Woe is capitalism

I have become (quite freakishly) a consumer. And I tell you, becoming a consumer after years of skimping and hating consumers is a lot more stressful than becoming a consumer directly after entering adulthood as a natural result of a soulless capitalistic upbringing and the miracle of credit cards. It's more stressful because years of hating consumers now translates into years of mislead poverty and a desire to buy satchels that you imagine Sylvia Plath would buy.

I cannot help myself. I suppose it is disgusting (and probably just plain wrong) to imply that I am flush with dollars, but by my own very diminished standards am well set. Thus are the compensations for selling your soul to corporate America for the bounty of a cubicle and a salary. (To be clear, I am still most securely in the lower middle class bracket, it just so happens that I was whatever half of lower middle class is before.)

I conferred with my domestic-pal about this in a worried way. When we first started hanging around I was very broke, and dressed for most dates in my best (only) black sweater and the cloth Mary-Janes that I purchased online and realized too late smelled like the sweatshop they undoubtedly hailed from. I was concerned that he might think that I was being corrupted by relative success, and that maybe he liked when I only had 5 main shirts to rotate through.

Though he has assured me otherwise, I still worry about myself as a consumer. People might think that I am trying to be "fancy" a lifelong fear of mine.

Also I worry that I am mercenary for being so concerned over money. Last time I checked, mercenaries went out of style with pirates (aka whenever kiddies started loving whatever it is they love now).