The value of used

No one espouses the value of used more than my husband Rog,
who was heavily influenced by his grandfather, a depression-era kid who served
in World War II. The man never experienced a broken item he couldn’t fix, or a
new item he couldn’t get used.

“Why spend when you can save?” he drilled into Roger’s head. The man did his job well. This is a question Rog started asking me once we were married. It was annoying and produced a dozen years of arguing, but the truth can’t be denied: used items are functional, sometimes looking perfectly new and one doesn’t pay the premium.

The Shame Game

In the world of women, most, if not all I know take pride in using the word new. It’s means: I can afford it and I’m happy to say I paid full price. Men are the opposite. They will typically volunteer: I picked it up used, with an associated caveat (low miles, barely used). They mean: I’m smart, got a good deal, and therefore saved a ton of money (which means I’m really smart).

The philosophical divide between the sexes is Grand Canyon
in size. I can’t recall a time when I heard a woman say with pride: yeah! I got
it used. Not a purse, jacket, jewelry or car. It’s just not done. I was
recently at a dinner party where one woman noticed another driving a different
car.

“Is it new?” she asked with a tinge of envy. “I’ve always
wanted one.” The car in question was an Audi A7 which retails new for about
70K.

The respondent half-grimaced, half-smiled and answered, “It’s new to me.” (If you’ve never heard this phrase, you are saying, ‘no, it’s not new, but it is new to me.’)

“Oh,” the woman responded, as though she wanted to retract her original statement.

“Yeah, it’s a couple of years old,” explained the owner of the car, the luster of the new purchase fading. “My husband found it for me.”

In our modern-day world of putting the word shaming
before or after anything, we might just call this Used-Shaming. It may
not be intentional, but it happens ever so subtly. Having been there myself, I throw
the drowning woman a lifeline.

 “That’s awesome!” I said
enthusiastically. “What year is it?”

She looks at me, uncertain. I can see she wants to lie but
can’t. “2017” she answers.

“Great!” I continue, nodding. “You have the same body style
and your husband probably saved, what, 15-20 grand?” She agrees with a bit more
enthusiasm. “And he probably got the extended warranty, right?” Another nod, her
light that had dimmed growing brighter. “Just think, you can take that 15K and
go to Europe for a few weeks, or Bali! How awesome is that? Good for you!”

At this point, the woman is absolutely beaming, the implied
criticism of the used car turned to a positive. How did I know to do that? Easy.
I’ve had my own discomfort during the transition of only buying new items to purchasing
used wherever I can, the notion of saving to spend elsewhere—or simply to save—a
hard (and long) learned lesson which I want to share with others. My message is
this: stand up, say it out loud and with pride, not shame. In other words, own
it like a man. They are proud when they save money. Why should we as women any
different?

Growing up poor

Humility and shame are sisters who share the same bed, but depending
on what side you roll off of is what you’ll feel. One reason I argued with Rog
so much is because of how I was raised. My father always insisted on new versus
old. It wasn’t necessarily a warranty or quality thing. It was a point of pride
that he could purchase the new version. He’d worked hard, and by darn, he deserved
it and was going to spend it however he wanted.

For context, he grew upon a farm in Canada where the combine
was worth far more than the modest farmhouse. He’d started milking cows as soon
as he could grip and carry buckets, the 4 a.m. routing of waking continuing to
this very day at 83. Dad’s entire aim in life was to save enough to get off the
farm and into a better life. When he did so, he took great pride in the ability
to purchase a new car, shoes or whatever he desired.

This was passed along to us, the kids. Not once do I recall my father purchasing a used item until I left for home (or after). Cars, clothes, goods—it didn’t matter. In hindsight, the undercurrent value set was that used wasn’t good enough, and this is what I carried with me. As a consequence, I was never taught to even think about purchasing at consignment or entering a used car lot. It simply never occurred to me.

Enter the man

So it was that when Rog and I hooked up, our philosophies didn’t
match. Black and white, oil and water were silly comparisons. How about match
and kerosene? Nuclear explosions and black rain? While Rog contended that my
pride and ego overruled common sense, I argued that I’d worked hard and had the
money, so why not?

The first decade of our marriage was combustible; any
purchase over fifty bucks would light the flame then BOOM! Was it ever a wonder
we waited until year seven to consider having children? We could barely justify
the good times because the bad were so rocky. We both won and lost a few arguments,
and after a while, we settled into a livable pattern. Home appliances were
always purchased new, but machinery and some other items, used.

