Taking back what's mine

I don't know if it was the holidays (yes, I know that was some time ago), or perhaps the recent writing competition, but the fever I had back in the fall for fashion and the gathering of clothing in a destruction, consumptive way has broken. Long since broken -- the past two and a half months have been about eliminating distractions (including fashion) and focusing on my career. All the extra pennies I have (or lack thereof since our dumbass government decided to get rid of them) have been earmarked for that.

Now, I'm not exactly at the stuffing-my-cash-into-my-mattress stage especially since what little bits of money I have mainly go towards repaying crushing student loans. But I am, more and more, turning my back on spending money on consumptive goods. I feel very much betrayed by this continent and its corporate agenda. I want my money, I don't want it to go into the pockets of some over-priced, under-qualified old dude who really doesn't need it.

As an explanatory example:

Really, now. How can this be a part of my life, my universe at all? Now, I've never owned a coach item of anything. Even back when close friends, family members, acquaintances of mine would insist that the thing to do would be to cross the border to obtain, at a lower price, such a coveted item, I would take one look at those Giant Logos and think, "now really, why would I pay hundreds of dollars to be someone company's advertising? They should be paying me to carry that logo around." But back then, I had some vague shadowy notion that the person or people behind these items that so many women that I know want so, so badly must be of the female persuasion. Right?

Wrong. What does some old guy worth multi millions know about my life and what I want? How could that corporation even fathom how to sell to me?

And although I seem to be singling out one company, the story is the same over and over again. So I make a decision. Let's put aside the fact that all these companies with ultra-rich old dudes at the helm sell things that are oh so bougie, and just say that until and unless the world at large decides that I am worth enough to make a living wage at my chosen profession, I hold my tiny income hostage. I will not participate in this constructed identity that you put before me and nudge me towards. If you want me to buy your silly crap then you'll have to give me a bunch of money first (and even then I'd really have to think about it. That stuff is devalued the moment you buy it).

Actually that makes it seem as though I have a price. The old cliche, everyone has a price. No thanks. Don't want your crap in my life. Who's with me?