Then Again, Maybe Not.

I would be a hypocrite if I said I didn't want to be filthy rich. I really want to be filthy rich. So rich that I can walk into the Cole Haan boutique on Bloor street (the part of Bloor referred to as "Canada's Rodeo Drive" by the Office of Making Toronto Look Good) and buy those 800$ boots that Liz Phair was advertising. That's how rich I want to be.

I went to this swank 'do in Yorkville this past week, and man, did I feel like somebody's country cousin. I tried to dress well and put on some nice, conservative-yet-funky make-up, but yet, I still felt that everyone could see that my pants were from three seasons ago and that my sweater was from Winners. It probably didn't help that when I walked in I stopped in front of the refreshment table and stared at it in silent awe.

I tried to look nonchalant about the refreshments. But something about that white tablecloth, the real cups and saucers and the assortment of tasty-looking butter cookies was entrancing. I'm used to Styrofoam cups and day-old muffins on a paper tablecloth. And, to my great surprise, there were no plastic pitchers filled with tasty Eau de Toronto water. In fact, there were no pitchers of water at all. Instead there were glass bottles of Evian water! And it was served to the guests in tall glasses. I almost started to giggle with glee! I felt like I was suddenly royalty! I was hanging out with the creme de la creme; the fancy people; the movers and shakers. I signed the guest book and threw my business card (with my name written by hand on it) into the card bowl. I tried to make small talk, but I kept staring at the real dark-wood trim in the room and the lovely plush armchairs.

It was fantastic. As I stood there talking to some publicist or another, with my glass of Evian water, pretending I belonged, I wanted that life. I wanted to always be surrounded by beautifully-mannered, well-dressed people. I wanted to be one of those women with the understated, but excellently-tailored and unique clothes. And I wanted those Cole Haan boots.

I went to say goodbye to everyone at the end of the 'do and left, fully intending to walk into the Cole Haan store and at least look at the books. But when I passed by the Cole Haan store, I suddenly felt inferior again. Here I was in my big ski jacket and floppy hat and I totally didn't look like the type of person who could walk into a store as classy as Cole Haan. But then I reasoned, "Why am I unworthy of walking into a store? Aren't I as human as all those people at that shindig? There's no sign that says, 'You must have this much money to walk in.' I'm going in." But just as I was about to walk in, this guy selling an Outreach Newspaper that helps the homeless and unemployed caught my eye. I ended up buying a newspaper off him and having a whole, long discussion with him. After that, I couldn't walk into the Cole Haan store.

In fact, after talking to this guy, I couldn't even look at most of the stores. I suddenly felt guilty for wanting luxury goods. But I still wanted oodles of cash. I wanted that cash so that I'd never end up on the street. I wanted to be rich so that I could donate a bit of money to build nice, social housing. But mostly, I wanted the money so that I'd be secure.

I was watching a show once where some singer-songwriter declared that she would never sell out. She wanted to stay poor. She liked being poor. Being poor rocked! I thought she was either delusional or not really poor. I'm not poor, but I'm not well-off. I hate being not well-off. I hate the roaches. I hate the budgeting. I hate the tiny apartment in the crappy part of town. And I hate my ancient clothes. If I were downright poor, like the guy who sold me the Outreach Newspaper, I don't think I'd like it much. I think I'd hate it, in fact. There is nothing cool about being poor. Even being not well-off sucks.

What I want is to be rich in a cool way. I'd like to be socially conscious rich. Not fantabulously rich, but rich enough to not have to worry about money, to live in a nice apartment (or house) and have nice clothes and have the means to pay for it all.

And that is why I really don't see a problem with selling out. But selling out is a topic for another day.