3 Keepers and a Regret is a recurring series on Retail Therapy on Substack where I ask people I admire to name 3 things they’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen — and 1 thing they regret.

Radio and I like to listen to podcasts when we walk. My picks are like a can of mixed nuts: business news, AI updates, writing tips, fashion and humor. It’s not always clear how it all goes together, but it’s the right mashup for my brain, with the occasional raisin. Duds get deleted. And not just that episode, the entire show. with has been in my rotation the longest.

After writing fiction, Ronit tried hard to resist, but ultimately pivoted to memoir. Guess she couldn’t ignore the allure of the truth. She sticks because she gives good interview. In my book it means actually allowing her guests to talk. Too many of the biggest podcasters get that wrong and refuse to shut up. Luckily that’s something I’ve never been accused of.

When I learned Ronit was teaching a workshop in Texas, I signed up without even really knowing where I was going or why. This was easy: I didn’t have to pay to fly anywhere and I could just jump in the car and drive. Which meant I didn’t have to think about packing – my space was unlimited. It didn’t matter that I had never heard of Archer City, which was put on the map as the home of writer Larry McMurtry.

Three Keepers

3 things you’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen

No. 1 — Rebecca Minkoff wool biker jacket

My first keeper is this Rebecca Minkoff wool biker jacket I got at Rue La La maybe 10 years ago for about $130. It was a gamble because it was final sale. I wasn't sure what size to get or if it would be flattering on me but I love it and am so happy I took the chance. I appreciate its sharp lines and how the structure in this piece makes me feel more finished when I go out even if I'm wearing something pretty basic underneath. I'm also pleased that I found a flattering biker jacket made of fabric and not leather. I don't own leather pants, tops, or jackets, and while I'm a pescatarian not a vegan, I try to keep the animal products to a minimum.

No. 2 — confidence-boosting denim jacket

My second keeper is a denim jacket that is about 16 years old now. I bought it with the guidance of a well-dressed and very sweet college-aged salesperson at Nordstrom when my kids were very young. I'd never had a denim jacket before and wasn't sure I could pull one off. I love them on other people but I felt like because I'd never owned one and I'd waited so long — I was already a mother of two for goodness sakes — it was probably too late for me. I know it might sound funny but I worried I would feel self-conscious. This young woman who helped me that day at Nordstrom pulled a bunch of things for me to try that I wouldn't have otherwise thought could be a good match for me. I ended up with a few new items and she helped give me the confidence to break out of the past-my-prime view of myself I had.

No. 3 — $90 necklace I couldn’t afford

When I was 22 and auditioning in the City I got cast in my first indie film that was scheduled to shoot in Maryland that summer. I was playing the best friend of the lead who was also the sister of her love interest in the movie. We got along really well and are still friends all these years later. One day when we were off from shooting the three of us went into a thrift store and I found this necklace which I loved as soon as I saw. I believe it’s garnet and it was $90 at the time. Though I wasn’t being paid for my role in the movie and as a kind-of-out-of-work actor couldn’t justify the purchase, I bought it. I ended up wearing it in a party scene we filmed for the movie and wore it to many parties back in NY. All these years later, I still have the necklace and it reminds me of that younger version of myself. I’m still impressed that during that financially insecure time I was willing to fork over the money to snap up this pretty bauble.

One Regret

now the regret

My regret is that I didn't also buy the bracelet that came with this garnet necklace. At the time it felt irresponsible and maybe it would have been, but I've wished for years that I had bought the bracelet too. I know I had no business buying jewelry while living as a telemarketing actor and not being paid for my role in the movie we were filming but another $40 wasn't so much more and then I'd have a sweet set.

Thank you so much for inviting me to do this, Rani. It was a fun trip down memory lane and a reminder to get this vintage necklace fixed.

Why I’m Still Shopping

Before Archer City, I only knew Ronit as one of the voices in my head when Radio and I walked. She’s taller than I expected and she kept popping up in purple, which is a color I’m currently obsessed with. And she works on her sofa, surrounded by her five dogs. But she did let us know, “I do have a desk.”

We’ve all dealt with that doubt that we can pull off a look or embrace a trend. So cheers to the woman who helped Ronit realize – we all need a denim jacket. I definitely don’t prioritize the things that will make me feel better: like getting clothes altered and shoes fixed. Ronit said doing 3 Keepers was her reminder to get the necklace fixed. So I look forward to tuning into a future podcast of Ronit’s and seeing her wearing her garnet necklace. Her empty wrist will be a good reminder of my own regrets.

We’ve broken bread together IRL, and I can confirm Ronit is a pescatarian. And she was the one who ordered appetizers for the table during our visit to Dairy Queen. That’s right. We hit up the DQ in Archer City because that’s where Larry McMurtry drank lime Dr Pepper, read Walter Benjamin and named a book after it: Walter Benjamin at the Dairy Queen. In case you’re wondering, yes. Blizzards are still delicious.

Thanks to of

When life stops making sense, we shop write. More soon.

Rani Monson

A few of several writers who have shared their 3 Keepers

A week ago, I was shopping at Costco and it hit me. This would be my last in-person visit of the year. You could already feel it, see it and hear it. Halloween blinking mixed with Christmas tinsel and trees. Tall carts of seasonal mums stuck in odd spots. Outdoor patio furniture snaked through it all, providing a seat for someone to browse their phone. The holiday insanity was already underway.

Sure, the samples were ample — they knew we were coming. Low blood sugar took over my brain and I grabbed the two Oreos with orange cream handed my way, inhaling them.

“Damn, Oreos are delicious. When was the last time I had one?”

This isn’t common. Typically Instacart does our Costco runs. And they want me to pay an extra $79 — to charge me more.

We shop Costco often. At least twice a month, but more if I’m honest. When we need milk and bananas, might as well get blueberries. Dish soap is on sale and soon we’ll need dishwasher detergent. I add both. It’s easy to hit $35 for free delivery. It’s less annoying than going to the grocery store and definitely less expensive.

It’s worth noting I’ve come full-circle on Costco. When Gary and I started dating a decade ago, I laughed.

“What’s a single, middle-age guy without kids needing a Costco card for?”

Now I’m the Costco addict, something that’s taken me a long time to admit. To myself.

It might have been in Maui, again laughing that we were at Costco, when I started to realize I was hooked. We ended up with a spoiled salad and I went in to return it. But I couldn’t because I didn’t have my own Costco card.