One sticking point was always cars. I’d always purchased new
cars for the warranty (and I like new cars, I’ll admit), and he’d purchase used
trucks. A perfect compromise. A decade later, we did an assessment, not unlike what
we’d conduct at business. My cars would invariably break down after the
warranty ended, requiring we continually flip the cars right before the
warranty expired, incurring new costs. Compare this to Rog’s used trucks which
ran almost flawlessly forever, warranty or not. At the end of a decade, we
looked at the bottom line: what we’d wasted (me) vs what we could have saved or
used elsewhere (Rog).

It was ugly.

I grumped. Pouted. Gnashed my teeth like Gollum but nothing
changed the reality that he’d been raised one way, me another and I was either
going to grow up in our relationship or I was going to grow out of it.

As I seriously ruminated about how I could still get my way,
I had a visual of my future state. How was I going to justify the divorce to my
family? It would go something like this: “Sorry, I just wasn’t willing to save
money where it made sense. Yeah, I liked him too. Oh well.”

 Yeah. You could see
who’s side they’d take on that one.

So, since my sister always says: “Give examples,” here are just
a few of the recent ones because this blog has already become an epistle.

The snowblower. Needing one not long after we moved
here, Rog gets on line, vomits at the four hundred price tag, but at my
insistence, buys it new “because of the warranty,” I tell him. Sound advice, I
contend. Just after the warranty goes out, it breaks. We go to fix it, learning
that to do so will cost nearly as much as the original. He’s livid.

“Now we do it my way,” Rog states. Given the amount of snow we receive, Rog decides to upgrade to the 3K version. He calls the dealer then heads straight for Craigslist, finding one for less than half retail. He drives to an “old man’s home” an hour away. It’s shiny. It’s red. It’s hardly been used. He tests it in the snow, pays the man and comes home with it. We’ve had it for three years, and it’s worked perfectly.

The home gym. When we downsized, the area for gym
equipment was half of the previous room. Rog did his research, finding the only
set that would work in our home is a Bio
Force, which is $2800 new. (As an aside, why do all home products seem to
have a price point of about 3 grand? Do the product marketers have data supporting
the notion that home owners think 5K is too high, but 2K is too low, thus
equating to cheap quality and no value? Or they just say: let’s split the
difference and call it good. But I digress).

Once again, Rog goes for Craigslist. Finds one in Montana owned
by an older couple who apparently used it a few times then called it quits. Four
hours and $1,200 later, it’s downstairs. Is it as robust and useful as the last
gym set we had? Nope, but it’s a third the size and 1/5 the price of the last
one as well, so a great deal.

The UTV. Back to the snow. After three years of
slogging it out on the push behind snow blower, Rog had upgraded to an ATV with
a plow (also purchased used, about half the price/perfect condition, and yes,
off Craigslist). As he toiled away on the ATV at 5 a.m. or at midnight in his
goggles and snow gear, I alternated between pride and guilt, thinking he should
at least be warm.

Enter the UTV with a “deck.” This is snow parlance for a big cab, upon which one can put “trax” on, stay warm and also manage a 60-inch snow blower in the front. New, the UTV (utility terrain vehicle) is $15K. For a visual, think a 4-door wherein the windows are modifiable (can be removed/come with soft sides, the doors and roof as well (e.g. also be removed). I consider it an upgraded 70’s like dune buggy but a lot more useful. (see the video clip…going alongside used car!)

Anyway, he finds one…where else? Craigslist. Once again, an older
man had used it for a year or two, placed it on-line but no takers. Rog showed
up, purchased it for $8 grand, and once he washed it, found it didn’t have a
single scratch. He’s convinced it didn’t sell because the man hadn’t bothered
to wash it. The deck (the 60” blade) he did have to purchase new with the warranty,
and I’m glad because it broke on the third use due to a manufacture issue. We’ve
had the replacement for two years and it’s run perfectly.

Oh, and just so we’re clear, it’s not just “useful” items we purchase used. My road bike was picked up at the dealer because the notion of paying sticker for a two-wheel vehicle I’m going to use only during the summer made me want to vomit! I have no guilt (or shame) about riding around on an 8-year old bike, and don’t really care when someone gives me that snide look when I tell them the year. I know their remark and how it’s said reveals their outlook on life, which is fine. It’s just one I no longer share.

The truck. My daughter threw down the negatory on inheriting
my car when she turns 15 (welcome to Idaho. The driving age is 15), and so we figured
we’d find a used Subaru which can handle the snow. Then we went to my parents
for Thanksgiving, and Rog noticed the parked truck in the driveway. It hadn’t
moved since we’d arrived. Rog inquires, and Dad tells him it hasn’t been
licensed or insured for six months. They don’t have a need. Rog casts me an eye,
I subtly nod, and he brings it up to my daughter.

