MONEY, MONEY, MONEY
A friend told me a story the other day about how she had tried to engage a decorator for her new big-time apartment. When she said that she had about $40,000 to spend, the woman had the nerve to scoff, “Well, maybe I can get you a rug for that.” Sure, we all can figure out what she was trying to achieve with that off-the-cuff, hire-me-and-you’ve-arrived attitude – that psychology of exclusivity certainly worked for Bernard Madoff – but I felt compelled to make this little tale work in a diversity context. It wasn’t so much the decorator’s sheer snobbery that bothered me, but rather the thought of how often comments like that are made in regular conversations, with little consideration of a person’s true financial circumstances.
I learned a valuable lesson a hundred years ago, when I was in the ninth grade and the only girl of color in my class. A group was sitting around at lunchtime, discussing the merits of the various Southern California department stores where our parents bought our clothes. Some of you will remember the names: Bullock’s, I Magnin’s, and the old Robinson’s, before it merged with May. Nordstrom’s and Neiman-Marcus had not yet made their way to LA, but we did have the Beverly Hills outposts of Saks and Bonwit Teller, which made the list, as well. One girl, who always seemed a bit odd and normally wasn’t much of a talker, piped up and said, “K-mart has some pretty nice clothes.” We all stared at her, stunned into silence and not sure how to respond. Like many middle class African American mothers, determined to have their children look the part, mine made sure that we shopped only in the high-end stores, where just ten years before blacks were not to be seen. Having made it to the “big time,” we just didn’t go to K-mart, Sears, or JC Penney. Deeply embarrassed by my ignorance, though, I acquired a particular sensitivity to socio-economic diversity that has remained strong over the years. And of course now, I simply don’t know what I’d do without Target and the 99-cent stores that thrive on every block in my neighborhood.
There’s an episode of that silly Kim Possible show in which the title character makes a point, repeatedly, of making fun of discount stores and the people who shop in them. It was the first and only time I watched the program, and for nearly a half hour, I waited with my daughter for a lesson like the one I had. It didn’t come. In the end, the only thing a child could take away was the idea that if you did find yourself in such a store, perhaps something worthwhile could come of it. I had to fill in the blanks for my daughter.
In the face of such obvious affluence in and around independent schools – big cars at drop-off, mothers in tennis togs, lavish birthday parties, and all the talk of summer homes – it is easy for the wealthy to forget that not everyone is like them, and that in fact, many people make tremendous sacrifices to pay the tuition bills and others simply receive financial aid. (Of course, there’s this recurrent assumption that all people of color are poor and thus fall into the latter category, but I’ll save that for another time.) For some, much as it was for the decorator, it’s important to make a show of how much they have. Think people! Especially in these trying times, we can all use a dose of sensitivity, not to mention a trip to K-mart.
Oh, and HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
I learned a valuable lesson a hundred years ago, when I was in the ninth grade and the only girl of color in my class. A group was sitting around at lunchtime, discussing the merits of the various Southern California department stores where our parents bought our clothes. Some of you will remember the names: Bullock’s, I Magnin’s, and the old Robinson’s, before it merged with May. Nordstrom’s and Neiman-Marcus had not yet made their way to LA, but we did have the Beverly Hills outposts of Saks and Bonwit Teller, which made the list, as well. One girl, who always seemed a bit odd and normally wasn’t much of a talker, piped up and said, “K-mart has some pretty nice clothes.” We all stared at her, stunned into silence and not sure how to respond. Like many middle class African American mothers, determined to have their children look the part, mine made sure that we shopped only in the high-end stores, where just ten years before blacks were not to be seen. Having made it to the “big time,” we just didn’t go to K-mart, Sears, or JC Penney. Deeply embarrassed by my ignorance, though, I acquired a particular sensitivity to socio-economic diversity that has remained strong over the years. And of course now, I simply don’t know what I’d do without Target and the 99-cent stores that thrive on every block in my neighborhood.
There’s an episode of that silly Kim Possible show in which the title character makes a point, repeatedly, of making fun of discount stores and the people who shop in them. It was the first and only time I watched the program, and for nearly a half hour, I waited with my daughter for a lesson like the one I had. It didn’t come. In the end, the only thing a child could take away was the idea that if you did find yourself in such a store, perhaps something worthwhile could come of it. I had to fill in the blanks for my daughter.
In the face of such obvious affluence in and around independent schools – big cars at drop-off, mothers in tennis togs, lavish birthday parties, and all the talk of summer homes – it is easy for the wealthy to forget that not everyone is like them, and that in fact, many people make tremendous sacrifices to pay the tuition bills and others simply receive financial aid. (Of course, there’s this recurrent assumption that all people of color are poor and thus fall into the latter category, but I’ll save that for another time.) For some, much as it was for the decorator, it’s important to make a show of how much they have. Think people! Especially in these trying times, we can all use a dose of sensitivity, not to mention a trip to K-mart.
Oh, and HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
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