I had a meltdown in the parking lot, telling Gary that obviously he wasn’t committed to our relationship since I didn’t have my own Costco card.

Our Costco cart has continued to grow since we got Radio, our doodle dog, during Covid.

Through lots of doctors, specialists and dozens of dog food trials, we end up at an eastern medicine doctor who advised us to start cooking Radio’s food. A 32-quart batch that Gary makes every few weeks for our 54-pound child.

Pork loin, ground turkey, bone broth and fresh veggies. Yes, many days Radio eats way better than we do. And to think, I was the one who judged people for introducing their toddlers to sushi.

Should we try Instacart+?

Over the past few months, the “ads” for Instacart+ started to show up; I ignored them.

Gary was placing an order and he brought it up. “What’s this plus? Should we try it?”

Here’s the difference between Gary and me: he thinks it made sense to get the extended warranty on my Subaru. I think we wasted $10K.

Trial underway, I did get a bit tickled to see the prices drop a few pennies on the first few orders.

But here’s the thing. You can’t actually “see” how much it’s saving you. There is nothing while you build your cart or at checkout – or even after your delivery – that shows how much + saved you.

You do see a “savings” number at the bottom of the receipt, but that’s just the amount items were discounted added up.

Gary forwarded me the email alerting me our trial was ending. I got curious. I could see some prices drop, so I believed we were saving money. But I wanted to know how much, and whether it was enough to offset the annual $79 + fee.

A few orders went by, and now we have until Tuesday to decide if we keep + or cancel it.

Should I mention I used to be a reporter? And I’m sorta suspicious in general.

I assumed AI would be able to do its thing and quickly come back and tell me it made sense to keep plus; because of course we’re saving money. That’s the American way!

What $79 Actually Buys

Here’s what the marketing for Instacart+ promises: “Instacart+ members get lower item pricing on every delivery order over $35 at Costco Same-Day as compared to non-Instacart+ members.”

But the more digging we both did, the less clear it was where the savings were. The 62-page terms and conditions document, last updated May 7, 2026, promises one core benefit: a waived delivery fee. But delivery is already free at Costco on $35+ orders.

So I’m going to repeat this, because it doesn’t make sense. The only promise in the $79 contract is what I was already getting for free.

Lower prices fall under “additional perks” which are “not guaranteed, may vary by user, and may be modified or ended at any time.”

Same Cart, Different Prices

Before we go further, let me remind you of the Dec. 2025 work from Consumer Reports and Groundwork, which could be that nag you’re feeling at the back of your memory. The report found Instacart showing different shoppers different prices for the same items. A follow-up test found evidence of the same price experiments at Costco. Costco didn’t respond to the researchers. Instacart said it stopped.

Claude and I came to the same conclusion. The only way to really figure out how much I was saving was to go shopping with and without plus. Exactly what I was hoping to avoid.

Turns out it was easier than expected. Plus is applied in Gary’s Costco account but not in mine. Same membership but plus is only activated in one profile. Easy peasy.

So I did an order in each account on Saturday Oct. 17, but for Oct. 18 delivery. I’m going to pre-empt this by calling out the flaws in my testing method. I should have repeated this test at least two more times on different days of the week and different delivery times. I could have contacted both Instacart and Costco to allow them to respond to why their value prop failed.

I didn’t do either. Nobody is paying me to do this work; I did this analysis for myself. And because I’m a bit anal about money.

My test: nine items

• The Instacart+ account paid: $106.79

• The no plus account paid less: $104.46

On top of the $79, plus cost me an additional $2.33. That’s 2.2% more. Only blueberries were cheaper.

There is no guarantee that you’ll save money. The only commitment made is ours — to pay the $79 annual fee. What we get in return is…nothing.

When or if you ever break even is even more unclear, given I found most items cost more with the plus account.

Why Bother?

I’m not happy with this outcome. We wanted to use Instacart to shop at other stores and get free delivery on orders over $10. We figured it was a great way to spend less with Amazon.

But why bother? Transparency is important. It’s clear what I’m paying on Amazon and where I save. I already pay my taxes. That’s throwing away more than enough.

Instacart+ is now cancelled.

In case you’re wondering, yes, I got a $1.50 hotdog with a soda in the food court. I’m never sure if I should get Coke Zero or Diet Coke; the output varies by the day. I also treated myself to a cold 25 cent water to calm myself on the drive home.

No, I didn’t buy the Oreos. If I did, I’d be dead or still in a sugar coma from eating them all.

When life stops making sense, we shop don’t go to Costco. More soon.

Retail Therapy is where our time & money go

Join of and me for The Return Window.

Thur Oct. 22 7:15 PM CT w/ Ronit & Rani

The Return Window is what happens next: what we have to get rid of

Here’s what I don’t know: what Ronit is bringing. I never do — that’s the fun part. She’ll share her rejects and regrets. Together, we’ll all find out what she thought they would do for her.

That’s The Return Window: how we deal with everything Substack told us we needed.

• Three segments

• Live

• 17 minutes

1. Return Window: the rejects we wasted time and money on and now have to get rid of. Consider this a public service announcement to our future selves.

2. Final Sale: the shit we’re stuck with. No returns, no exchanges. Not even the annoying store credit that forces you to buy something else you don’t want. No matter how it came to be, we’re all paying for it. Lately, it’s mostly politics. You were warned.

3. Keepers: anything bringing us delight.

Join Radio, the receipts, Ronit and me to work our way through the regrets. You bring your commentary and cocktails.

When life stops making sense, we shop go live on Substack. More soon.

Rani Monson

• Specifically: The Dystopian ‘AI Grannies’ of Social Media

Retail Therapy is where our time & money go

Laura LeBleu of Geezer magazine and I ran through The Return Window.

The Return Window is what we have to get rid of

The Return Window: how we deal with everything Substack told us we needed.

• Three segments

• Live

• 17 minutes

1. Return Window: the rejects we wasted time and money on and now have to get rid of. Consider this a public service announcement to our future selves.

2. Final Sale: the shit we’re stuck with. No returns, no exchanges. Not even the annoying store credit that forces you to buy something else you don’t want. No matter how it came to be, we’re all paying for it. Lately, it’s mostly politics. You were warned.

3. Keepers: anything bringing us delight.

When life stops making sense, we shop eat candy. More soon.

