Considering cost per joy

I spent my childhood in the countryside and my parents are keen gardeners. So when I was growing up there were always flowers around and flowers didn’t cost money. Occasionally, a guest would bring my mother a bouquet and she would treat this like a huge indulgence. I have memories too of her tutting at the price of cut flowers. She obviously thought is was wasteful to spend on something that was going to die in a few short days.

As an adult I carried this inherited attitude for years. As a reaction to my extremely frugal childhood, I sometimes overspent on clothes and shoes, cocktails and meals out, club entries and gig tickets and, of course, the much reviled “fancy coffees”. I didn’t buy myself flowers.

Sometimes a romantic partner would buy me flowers and I would be overwhelmed and almost resistant. It seemed an extraordinary act. Over time this feeling lessened but it never disappeared. If someone else wanted to throw silly money at flowers for me then that was their choice. To buy my own would be ridiculous. I was someone who would unthinkingly spend £35 on a forgettable lunch, but wouldn’t pay £10 for a bouquet that would make me smile for a week.

I remember the moment I realised how foolish this was. My then boyfriend, now husband, and I had braved drizzly weather and gone to Columbia Road Flower Market for a Sunday afternoon out*. I had chosen an array of blooms and foliage; some scented, some merely elegantly shaped. I was clutching them against my chest, almost up to my face, as a I walked to the train home. My mind was on which vase would suit them best for arranging.

I love London, but grey streets under grey skies can bring you down. Having this armful of living colour with me brought me so much joy. As a noticed my joy, I had a flash of insight. The flowers had cost the same amount as the tea and cake for two we had bought in a chichi independent café at one end of the market. I hadn’t thought twice about the refreshments. I was revelling in my flowers.

That was a defining moment in how I think about my non-essential spending. It stopped just being about whether something was cheap or expensive within its category of expenses (food, event tickets, clothing and accessories etc). I started to compare across categories and to think about how much joy each purchase would bring me for the price. This changed my appreciation of value and means I spend more wisely and get more from my purchases of all kinds.

I’m still more likely to buy coffee than flowers, because catching up with a friend is joyful too. (More than ever after months of lockdown.) However, I no longer rule out a whole type of spending without considering it first, and I suggest you don’t either.

Did this blog post make you think? You will probably enjoy the episode of my podcast, Squanderlust, where we talked about ‘mental accounting’ and the weird tricks our minds play on us about prices. Listen here.

*For those not in the know, Columbia Road stall-holders discount their plants and flowers after about 1pm, so they can pack up and leave with minimal waste.