Hustling Over Budgeting

by Rachel Masters

I can remember obsessing about money at an early age. In my 7-year-old brain, few things were more satisfying than walking into the local Dollar Tree like a boss and buying Sour Patch Kids without parental consent. Being a December baby, I would anxiously count down to the moment every year when my grandfather would dole out a stack of dollar bills to me. My stack was always thicker than my cousins’ and sister’s pile due to the joint Birthday/Christmas inflation rate.

After the chaos of gift unwrapping was over I would carefully count out the crisp $5 bills in a manic Scrooge McDuck-ian fashion on the pink desk in my room. My parents weren’t the types to hand out money a lot and I was the little sibling so the classic babysitting gig was never afforded to me. I began thinking of ways to get paid without a birthday, for Jesus or otherwise, being the caveat for attaining funds. I remember reading in American Girl magazine how young female entrepreneurs were setting up their own pet grooming or lip gloss making businesses and I was determined to join their ranks.

I noticed a trend at my elementary school of girls buying stickers and scented erasers at the school’s bookstore and knew immediately what my angle would be. My mom and I would frequent a discount store when she drove my older sister to music lessons. I noticed the same holographic animal stickers and stack-able scented erasers at a fraction of the price at the bookstore. I got my mom to buy me the supplies, I knew a low startup cost and early investors were key to making a profit so I used my best bargaining tactics. I set up shop in my pencil case the next morning and “Stickers n’ More” was born.

I ran this black market operation for a week or two from inside my desk. My second grade classmates flocked to my sparkly animal stickers and neon erasers. I collected their leftover lunch change and felt an arrogant satisfaction that I was getting one over on “the man.” The kids that worked at the bookstore in the morning were chumps, I thought. They worked for free and I was making money that would eventually turn into a Spice Girls CD. I was already thinking of expanding my product mix to help my friend sell her beaded lizard key chains.

Like many start-ups, my initial boom was short lived. Someone squealed about my operation and “Stickers n’ More” was seized by my teacher who deemed it a “distraction.” I still kept the money (I don’t think she knew it was a for-profit business) and added it to my dwindling birthday stash.

After that point I was hooked. The sense of power making money gave me was unparalleled. I helped my mom with garage sales and manned my own table of Barbie dolls and tried my best to up sell. I continued with small ventures all under parental guidance throughout my elementary school years but the real magic started when I was in my teens.

Back in the early aughts, online shopping was a new frontier and some websites still required mailing money orders as payment. The Wild West feel of it all was what drew me in. I used my mom’s information to sign up for an Ebay and Paypal account since I wasn’t yet old enough for my own debit card. My mom thought she would be using it for selling antiques, but she never seemed to have the dedication to price, post, and monitor her merchandise like I did.

I did more buying than selling at first; bidding on synthetic rainbow pigtail extensions, PVC boots, and funereal style gowns to add to my then uber-goth wardrobe. I got my first job at 16 and that was when my E-commerce lifestyle took full swing. My bi-weekly paycheck was spent in-full on imported Japanese clothing. I soon realized with the sheer cost of air shipment across the Pacific, my hobby wasn’t sustainable. I began parting with some of my past pieces that no longer excited me and used the money towards new sartorial objects. I sold on Ebay and on a J-rock specific Livejournal community. Livejournal seemed to be the most effective; target marketing to fellow weirdos was key.

Being scrappy is my jam. I don’t call myself frugal because that to me entails sacrifice and I don’t adhere to the mantra of the miser, nor would I call myself a “shopaholic” because that entails frivolity and a lack of control. “Scrappy” feels fitting. I like nice things, but I am really bad at budgets. Shopping is a strategic sport to me. I add and deduct funds in my head. I calculate resale value and research competitive prices and styles. I make sure I’m getting the best price and the best value.

I’ve moved away from most of my online retailing ventures for now. I’m gainfully employed at a salaried 9-to-5 job, but my disposable income still falls short of my desires. On my salary I buy crappy take-out food and throw-away Zara jeans. I save my hustle money for Italian leather handbags and wine that doesn’t have arsenic in it. With my meager side income I can be the grown-up I’ve always envisioned when I was a kid: a sophisticated city lady with a taste for the finer things.

The number of money management apps I’ve used, the amount of Excel budget sheets I’ve scrapped, and parental advice I’ve ignored is staggering. In a rational sense, I get it. Saving money is what you’re supposed to do, just in case, and for, you know, the future? But as many of us experience when living in large, expensive cities (like New York), more than half of my regular pay check goes straight to my landlord. I’m lucky enough to be able to cover my rent, utilities, food, and doctor co-pays, but aside from that, what’s the point? Why just survive when there’s the option to make your hobby profitable?

I still dabble in personal online retailing, but recently dipped into another creative venture I’ve loved since childhood. I started freelance writing for a couple extra fashion dollars in my pocket and so far I like it. Part of me feels like business is in my blood and thinks I should actually start something legit, but running a real startup is a far cry from selling stickers or pitching weird personal essays. If I should be so lucky to land a job where I can travel as much as I’d like to and be able to rent an apartment that doesn’t require me to cram 50 percent of my belongings under my bed, I still don’t think I’ll stop looking for ways to make a few extra sheckles on the side. I knew it in second grade and I definitely know it now: Money is power and hustling is the only way to get it.

Rachel Masters lives in Brooklyn and only socializes with her Shar-pei. Her work has appeared in xoJane and The Untitled Magazine. She also blogs about vintage clothing at Morphew Concept.

Photo: Steven DePolo

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