Rani Monson

Retail Therapy is where our time & money go

Join of and me for The Return Window.

The Return Window is what we have to get rid of

Here’s what I don’t know: what Laura is bringing. I never do — that’s the fun part. She’ll share her rejects and regrets. Together, we’ll all find out what she thought they would do for her.

That’s The Return Window: how we deal with everything Substack told us we needed.

• Three segments

• Live

• 17 minutes

1. Return Window: the rejects we wasted time and money on and now have to get rid of. Consider this a public service announcement to our future selves.

2. Final Sale: the shit we’re stuck with. No returns, no exchanges. Not even the annoying store credit that forces you to buy something else you don’t want. No matter how it came to be, we’re all paying for it. Lately, it’s mostly politics. You were warned.

3. Keepers: anything bringing us delight.

Join Radio, the receipts, Laura and me to work our way through the regrets. You bring your commentary and cocktails.

When life stops making sense, we shop go live on Substack. More soon.

Rani Monson

When it comes to sweets, I want mine low-brow. Think ice cream, not gelato. White-sheet cake from the grocery store, never with fresh fruit. Candy is no different. I’m not interested in dark chocolate, hand-made macarons or anything close to gourmet. Little in life makes me happier than a handful of holiday candy. Jelly beans at Easter. Cinnamon hearts for Valentine’s Day. My favorite is a Halloween smorgasbord of the candy brands we grew up on.

So you can imagine my surprise when I started to notice the price tag. Halloween candy is 71% more expensive this year compared to 2021.

To put our candy in context, consider beef roasts: a.k.a. brisket, tenderloin and rib roast. Prices have shot up 74% since 2020. My Butterfinger is priced like brisket burnt ends.

Maybe you’ve already noticed? Apparently, 49% of consumers planned to start shopping for Halloween in September or earlier. Ha! I wasn’t one of them. I can’t trust myself to keep candy on-hand. If I do, it must remain sealed, or I’m doomed.

But the more interesting question is what’s driving this witch’s broom increase. Cocoa shortages, tariffs and higher labor and packaging costs. Let’s take a lick:

• Cocoa Shortages: Cocoa hit record highs in 2024. Many candy brands purchase ingredients up to two years in advance, which means those higher prices are just now starting to impact us. Extreme weather in West Africa, which provides 60% of the world’s cocoa, resulted in smaller harvests, driving up the price.

• Trump’s Tariffs: In July the Trump Administration imposed new tariffs. This included a 10% tariff on imports from the Ivory Coast, the world’s biggest cocoa supplier. We’re now paying higher prices because the tariffs are being passed on to consumers directly.

• Higher Labor and Packaging Costs: Manufacturers are paying higher wages because there are fewer workers after Trump’s deportations. Energy costs are high, because of Trump’s war in Iran, so it costs more to make candy. The plastic wrappers also now cost more.

Think you’re immune? You’re not. An insane 96% of US shoppers buy Halloween candy, according to the National Retail Federation. We’ll spend $4.1 billion on our sweet treats.

So let’s figure out how much it costs to really stock up for a plentiful trick-or-treat.

Bulk packages offering 100 pieces of goodness are ringing up at $16.96, which is cheaper than anything I saw when I looked at Costco. Five years ago, the price was $9.91 – a difference of $7 a bag.

The really good neighborhoods are the ones where each house fills a 31-gallon trash can with treats – the old-school silver can with a lid. You need a minimum of 155 pounds of candy to give an appearance of full-ish. To really fill that bad boy, you’d need more than 200 pounds.

Me? I’ll be buying. Lots. I won’t fill a 31-gallon can, but I’ll take a few of the giant bags to the Rec Center. They hold an open house and invite older kids to help keep them out of trouble on Halloween.

In past years, I’ve tried collecting candy from neighbors to donate. But nobody ever ponied up enough. So I always had to cough up more to pack the pumpkin. Plus, I need candy for the house to snack on. I mean, for when families I know come around.

But I’m pleased to share that I refrained from buying Radio, my doodle dog, a Cookie Monster costume. But damn he would have looked cute.

When life stops making sense, we shop eat Halloween candy. More soon.

Retail Therapy is where our time & money go

Join of and me for The Return Window.

The Return Window is what happens next: what we have to get rid of

Thur Oct. 29 7:15 PM Central

Here’s what I know: we’ll be discussing Jennie’s new book Frog And Toad Make History, which is out this month. A humor book with heart. Here’s her story on how this journey started.

Here’s what I don’t know: what Jennie is bringing. I never do — that’s the fun part. She’ll share her rejects and regrets. Together, we’ll all find out what she thought they would do for her.

Thur Oct. 29 7:15 PM Central

That’s The Return Window: how we deal with everything Substack told us we needed.

• Three segments

• Live

• 17 minutes

1. Return Window: the rejects we wasted time and money on and now have to get rid of. Consider this a public service announcement to our future selves.

2. Final Sale: the shit we’re stuck with. No returns, no exchanges. Not even the annoying store credit that forces you to buy something else you don’t want. No matter how it came to be, we’re all paying for it. Lately, it’s mostly politics. You were warned.

3. Keepers: anything bringing us delight.

Join Radio, the receipts, Jennie and me to work our way through the regrets. You bring your commentary and cocktails.

When life stops making sense, we shop go live on Substack. More soon.

Rani Monson

2 recommendations from Diana

Watch the video to hear why she suggests both:

1. Biore UV Aqua Rich Daily Hydrating Facial Moisturizer with SPF 50

2. The essay Pause from Mary Ruefle in .

Radio & I will be reading this tonight in bed.

When life stops making sense, we shop read amazing eassays. More soon.

Rani Monson

3 Keepers and a Regret is a recurring series on Retail Therapy on Substack where I ask people I admire to name 3 things they’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen — and 1 thing they regret.

Travel writer and novelist of and I have a number of things in common, including working as reporters. We’ve both spent lots of time doing Bikram hot yoga and live in the Dallas area.

When I asked Diana to share her 3 Keepers, she paused, wanting me to know she’s not a shopper. Which made me want her responses even more. Her hesitation made me see how I’ve started to paint myself into a corner, suggesting “stuff” is the way out.

I find our differences even more interesting. She has eight Moth StorySLAM wins under her belt and is a Moth GrandSLAM champion. I have zero SLAMs. Diana is “always packing or unpacking.” Any upcoming trip kicks me into shopping and returning mode, convinced I never have what’s “right” for said trip. Different sides of the same coin — coping mechanisms for middle-age angst.

