The Wannabe Rich Girl Epidemic: It’s Here & It’s Happening
I am not ashamed to admit that I do watch reality television. I have been way behind on my E! show Mrs. Eastwood and Company, so after Twilight was over I caught myself up.
The show is based on actor Clint Eastwood’s wife Dina, and her two young daughters (one is the birth daughter of Titanic actress Francis Fisher) and their crazy Hollywood life. When Francesca (the adopted-of-sorts daughter) was asked to chainsaw a $100,000 Birkin Bag by her photographer boyfriend, Tyler Smith, (to send out a message of waste and greed associated with high fashion), it got all types of juices flowing in this head of mine.
This “reality show” was wildly down-to-earth. There were many valuable lessons in this particular episode. For example, when poor child turned super famous actor’s wife, Dina, explained that that one bag was some people’s (the average persons) salary for four years, or that it could support all the starving children in Malaysia for a year, I had to vent.
I mixed my last vodka cocktail, put the ceiling fan on high, (the reaction of vent blogging makes me hot and anxious), and decided that the last blog post before I turn 25 years-old, an age that will most likely throw me a nasty reality check, will be on the materialistic and superficial.
When does it stop? I mean, the constant Facebook uploads of mall purchases, excuse me, department store purchases; of boxes and bags and receipts and mirrors shots of name brands, of prices, of a wad of green bills stacked up with some pretentious “C.R.E.A.M.” related caption.
Do not get me wrong. When I buy a new dress I am the first person to snap a picture. I love the feeling of being feminine, and if I have not mentioned it before, I am a makeup addict. I love to shop for new eyeshadows and lipsticks, but I do not need to take a picture of the Nars box and post it on Facebook, Twitter and send a mass e-mail out to my entire contact book.
- If you have earned it because you work, or… save, then good for you. When the occasion calls for you to dress up, you are going to get that $50 dollar dress and make it work. You do not need some frilly $300 dollar one-night cocktail dress because the consignment shop had more options. Although, if you wanted to splurge and buy the cute BCBG number you will go ahead and do so because you worked for it. Throw in some matching heels and a clutch to boot. You have a sense of damn reality. The days when mom and dad fronted your ‘going out apparel’ are over.
I am so sick and tired of the whole name brand thing. Your clothes should reflect your personality. Wait, maybe that explains why every stuck up chica this side of New York City has a hard on for $1,200 Christian Louboutin heels they will only wear to the local bar. Blah.
- You are a traveler, an avid sports fan, a total foodie, a young adult with… bills! You have more important and practical things to do with your money. How could a girl without some socialite background try to ever pull one over on people via Facebook that they actually have everything; handbags and heels and a car that my parent’s could not afford after working their entire blue collar lives. What a slap in the face.
Am I being a jealous hater? You could say so. Honestly, in all serious honesty, with every respect to the concept of honesty… I just cannot fathom the thought processes of the people I call my “Facebook Friends,” of the young, ditzy girls I see during a regular mall visit with five bags too many from some unpronounceable store packed with the totally unnecessary.
I feel that my eyes are stained every time I check my social networks. I witness, on a daily basis, a total disregard for living life. People, young like I was, are wasting the best years of their lives trying to prove what they have to others, all the while trying to somehow prove themselves to…. well, themselves.
You’re a rich girl, and you’ve gone too far. Cause you know it don’t matter anyway. You can rely on the old man’s money. You can rely on the old man’s money. It’s a bitch girl, but it’s gone too far. Cause you know it don’t matter anyway. Say money, money won’t get you too far, get you too far.