Every item I was wearing was prohibitively expensive for the average person. Albeit I had paid for everything myself. Since I now work and consider myself an adult, I will not accept money from my amazing parents under any circumstances. But of course, unlike most people I have the luxury of living at home and not having to worry about where my next meal is coming from.
However, at this moment, I felt a little ashamed. I thought about all the things I love; all the things that make me care-bear warm and happy. And I knew that they weren't things at all, but family, friends, ideas, aspirations, work, discovering new places.
If I didn't have my Hermes bags, a closet full of Louboutins, Chanel tweeds and more fine jewellery than fingers and toes doubled, I would not feel any poorer. Nor would I be unhappier in any way.
One of the things about living in an era of unparalleled consumption and consumerism is that we are taught to crave things we don't need and that will never bring us fulfilment. We grow up competing for the best jobs, the most pay, all in pursuit of that illusive ideal that the more we have, the better we feel.
Don't get me wrong. Nice things do make you happy. But its the sort of transient happiness you feel after eating a KFC family bucket, not the sort of quiet contentment that comes from watching a fiery sunset over the sea, or lying on freshly cut grass looking up at an azure sky, or talking to someone you love and them just totally getting it.
And whilst I won't be heading for the Taktshang monastery anytime soon and I hope to curb my wicked way at least a little, to do more things that excite and inspire me and to spend less of my income on meaningless crap I don't need.