When life doesn’t make sense, I write about how we spend our time and money, often in insane ways. Diana paints the same picture in Consider the Schnitzel: “a trip is never just a trip; it’s a container for our obsessions.” Amen.

Three Keepers

3 things you’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen

No. 1 — THE MAN MUG

Last summer, my boyfriend, his kids, and I drove from North Texas to South Texas to spend a few days on the coast. One afternoon, to get off the beach and into air conditioning, we went to a paint-your-own pottery store. I wanted to paint something utilitarian, rather than decorative, so I picked the only mug on offer, which happened to be shaped like the face of a bearded man. I think he’s supposed to be Santa Claus, but whatever. I painted him purple with brown facial hair. For the inside, I chose a black glaze with irregular red spots. I developed an inexplicable attachment to what we all now call the Man Mug. No one else is allowed to drink from him. When he’s in the dishwasher, I miss him in the way I miss my best friends who live in other states. Sure, there are other mugs in the cupboard, but they can’t give me what he gives me.

Sometimes you’ll leave a dress you thought you loved hanging in the closet, tags swaying, until a couple years pass and you donate it. Other times, you’ll impulse-purchase something you barely wanted and use it every day until it disintegrates. Only time can tell if the relinquishing of money in exchange for goods was worth it. I never would have guessed that day in South Texas, as my boyfriend forked over $35 for my pottery adventure, that my Man Mug would become indispensable.

No. 2 — THE HOODIE

Ever since we started dating, I’ve been raiding my boyfriend’s closet for his sweatshirts. I’ve always loved a sweatshirt made for men. I love how I disappear in it. It is so big and I am so small! My boyfriend has particularly good taste in sweatshirts. His are all enormous, well made, and soft. Finally, I wore one so consistently, a giant black hoodie advertising some long-ago collaboration between a gaming organization and a music-gear company, it became mine, a.k.a. I started putting it away in my own drawer instead of his. I guess it was like when couples who live together for years get to say they have a common-law marriage. My common-law sweatshirt and I spent so much time together, the state (my boyfriend) was forced to legitimize us.

No. 3 — THE LAPTOP

Despite my ambivalence toward its maker, the only tangible possession I couldn't forego is my laptop. Granted, it's replaceable. In five to seven years, I'll buy a new one. But without my MacBook Air, or my former MacBook Air, or some future MacBook Air, how would I travel as much as I do? I love how it fits in my purse, how it's the perfect size for the airplane tray table, how we climb into bed together in hotels all over the world.

One Regret

now the regret

When I was 19, I met Dustin Hoffman at the Cheesecake Factory in LA and he invited me to a barbecue at his house. I was on a road trip with friends, and for some dumb reason, making it to whichever arbitrary destination we'd chosen to make it to by nightfall seemed like a solid reason to decline. This was one of many, many terrible decisions I made between the ages of 16 and 21. What was I thinking? Anyone I've ever told this story to has made me feel worse. We all know I should have gone to Dustin Hoffman's barbecue.

Also, I happened to be wearing the softest, most comfortable, most broken-in second-hand T-shirt I've ever owned. Where is that thing? I never should have let the T-shirt go, either.

Why I’m Still Shopping

When Diana and I met, in the flesh no less, she shared how magical her time living in Mexico had been. I would have guessed those memories were one of her keepers. It’s good I’m not a betting woman. She went with a $35 Man Mug that someone else paid for.

I recently painted a very boring petite coffee mug at a pottery place. I think a kindergartener would have produced something better. Now I’m stuck with this sad mug I’m too embarrassed to donate. Hers holds memories. Mine can’t even hold coffee because I didn’t realize the clay was still wet and I knocked off the handle. This is why I don’t do arts and crafts.

I now understand why I never get sweatshirts to look quite right. I thought it was because I refuse to spend $275 on a single sweatshirt. Nope. I’m just shopping in the wrong department. I’m going to stalk my partner’s part of the closet. Gary, I’m coming for your sweatshirts.

As for Dustin Hoffman, we’re most definitely not going to make Diana feel worse about it. The bigger question is, why was Dustin Hoffman eating at the Cheesecake Factory?

Thanks to of . She’s joining me live on The Return Window this Thursday at 7:15 PM CT.

When life stops making sense, we shop paint ceramics by the seashore. More soon.

Rani Monson

Retail Therapy is the time & money we throw at our angst.

Join of and me for The Return Window.

The Return Window is what we then have to get rid of.

Here’s what I don’t know: what Diana is bringing. I never do — that’s the fun part. She’ll share her rejects and regrets. Together, we’ll all find out what she thought they would do for her.

That’s The Return Window. Three segments. Live. 17 minutes:

1. Return Window: the rejects we wasted time and money on and now have to get rid of. Consider this a public service announcement in response to all the stuff Substack told us we needed.

2. Final Sale: the shit we’re stuck with. No returns, no exchanges. Not even the annoying store credit that forces you to buy something else you don’t want. No matter how it came to be, we’re all paying for it. Lately, it’s mostly politics. You were warned.

3. Keepers: anything bringing us delight.

Join Radio, the receipts, Diana and me to work our way through the regrets. You bring your commentary and cocktails.

When life stops making sense, we shop talk to someone on a Substack Live. More soon.

Rani Monson

The last three pairs of shoes I bought turned out to be a real pain in the ass. And they weren’t even mules.

When the shoes arrived, all had to be returned. I’m now working through two different credit card disputes to get back a total of $129.81. After my purchases, the stores changed the deal. I’m not ok with that.

All season, sandals have been a miss for me. I know what I’m looking for – a leather sandal that’s comfortable to walk in but still minimal enough that it looks cute. I’ve been desperate to find a pair in black that I want to wear without thought or pain.

I’ve tried everything from expensive ones to cheap flip flops. Brands I’ve worn in the past now somehow suck on my foot.

Steve Madden: $64.94 of Cardboard & Cactus

At the mall, I happened to look in the window of Steve Madden as I walked by. I figured, “What the hell. I have a few minutes, so I may as well look.”

They had a flat leather black thong sandal that seemed to have some cushioning and was the aesthetic I was after. They didn’t have my size in-store, but the sales associate was somewhat helpful so I went along when she said she’d order them for me online and send them to my house.

