Tea, sympathy and recession

Who would have ever thought the recession would give us a lesson in living well? At a recent dinner in London, all my friends got laid off. They were still dressed in their smart cubicle/corner office wear with nowhere to go. “I remember the times we used to fight over who would pay for the bottles on our table,” my friend Allistair said. “It was like an AMEX swordfight,” piped in Henry, still wearing the odd cravat that hinted he was not very good at his job to begin with. “Now it’s time to whip out the calculator from our iPhones!” I joked. “We were such ass**les,” Henry said earnestly, the effect diminished by the cravat.

Who wears a cravat to a bistro dinner? Despite the distracting cravat, they were all well-mannered.

The bill came and everyone paid in cash. No fighting over the bill. Humility is the proverbial Emily Post of the Age of Correction.

I remember that at Bull Marche, it was almost fashionable to exclaim how you paid a month’s rent for a furry shoe. I, for one, molested my bank account for the “it” craze. The straightjacket came in the form of a declined platinum card that had lost its luster in shame. Even then, I was an unwilling trendsetter in recessionista glory. Today, if you were wise enough to keep all your money in a pillowcase (which one of my Jewish friends actually did a month before the crash) you now have the option to put your designer goods bought from the ghost town that was once Madison Ave. in a brown bag. Finally, discretion makes a comeback. The bling era is over!

On my flight from Delhi to London I was able to buy a ticket in Virgin Upper Class for eco-class prices. When I rode it for the first time in the bubble era, I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. A bar! A masseuse! TV! It was unbelievable. When I entered the hallowed halls of Upper Class, half the “disco” lights were off, some bulbs dimmed and scorched, and abandoned with the efforts of being replaced. It smelled like grease. The crew looked like they could use some ice cream and lithium.

There were no masseuses. “They were the first to go,” the unsympathetic cabin crew member quipped. 

I sat in a seat that thankfully was still in horizontal mode and asked for some chips. After digging into a bag, I asked for another one. “Sorry, luv, there are no more chips.” There were perhaps 20 passengers in the cabin. Either someone got the munchies in flight or it was just all very sad.

When I was ready to flip my seat into a bed to sneak in a nap I asked for a blanket. “Here, luv,” my bleary-eyed steward kindly passed on to me. I was ready to enjoy a nap vertically! It’s been a long time indeed! The blanket had holes in it. Suddenly a poetic realization hit me: there is no upper class in this world, just faded glories.

The recession, however, has taken the ass**le out of many. Gone are the days of buying obnoxious couture in fool-me-more prices. Now I’m quite happy selecting a good coat, cardigan and maybe a dress or two for the season. All what fashion editors may call “forever pieces,” no more “hero pieces.”

Designers are all declaring: “You should feel good about what you’re buying.” Con artists selling overpriced turbans (guilty!) no more!

Uniqlo is my new habitué. I have now become the cardigan girl for my neo-Eponine look. My wardrobe has slimmed down to a more modest and proud selection. Gone are the days of insecure confections that made me feel like a Christmas ornament. I started just wanting good things. This was good.

It’s also made me enjoy being at home more. No more devilish dinners that charged black-market-baby prices for salads. I started experimenting in making simple meals at home using lower-priced organic produce bought from independent farmers. I turn on my Bach or sometimes some Fitzgerald and tap out some good china and my grandpa’s old silverware, and suddenly I’m in an Edith Wharton movie. The best part? My dog gets to eat dinner with me in his Fornasetti dog bowl bought during the insufferable boom time.

I now treat myself with tea from India in pretty cups, reading the newspaper and the anorexic magazines that have been casualties in the recession at my house and not frantically trying to find something to do in some nightclub with overpriced cranberry juice.

My friend who was married in an arranged marriage once told me that the secret to her happiness was being happy with what she had. She was a surgeon and gave up her practice for a man she’d only met twice. They are the happiest married couple I know.

“The moment you start looking outwards hoping for happiness is the moment you court disappointment for the rest of your life. Life is funny like that. You have everything you need, you just need to know that you have it.”

I guess much can be said about the exodus of the Age of Materialism.