Tales Of A Reluctant Trophy Wife

I didn't need all that money for my wardrobe, I told him playfully. Who in their right mind spends $700 on shoes? Apparently, now I did. I bought my first pair of red-soled Louboutins half-off —with my savings. Even though David had given me a budget, I felt uncomfortable about buying things with his money.

The next week, we went to a party, and David's friends' wives raved about those shoes. "Stunning!" they exclaimed; I was hooked. The next pair came more easily. Why not use my new platinum card? Chanel flats, Louboutin peep toe pumps, and Tod's boots followed. I bought Herve Leger dresses and ate the Madison salad at Fred's daily with my married friends. My guilt had vanished. Shopping was not as shallow as I thought; I had never owned things that I actually cared about before, and it felt good.

A few weeks later David held up the AmEx bill with disbelief. "Do you even know how much money you spent this month?" he asked. I didn't. The bill was close to $20,000, and I was mortified. When and how had I become so superficial?

I had bought the new clothes in anticipation of spending Passover with David's family in Florida, worried that all the girls would be more dressed up, that I wouldn't fit in. But seeing tha bill, and realizing I had blown through a budget I once deemed outrageous, brought me crashing back to earth: I promptly returned everything that still had tags. That day, I joked to David that I had "made" $1,000. It was the only money I was bringing in; I had quit my job six months into my marriage to pursue my writing.

In the meantime, I realized I had gone hogwild with my newfound spending power. I felt guilty that my family was still struggling while I was living the high life so carelessly. I canceled my blowout appointments, reclaiming my curly hair. It was a first tentative step. I was trying desperately to find a middle ground between the scruffy student I had been and the shopaholic trophy wife I had become.

My friends are still shocked by how much I've changed: my more polished appearance, the fact that I know Bergdorf salespeople by name, my love of domestic life. I think they miss the crowd-surfing, dreadlocked Nicole. But then I remember I'm happier this way. Somewhere along the line, I grew comfortable with my new life.

From the beginning, I’d loved the whiff of stability being with David seemed to promise.

Before him, my life was as messy as I was. Dating and marrying an older, more established man was just what I needed to grow into myself—though that doesn't mean I always recognize her. 

Last week he took me to a Prada sale, where I spotted a raincoat I liked. "Do you need it?" he asked. "What's need?" I replied with a smirk.