Minnetonka Moccasin: $64.87 for Two Sizes of the Same Shoe

I love a silver shoe. I find it to be the perfect “neutral” that adds a pop, especially in sandals.

After I had to finally part with my beloved silver Birks – too many dunks in water – I declared them dead. You can only get them re-souled if you live in Germany. I don’t. I looked to get a new pair but they’ve changed the fit and the silver leather straps, to a shade I find less appealing.

I don’t know how I ended up on the Minnetonka Moccasin website, but I did. I was curious about their silver sandal but unsure of the fit. While I wasn’t “looking” for these, I figured I’d give the western style sandal a swing. So I bought the size 9 and 10.

That’s Store Policy

The Steve Madden pair felt like I had cardboard on the bottom of my foot and a painful cactus wedged next to my big toe. As for the silver sandals, I couldn’t see any visual difference between the size 9 and 10. I didn’t like either and they looked like cheap shoes.

I took the Steve Madden shoes back to the store, where they told me the pair was “final sale.”

I’m not new to shopping. I buy lots to see what works and return most. When something is on sale, I know to double check that it’s not marked “final sale.” Those words are against my religion.

Nothing in the store stated it was final sale. Nothing was printed on the receipt or the email confirmation saying as much. And the sales associate definitely didn’t tell me when I paid her. But the person handling my return insisted “that’s store policy,” which still wasn’t posted anywhere on my second visit.

“I’ve never shopped here before. How would I know you can’t return sales items if you don’t state it on the receipt and don’t tell me?” I asked, sincerely. I was curious.

She had zero interest in helping me. She took the shoes and gave me a store credit. I’m not interested in giving them my money or owning anything from them. The store credit information is in my dispute so the retailer can cancel it and issue me a refund.

Same song at Minnetonka. When I called to initiate the return I was told they were final sale.

“It was on the website. But the sale’s over so that sign is gone,” I was informed. “That’s why they were so cheap.”

I wondered how the brand would feel about their people calling the shoes “cheap.”

“If I had known it was final sale, do you think I would have bought two pairs of the same shoe?” I asked. Again, I was met with boredom and zero interest to help.

I’ve disputed both purchases on my credit card. I had to provide “evidence” on each. I used AI to write each dispute. I handed it the details and it outlined the draft, noting the laws and issues this raises.

I made a special trip to the mall, contacted both retailers before filing my dispute, then provided written evidence when requested to my credit card company. Now I’m in a series of back-and-forths between me, my credit card, the brands and their banks.

My disputes are “in process.” My fight is costing me more than the shoes did, but those retailers shouldn’t have my money through gamesmanship.

The new shoes are sitting in the front hall. If they don’t get returned to sender, they’re going to charity.

I regret having gotten rid of my swampy silver sandals, despite how shoddy they looked.

Have you bought something recently and gotten screwed?

Share your woes — the comments are open to all.

Leave a comment

When life stops making sense, we shop don’t waste time online browsing new shoes. More soon.

3 Keepers and a Regret is a recurring series on Retail Therapy on Substack where I ask people I admire to name 3 things they’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen — and 1 thing they regret.

I came across ’s posts and notes on Substack, where she writes . Jennie — a Canadian now living in Brooklyn — explains it: “Living in America is like being at the Best Party at the Worst House. You’re just trying to have a good time and get out before the cops shut this whole thing down.”

I’m jealous of her hair. The volume and curls outperform my wimpy waves. She also makes me laugh. Hard.

It took me a while to piece together that I’d already “met” Jennie during Covid via her Frog and Toad parody pieces on . Shortly after, I bought myself a Frog and Toad t-shirt. Wherever I wear it — which is typically to bookish events — I’m surprised by how often people don’t get the reference. What’s wrong with people?

Jennie turned her humor into books put out in the world by legit publishers. Her first two made Vulture’s list of best humor books of the year. Her next — Frog and Toad Make History — will be available this Fall.

Three Keepers

3 things you’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen

No. 1 — cabinet from Toronto craft show

My folks found this cabinet in the 90’s at the One of a Kind craft show in Toronto. I’ve loved it all my life. 9 years ago, when I immigrated to the states, my mom let me take it with me and I’ve been carrying it from apartment to apartment ever since. Right now I keep candles in it, but someday? I hope to be buried in it. Bury me in the bear.

No. 2 — childhood bear, Beary

(Clearly, I have a thing with bears.) This is my childhood bear, Beary. When I was 3, I dragged him around Costco until my parents caved. Beary also survived a fire! When I was 18, I moved into my first apartment on a Saturday and it burned down that Sunday night. It sucked. I lost a ton of stuff in the fire, but the firemen managed to salvage a heavily smoke-damaged Beary. My mom was determined to save him. She spent a week repeatedly dunking him in laundry detergent while I numbly filed insurance paperwork. And it worked! He smells great! Beary can never die!

No. 3 — handmade quilt won at a charity auction

I won this handmade quilt at the New Hamburg Mennonite Relief Sale, a yearly quilt auction that’s been held in Ontario since 1967. The whole weekend’s this big fair with incredible strawberry pies, a pancake breakfast, and all these live auctions. It’s the best. All the money goes to charity, and some of the quilts go for thousands of dollars. I was lucky enough to win this beauty in the live auction! The struggle now is to keep my cat off of it. He's orange and stupid and loves it. Wish me luck.

One Regret

now the regret

My K-1 Fiancé Visa. Useless. When I was moving to the US, I went all-in on the fiancé visa because I was advised it would help me get a green card quicker. It was extremely stressful, expensive, and ultimately didn’t help a damn thing. I applied for the K-1 visa (a lengthy/stressful process), then Trump came to office for his first term and changed the rules. I ended up stuck in immigration processing limbo for a long time, unable to work in the US or leave the country, because the rules were changed. If I could do it again, I wouldn’t both with the K-1 visa. I’d save myself the stress, frustration, and thousands of dollars.

Oh well. Unless you’re rich, immigration is always difficult. I’m grateful to have made it through!

Why I’m Still Shopping

Jennie pulled me in with the pancake breakfast, and I would have consumed more details. That kind of meal is my jam. But with syrup.

Her regret captures a story we hear about too infrequently. How difficult it can be to work in a country you weren’t born in.

When I flew to Canada, I made a grave mistake at customs when I said I was there for work. It resulted in hours of interrogations while staring at a portrait of Queen Elizabeth, who was still alive at the time.