“That would be awesome!” she says. It’s used, unassuming and useful, all three items which fit the needs of where we live (American cars are definitely preferred over foreign). It also requires a new hood as the current one has rusted areas, new tires and inside carpet. Rog will likely add a few items to the outside to make it a bit more durable for this area (what self-respecting truck doesn’t have a tow-hitch, I ask you?), but even with the additions, it’s a fraction of a new truck or even a used Subaru.

What we have sold

Baby room set. As our (my) thinking evolved, so did
our ability to share with others. I’d insisted on a brand-new baby room set. It
was gorgeous, well-made and spendy. After daughter number two outgrew the crib,
we put the crib, credenza/desk and bookshelf on Craigslist. A wonderful young
couple came to the house, overjoyed with tears and gratitude they would get the
entire set for a quarter of the cost. It was their first child and money was
tight. On a funny note, we’d loaded the furniture in their truck only to learn
they’d been locked out. Their little dog had gotten crazy in the front cab,
pushing its paws on the lock. They were out of money. They couldn’t get in
their car and the pregnant wife was near a meltdown. It was traumatically funny
in one of those this-only-happens-to-us moments. We paid for a locksmith to
come and help them out, money they surely could not have spent.  

The sink/stand. When we upgraded a bathroom, we had a
perfectly good trendy, beautiful and expensive single unit. Where’d we list it?
You guessed it, Craigslist. It cost us $2K, and we listed it for $200. It was
gone in an hour (as was the bedroom set mentioned above).

The oven. When we moved to our current home, we replaced
the all-in-one cooktop/oven. It was a commercial Electrolux, retail for about $3K
(the previous homeowner is an architect from Switzerland and he’d had it
imported). We sold it for $350 and it was picked up the same day it was listed.

Additionally, we have listed jet skis, a boat and other
equipment—sports and household—on craigslist and always sold an item within a
day. The tip and rule is this: if the item is competitively priced and in good
condition, it will get multiple offers and sell within a day or two. If it’s priced
too high (or is just plain odd) it won’t sell.

The transition for me wasn’t easy or fun, but it was financially sound. Once I removed my personal pride/ego and perspective from the equation, the process turned transaction. It’s a thing, I want said thing at the best price. Instead of thinking: I want it new, I began thinking of all the things I can do with the money I saved, like going on a trip. B.R. (Before Roger) I just did both. Roger was never and still isn’t a “do-both” type of guy. He’s always been: it’s one or the other. His familial DNA included creating priorities and making choices. Never once did the “having-it-all” phrase enter his vocabulary.

A country in on the financial edge

According multiple
sources, 41% of adults in the US have less than $500 in savings. That means
living paycheck to paycheck. Another statistic I hear constantly on Bloomberg
is that the average household purchase for less than $5,000 is put on a credit
card. Consumer debt is not 7% above where it was in 2007, just before the
crash. All that means a balance sheet which encourages us all to spend less and
save more wherever we can.

Not everyone lives or spends like the Kardashians with Bentley’s
and twenty-foot trees that take four helpers to put up. And in fact, if you
could, would you really do that? Wouldn’t it be more fun to put up your own
tree and create memories with your family and not have to worry about getting car-jacked
as you drive down the street, and heaven forbid, get a ding while grocery
shopping? (Oh wait, you may not buy your own groceries if you have that kind of
coin).

I have long since stopped caring what others thing of what I
spend and how I spend it. The biggest example of this was moving. We consciously
made the decision to downsize when we didn’t have to. We sold our old home for
one price and paid cash for one half the size in a state with very low taxes, with
the cost of school tuition less than half, and of course the most important factor
for me, the price of chocolate dropped from $4.83 to $2.75. Now that’s good
living.

The tables have turned Rog as well. Now I’m the one showing
him how I waited until five days before Christmas to get a great deal, and just
last night, I tell him I decided to wait another two weeks to get my hair done between
coloring because that’s another $1,200 in the bank on an annualized basis. I’m
rightly proud, expecting him to applaud my thought process and maturity.

“No, it’s not,” he retorted, staring hard at me. “I know what
you’re thinking.”

 “You’re right,” I
smirked, knowing I’d been caught. “That’s another week in Europe.”

For all my intentions and efforts, I too have a trade-off
equation I apply to nearly every decision involving money. This-for-that.
Sometimes it’s savings. Sometimes is spending. But at least I’m thinking of it consciously,
and with intent, which is not something I was taught, but had to learn over.
And over. And over. Now I’m a believer in financial frugality that Dave Ramsey followers seem to have; a
zeal that encourages me to stand up be one of the few who proudly state used is
good, savings are better and travel is the best. I guess I still have a little
room to grow.