The Cost of Almost

I used to think I was saving money.  Turns out I was just buying things twice, once cheap and once right. The items I was "saving" money on were the same ones quietly migrating to the back of my closet. I stopped buying the almost right blazer.  The slightly off fitting blouse. The fabric that looked convincing under flourescent lights but felt different at 8 a.m. on a workday. If I don't feel composed wearing it, I won't wear it.

My skincare routine used to resemble a rotation schedule.  Serums layered on toners layered on trends.  Milky toners.  Essence mists. The promise of glass skin in six steps. I wasn't glowing, I was just busy. Instead of layering products on my skin I chose one effective serum and one quality moisturizer. That's it. This doesn't mean sacrificing self care, it's being itentional with the products I use.  I invest in tools that serve a purpose, like a quality red light mask. 

I once convinced myself I was saving $100 by purchasing a structured tote on Amazon that mimicked the silhouette of the Poppy & Peonies Daily Tone.  The structure was there.  The quality was not. The $100 I "saved" is sitting in my closed because I can't bring myself to carry it into the office. The cost of almost is higher than the cost of quality.

My current dilemma: The Lululemon City Essentials Bag. Is $168 an excessive amount to spend on a gym bag, or is it a tool that removes daily friction? I wake up at 4 a.m. to get to the gym every other day.  That routine deserves equipment that supports it. 

Discernment is not deprivation, it's refinement. It's recognizing that what we allow into our closets, onto our skin, and into our routines is just as powerful as what we choose to leave out.  

Almost right costs more than you think. In money. In space. In the quiet weight of things that don't quite fit.