When I went to Canada, I didn’t realize I made a grave mistake at customs when I said I was there for work. It resulted in hours of interrogations in the middle of the night, all while staring at a portrait of Queen Elizabeth, who was still alive at the time. But that’s not a whole life. It was a juggling act with corporate support. It’s very different.

Jennie has her priorities in order. She knows what’s important and doesn’t bother with the superficial. I’ve wasted way too much of my life caught up in that crap.

Every time Radio and I cruise around in my Subaru, I still notice all the Range Rovers and Porsche Cayennes surrounding us. I can’t help but think my boy deserves better. He should be in a gorgeous convertible with the top down and buttery leather seats that accent his fur. But my decision to downgrade was deliberate. To remind myself that the brand of car I drive doesn’t equate to my worth. It’s my statement car, to myself. Or maybe anti-statement.

Thanks to of

When life stops making sense, we shop read kids books. Duh. More soon.

Rani Monson

3 Keepers and a Regret is a recurring series on Retail Therapy on Substack where I ask people I admire to name 3 things they’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen — and 1 thing they regret.

My dad teases me for laughing at my own jokes. So of course I’m drawn to , who says: “I think I’m funny and that’s what counts.” Which makes me laugh.

She’s a columnist. She’s written novels and gets paid, perhaps peanuts, to share her opinions about television shows. She can probably do it in her pajamas.

Her site, The Lucyverse, feels like an inside look at Lucy’s mind. The things she finds to poke fun at are so ridiculous I’m jealous I didn’t think of them.

As her tagline states: “I review everything that comes out of the sewage pipe of capitalism!”

Three Keepers

3 things you’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen

No. 1 — Painting of Patrick Star from Spongebob

This painting makes me very happy and you will have to prise it from my cold, dead fingers. I was walking through Glasgow a few years ago and this homeless guy was selling paintings of cartoon characters — Mickey Mouse, Mutant Ninja Turtles, Super Mario etc. and it literally called to me across the street. I have never felt such a strong magnetic pull towards anything (or anyone) before or since. It was a case of absolutely NEEDING to have it. I think he charged me £15, which was a bargain — it’s a work of art! I hope the painter managed to get himself off the street. It really was a heroic endeavour to set himself up in this way, buy materials, paint portraits, give people a service because he didn’t want to beg. I don’t know how he managed to pull it off. And although it’s amateurish, he perfectly captured Patrick’s brain-dead, optimistic stupidity in just a few strokes. It’s in the bathroom, so every day, Patrick is behind me in the mirror when I get ready, reminding me that we are all just big idiots who put our pants on the wrong way round.

No. 2 — My glittery catsuit

For many years I've been in a rock band called Youth of America (the word 'youth' is very open to interpretation) and I wanted some stage wear that would dazzle the crowd and possibly traumatise them for life. So in 2019, I bought this Warehouse x Ashish catsuit for £50 in the sale, reduced from £120. I wore it once for a gig and once for a video, and I felt like such an amazing human disco ball that I realised that I would keep it forever, regardless of the fact that it takes two people to zip it up and you can never wash it, or even dry clean it. It hasn't had an outing for a long time, but it glints from my wardrobe and whispers 'PSST, YOU ARE A ROCKSTAR' on a rainy Tuesday, which is good enough for me. If I make it to my eighties, I might wear it to the supermarket.

No. 3 — Colonel Lychee

I don't know how to describe Colonel Lychee, other than he's a lychee kernel, given to me many years ago by Marianne Greated, who is now Head of Art at Edinburgh College of Art. He acts as my creative talisman when I can remember where he is, and he's very good to handle when you have a mental block or you're just bored to fucking death. Shiny but also a bit rough, and because there's a dead lychee in there, the stone rattles around in a satisfying way. Colonel Lychee is a reassuring presence on the desk, and he asks for nothing, makes no demands, gives me no deadlines and has a lovely repeating pattern that's nice to look at.

One Regret

now the regret

I regret nothing, but I do miss several items of clothing that are lost to time. One of them was a blue plaid lumberjack jacket that I bought in Seattle in 1993 and took home to my student accommodation - a disgusting house in Newcastle with bars on the windows. Despite the bars, we were burgled the next night and the jacket was stolen before I even had a chance to wear it and bore everyone to tears about how I bought it in Seattle. I also really miss a pair of pointed acid yellow Topshop stilettos that I couldn't walk in, so I gave them away. Neither of these items would look good on me now, but they somehow perfectly represented who I was then. A bit like Van Gogh's chair and pipe, but in the form of a smelly old jacket and a pair of banana feet.

Why I’m Still Shopping

Like Lucy, I’d wear a catsuit to the grocery store when I’m in my 80s. I talk to my stuff, and some I could imagine responding.

But after that, I’m stuck. I want to be comfortable in my own skin. I’m not.

I aspire to become a person who can say I regret nothing. And mean it.

Thanks to . Find her at The Lucyverse.

When life stops making sense, we shop wear a catsuit. More soon.

Rani Monson

I loved arriving as a life-size Emmy. I had thoughts about Shailene Woodley’s look and would like to see the necklace solo. And hat tip to and for their commentary on the couple cool of Keri Russell and Matthew Rhys.

It’s not like I actually watched the 78th Primetime Emmys Sept. 14, but 6.7 million did. The same number who tuned in for the Season 35 premiere of Dancing With the Stars.

If the Emmys weren’t so predictable, maybe they’d capture our attention. Viewership was down 12% this year. Next year, it won’t air on a major broadcast network. Amazon is in talks to pick it up for streaming. The focus is always on the past – the shows we’ve already binged: Widow’s Bay, The Pitt, Hacks and Pluribus. It’s boring.

The work that mattered most — The Librarians, which was awarded Exceptional Merit in Documentary Filmmaking — wasn’t even in the room. Its award was given more than a week earlier, off-camera.

The award for a film showing how librarians across the country get threatened was handed out at the ceremony that nobody saw.

In 85 minutes, the film depicts how scary life has become for librarians. They take an oath to defend access to books covering issues like race, gender, and LGBTQIA+ themes. In turn, they are subject to harassment, political pressure, and in many cases, being fired. For doing their job.

The film focuses primarily on librarians in Florida and Texas, where I live. Two weekends ago, at a conference for creatives, I got to talking to a sculptural artist. He was from California and moved to Dallas two years after his studio burned in the fires.

