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Assigning Value

Most of us think nothing of filling up our tank with gas, even though we know that full tank will provide a short window of use. Well, perhaps not nothing – I put off shelling out the $30 till my tank runs dangerously low – but once I’m at the pump, I’m resigned to the need to pay up. For the rest of the day, I look at the gauge as it reads full, and I feel good. Then I spend each ensuing drive growing increasingly irritated by that needle’s stubborn commitment to edge ever closer back to empty. Gas is a most unfulfilling purchase.

But when it comes time to buy clothing, I hem and haw, digging for deals or better bargains. $15 for a t-shirt? That’s a little much. $11 for socks? Crazy. Even if I go to the store specifically for an item of clothing, I’ll renege at the last minute, unwilling to spend money on what seems less than absolutely necessary.

But here’s what hit me yesterday morning as I threw on a pair of jeans. That tank of gas might last me a week or so. But the pair of jeans is on rotation number 300, or something close to it. My $3 white t-shirt is on its 40th or 50th turn, a ridiculously economical six cents per wear, but I will agonize when it comes time to buy a new one (hence, my girlfriend usually grabs me clothes out of some varying degree of kindness, disgust, or pity).

It seems to make sense when I’m in the store, this being frugal. I buy most of my clothes second-hand, and when I do, I feel guilty paying more than $5 for a shirt. I go through my closet in my head, weighing whether I really need it. Now, I consider it a good quality to weigh need over want, but it doesn’t make economic sense when compared to so many other purchases I make with much less thought.

But for whatever reason I struggle to place value on clothing, even when I get so much mileage out of each piece. Instead, I wait for Christmas to come around to restock and keep filling up the tank.