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Dany Levy

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Posted Wednesday, June 20, 2001, at 9:00 PM ET

How Much for That Tomato in the Window?

I am striding across 14th Street when I spot the sign.

88 cents.

My heart flutters.

Bounty paper towel.

Now, maybe I spent too many hours dangling alongside my mother at the supermarket, but I know that's a damn good price for paper towel. Admittedly, I am also probably sale-goggling. (I've been nagging myself to get paper towel for days.) And why, this—of all things—is what I find riveting on a sticky afternoon when I should be out "trend-hunting," is another issue altogether. Oh, you petty girl! But two-ply, 1,000 sheets per roll? 88 cents? This moves me. Profoundly. More so than any silly old flip-flop; slinky, studded belt; or new $15 Euro-magazine that might be considered DailyCandy "material." More than the new souped-up silver Canon Elph camera, the $90 bra in the window at La Petite Coquette, or the latest $100 miracle cream the derma-divas are using.

So, into 99-Cent City I trot, only to leave, arms brimming with 10 rolls of paper towel, three packets of 99-cent ladies' black sheer knee-highs (3 pair per pack: score!), and a couple of bottles of 99-cent "Fabulous" kitchen cleaner. (No, not Fantastik; Fabulous, its bargain sister.) Yes, I may write about all things glam, but I have always had this cheap tic. People might consider me the consumer-queen, the product-dynamo, the bionic-shopper, the wearer of Manolos (or whatever shoes are the designated $400 must-haves of the season), but today paper towel is what has me a-twitter.

Don't get me wrong: I spend. I am highly consumptive. I write about the crap daily, so that much you may have guessed. Dinner last night: $53 bucks—spent with a dear, unemployed shop-a-holic friend who responds to the "what do you do?" question with a sarcastic, "I'm in acquisitions." My bargain forays amuse her.

And while athletically cheap, I've always had my rules. For example, buying anything perishable at the 99-cent store is absolutely verboten (any well-versed skinflint knows the stuff has long outlived its expiration date). Clothing made from flammable material upsets me. Try to charge me for a side of tomato with a sandwich, and I'll argue the check to the end. I will.

Then again, I go out to dinner most every night, which is not exactly a frugal habit. But I'll never spend more than five bucks on lunch. (Hence the tomato argument.) Some more rules: At the priced-per-ounce salad bar I get my dressing on the side because otherwise it adds to the weight of the salad. I notice which places will refill your coffee cup for free, and those are the places I frequent. It annoys me that basil at the local fruit stand comes in $3 bunches robust enough to supply The Olive Garden for a week. I have a well-curated collection of coupons tacked up on my fridge. And each morning I leave my local Starbucks with my pockets brimming with tiny blue packets of Equal. (If they can charge me $3.25 for a lousy cappuccino, I consider them mine.)

And—my favorite tip from my grandmother—adding water to my dish soap to make it last longer.

So, I spent the afternoon foraging at Daffy's, when—wait!—wasn't I supposed to be at Bergdorf Goodman, eyeing ticker-stripe suits, silk thongs, and Lily Pulitzer bags? Instead I was scouting the racks at Macy's, mourning the death of the Ten Dollar clothing store on my corner, and, at the end of the day, walked out of a deli when the man behind the counter commanded $2.25 for a Snapple.

It's pretty much a joke between my friends and me. An ex-boyfriend once offered to deposit $300 into my checking account if I'd promise to stop buying 59-cent rolls of single-ply toilet paper. The ongoing game I play with my dry cleaner is trying to save a couple dollars by insisting that my short dresses are shirts.

I can stomach dropping 50 bucks on dinner when I've spent a very reasonable $2 on a bagel-with-cream-cheese-and-tomato (there's that darn tomato again!) lunch. (Reasonable financially at least: I make no nutritional claims to wisdom here. I had my Vitamin C; I won the tomato dispute.) And one thing is clear: I'm not alone. You too would get a kick out of listening to the ladies-who-nibble at E.A.T. talking in hushed tones about the $9.99 orchids at Kmart. Oh, how the Madison Avenue florist would have their necks!

Get over myself? Sure. I'll say it before you can. But before anyone starts knocking my ability to rack up an impressive AmEx bill, they can just ask me the price difference between Scott Towels and Bounty. And I'll tell them 33 cents, at least in my neck of the woods. Kitten heels at Saks? Yours for the taking, honey. I'm in my 1989 Stan Smiths, and they're doing me fine. Make of it what you will. I'll forever be famous for my ability to forage in the bargain bin and my love of taking the bus, even if it is on a trip to get an overpriced pair of panties.

And if that tomato at the coffee shop was free-range, well, we can discuss.

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Posted Wednesday, June 20, 2001, at 9:00 PM ET
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Dany Levy is the founder and president of www.dailycandy.com, a daily e-mail newsletter focusing on urban trends and style.
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