“Well, you didn’t have to deal with book banning in California like you do here,” I said.

He had no idea what I was talking about. Even a liberal artist wasn’t aware our tax dollars are being used to pull books off shelves and fight the librarians whose job is to protect them.

Less than 3% of the concerns over the content in books come from parents. The “concerned parent” trope is pure fiction. The pressure comes from conservative political groups who put people into public office, making them the decision makers who ultimately ban the books.

A majority of censorship attempts happen in public libraries. Last year, it accounted for 51%; school libraries was 37%.

Instead of being celebrated with the actors and a global audience, librarians continue to be threatened with criminalization.

I started tuning into the book-banning topic after attending an event in Nov. 2025 at the flagship Half Price Books store in Dallas. I paid $20.39 to attend a conversation between school librarians Amanda Jones and Nancy Jo Lambert. Both were filmed for the documentary. These smart vivacious women willingly answered questions from the audience.

Amanda, who lives in Louisiana, wrote That Librarian, which talks about her experience standing up to book banning. Her child has been threatened and her parents no longer speak to her, even though they live next door.

Nancy Jo, who lives in North Texas, spoke about why she had to get off all social media, for her sanity and the safety of her family. Ultimately, she chose not to be included in the film, which was an emotional decision for her.

She censored herself out of a documentary about censorship because she is afraid of losing her taxpayer-funded job.

I cherish my signed copy of Amanda’s book. It’s displayed on my bookshelf next to my “I love my library” card I received after donating money to , which is helping librarians protect books.

I’m baffled how we got here. This isn’t what I believed this country stood for.

You can stream The Librarians for free on Kanopy. It requires a library card. You have to visit a library, first, to watch a documentary about librarians.

When life stops making sense, we shop visit the library. More soon.

And how did I not mention that we don’t have basements in Texas? But I could use one. Two would be ideal.

Thanks to , , and others for joining and me live. Way to go jumping into the chat action.

Chris’ 3 Keepers & a Regret

About The Return Window

When life stops making sense, we shop take Radio for a walk. More soon.

Rani Monson

3 Keepers and a Regret is a recurring series on Retail Therapy on Substack where I ask people I admire to name 3 things they’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen — and 1 thing they regret.

There’s a tone. People don’t like it — that part was obvious. But for decades, it’s something I’ve struggled to hear. I know I’m straightforward and literal. To a fault.

When a professor wanted us to pay him for research, I told him we needed a price tag. I was kicked out of my meeting and he took over. Then I got fired.

I’ve pivoted. Hoping my words would be read when I struggle to say them in a way that can be heard. Some people are so good at it. I’m not one of them. So I have the utmost respect for anyone who’s telling the world that humor is who they are. One of them is of .

What I didn’t realize is that there are “other” Chris Stantons in the world. A British actor who died in 2020. And one who teaches at Harvard’s business school. Our Chris Stanton is obsessed with The Godfather. If you’ve seen it — I haven’t, let it go — it probably tells you everything you need to know. He’s the one who’s suing summer. Clearly the case is still in the courts, considering my clothes were soaking wet and melting to my body on Sunday. The things we’ll do for a hot bagel when it’s 100 degrees outside.

Three Keepers

3 things you’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen

No. 1 — Toro Snowblower

Last October, we moved two doors down, from a house without a driveway to one with a driveway. That wasn’t the reason we moved, but it did have the benefit of lowering the number of times my parked car gets hit by 100%.

It’s not a short driveway, and since I have back issues, it was clear that trying to shovel it after a snowstorm would result in my wife stumbling upon my frozen corpse. So, one of my first purchases for the house was a snowblower. I don’t have any particular preference for Toro, but it runs on a rechargeable battery and the price didn’t make me gag, so olé.

We ended up having a lot of snow last winter, and in addition to my back problems, I had a hernia. I was, in medical terms, a disaster. But my driveway and sidewalk remained clear, and I remained alive.

No. 2 — “Mad Men” Prop

I recently wrote a piece about winning a movie prop in an online auction, then learning that the shipping cost was astronomical. In it, I mentioned that I’d also once won a “Mad Men” prop in an auction. This is it: a binder that was used in the third season, when Don was wooing Conrad Hilton.

As anyone who watched “Mad Men” knows, the show’s attention to detail was incredible, and that’s certainly true of this. The binder contains actual documents, including period-accurate research on the state of the hotel industry, internal Sterling Cooper memos, and more. The only flaw is that it doesn’t reek of cigarettes.

No. 3 — iPad mini

I had an iPhone, a MacBook Pro, and, most relevantly, an iPad. I needed an iPad mini the way I need a second bowl of ice cream—that is to say, both not at all and desperately.

For this purchase, my thinking was that I’d use it for note-taking during work meetings, reading, and writing. Was I rationalizing just to scratch my unrelenting tech itch? Without question.

I already took notes on my iPad sometimes, but the size made it awkward. The mini takes up a smaller footprint on my desk, so I use it all the time. It’s also a great size for reading: Kindle books, library books on the Libby app, news, Substack, whatever. Also, when I feel like writing my essays by hand, the mini is where I do it. As I’d hoped, I use it very differently than my full-sized iPad. Sometimes, I luck out and a rationalization ends up actually being true.

One Regret

now the regret

I injured my knee at the beginning of the pandemic and couldn’t run anymore. With no idea when the world would open back up, I decided to buy this exercise bike.

Having taken some spin classes and hating them, this was obviously the most logical move. I figured I’d get used to this form of cardio, given that I had no other option. It turns out that one thing I like even less than a spin class is a virtual spin class. I’d put the bike in my home office and had also convinced myself that it would be easy to just hop on it for 10–15 minutes here and there between work calls. And I was right, it would have been easy, but what was even easier was not doing that.

Also, my office was small, and the only place the bike would fit was in a spot where it partially blocked the closet door. So, whenever I needed to get something out of there, I had to move this contraption that somehow weighs as much as a Honda Civic. In our new house, it’s sitting in the basement, where it’s also in the way.

Why I’m Still Shopping

I’m writing this from my office, where my Peloton bike takes up far too much space in the small room. It, too, was a pandemic purchase. My partner refuses to use it again and threw away his spin shoes as a statement. He wouldn’t even let me donate the shoes. I, on the other hand, try to force myself to use it. At least once a month.

