Prada, are you listening?) In fact, I try not to buy second hand things that cost more than a dollar. I like to pretend I am some kind of principled middle class anti consumer, like these ten friends in San Francisco, who, in 2006, got famous by declaring they would not buy anything new for a whole year. You know, like almost the entire population of Sub Saharan Africa, Asia and large parts of South America. Alright,maybe I'm being too cynical. I mean, one of the women in the group stuck her rowing glasses back together with tape! Tape! (This isn't that new either, as Chinese boatmen have been taping their rowing glasses together since the dawn of time)

My stingyness has more in common with the second group mentioned above: skintness. But also, I've had a good long think about the value of things, and come to realise that the western world's 'Buy more shit or we're fucked' motto (there really is a tee shirt) of economic growth is just a bit lame. Add to that, I love scrounging and re-using things in weird ways. Alright, maybe I'm in the first camp as well as the second.

So more about scrounging....

Scrounging is an art more than a science. For instance, when faced with a mountain of second hand crap, you've got to get your eye in. Float like a seagull, sting like a bee, as they say. I look for interesting fabric, natural fibres, weird clothes, and antiquated, possibly medical devices that look like they require a strong stomach and a British enthusiasm for machine oil.

Apart from being an inveterate scrounger, there's another reason I've never had to buy clothes for my daughter. As any new parent will tell you, announcing a pregnancy sounds the avalanche horn to all those who have gone before you. Within a week you will be buried in football fields of clothing. It is truly brilliant.

Because, the reality is, babies don't need much more than a comfortable western adult already has; food, somewhere warm to sleep, and the odd preening toff to present ABC arts programs on the television.

Being on the scrounge has other advantages as well; You meet other scroungers. Our cot, for instance was the result of a phone call that went like this:

"Gidday, it's me. I'm up in Sydney, outside some hideous fucking mansion in Cronulla. They've chucked out a brand new, still-in-its-plastic cot. Probably had to assemble it. People are such retards. Shall I get it for you?"

These phone calls are the best because they assume that not only would we, A) like a new cot, but B) are the kind of people who can assemble one.

You can see then, that today's clothing purchase was a Big Deal.

In fact, it only came about because yesterday I took the endlessly patient Possum to the beach in the howling wind (see cute pic above) only to discover that not only was the zip on her salvaged jacket broken, it had fucking flowers on it. Thrown into a fit of Shakespearean rage I flung it back in the car and declared that I was going to buy her some new clothes.

And man is she cute in her new, slightly too large, Navy blue hoody, like a chubby little car thief. Awww.