Chris’ auction story is precisely why I stopped going to them — because I freaked myself out. My favorites were video game auctions, where you could try everything out if you got there early enough. I got myself totally paranoid that I’d twitch in some weird way and buy a crappy game instead of the Ms. Pac-Man I was after, having spent too much of my youth playing. Super-speed only.

Everyone I was competing with planned to actually monetize the game and charge people to play. Unlike me, who likes it to just sit in the house and take up space and never play. Just like my Batman pinball machine with Heath Ledger as Joker from “The Dark Knight”. The only space it fits is in our living room area, where you enter the house.

I don’t know about you, but I expected more from the snowblower. Visually, it’s underwhelming. I looked at it, after reading about its might, and thought “that’s it?”

I shared my reaction with Chris when we jumped on Zoom. He didn’t get defensive. I don’t think he laughed at me, but he should have. He wasn’t just blowing smoke.

Thanks to of . He's joining me live on The Return Window this Thursday at 7:15 PM CT, with something he's sending back. The snowblower stays.

When life stops making sense, we shop turn on our pinball machine. More soon.

Rani Monson

Retail Therapy is why we buy. The Return Window is what happens next.

writes Stantonland — “comedic essays about human nature and culture, both of which can be quite fun and very odd.” A sentiment that’s pretty much impossible to disagree with, if you’re alive. Maybe you’re curious how his civil complaint against summer worked out? All I can say is I’m still sweating. As for his threefold thesis that Starbucks is a cult…I think I’m a member. And he co-hosts Funny Story with .

Here’s what I don’t know: what Chris is bringing. I never do — that’s the fun part. Chris will share his rejects and regrets. Together, we’ll all find out what he thought they would do for him.

That’s The Return Window. Three segments, live, for 17 minutes.

• Return Window: the rejects. The things we wasted money on and now have to spend time boxing up to send away. Consider this a public service announcement in response to all the stuff Substack told us to buy.

• Final Sale: the shit we’re stuck with. No returns, no exchanges. Not even the annoying store credit that forces you to buy something you don’t want. No matter how it came to be, we're all paying for it. Lately, it’s mostly politics. You were warned.

• Keepers: what’s bringing us delight. I won’t name the people whose stuff we’re returning. I’ll absolutely name the ones who got it right.

Nothing here is a recommendation.

Chris’s 3 Keepers & a Regret drops Wed. Sept. 16.

The chat will be open so bring your questions.

Watch live: Thursday, September 17, 7:15 PM Central, right here on Substack.

9/17: Chris Stanton on The Return Window

Join Radio, the return labels, Chris and me to work our way through the boxes of regrets and get them hauled away. You bring your commentary and cocktails.

When life stops making sense, we shop think big thoughts. More soon.

Rani Monson

3 Keepers and a Regret is a recurring series on Retail Therapy on Substack where I ask people I admire to name 3 things they’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen — and 1 thing they regret.

Anyone who makes me stop my scroll and snort with laughter makes me curious and jealous. Which is why I kept looking when I stumbled upon Vivian Manning-Schaffel of .

Can reporters sniff each other out? Maybe it’s recognizing someone else who doesn’t know how to stop asking questions. But that’s where the similarities end.

My first full-time reporting job proved true what I’d been promised: “you won’t make any money in journalism.” Even working at a legitimate daily newspaper, I got paid $28,500. A year.

I bailed and pivoted to corporate. Not writing words for others, but building software. Which definitely made it easier to make the maximum contribution to my 401(k).

Viv stayed in journalism. She voiced her opinions and got work because she embraced her beliefs. She also shows up as real, owning the imbalance we all contain. For Viv that means “deep thoughts” and “petty bullshit” — her Substack tagline. Yes, both can be true.

Maybe we’re lost souls, words crossing in the night? The shit Viv says is so real, and she’s always willing to throw some snark. I’m in.

Three Keepers

3 things you’d fight to keep — bought, inherited, stolen

No. 1 — My mom's engagement ring

This is hard because I could easily list WAY more than three things, but I'd have to say my mom's engagement ring. In my culture, baubles were one of the only ways girls could ever inherit anything. No FCKNG way it's ever leaving my cold, dead hands. My own engagement ring won't either.

No. 2 — Familial Memorabilia

This includes marital memorabilia and any pix of my kids, at any time in their lives, along with a small, tight selection of their drawings, clothing, and random sundry items from their childhood. Should they ever want to write a memoir, they'll have the goods. Because they're my muses, I'm going to take the liberty of grandfathering my paintings under this umbrella.

No. 3 — Leather jackets & jeans

My vintage leather jacket collection and Rag and Bone Jeans, always bought on sale. Goddess help me, they're the only jeans that do right by my ass.

One Regret

now the regret

While under the influence of Paris, I bought a gorgeous green silky Cotélac dress a size or two too big, because the discount store lured me in on my way to a meet-up and I lacked the patience to try it on. Given my height (or lack thereof), it just doesn’t work. I found it impossible to resist the low, low prices of 50 euros after a spritz. But my loss could be someone else’s gain. I’m selling it, BTW, in case anyone’s interested. It’s only a little wrinkled because I flew it home.

Why I’m Still Shopping

Viv’s keepers are sentimentally sassy, which I find so satisfying. I have my grandmother’s wedding ring and I, too, will treasure it until the day I die. It’s precious to me.

As for the mistake, Viv made one she can put back on the market. Meanwhile, the rest of us are still wearing ours. Or burying it in the closet, trying to forget.

But it’s ok. I’m busy imagining what my collection of vintage leather jackets would look like. If I had one. Or the closet space for such a stash. Would it be as big as I’m imagining?

Surely it would have color, including the light-pink suede one I never should have parted with. Or the white leather blazer I gave away to a former friend.

Now I’m on the hunt for a black leather jacket that I want to fit like a glove. Which means I could wear it over a shirt or a sweater, but not both. I saw a woman wearing one a year ago in a restaurant. I’m still kicking myself for not stopping her to ask about it. And yes, I’ve tried AI to help me find it. No luck.

I wish I had any ass confidence, brand of jeans be damned. But since Viv brought up rag & bone, we’ll go there. I’ve been so desperate to find a pair of jeans that are comfortable enough to wear that I’ve expanded to all the brands and given up on finding anything on sale.

So I had already decided to “treat myself” — i.e. suck it up and pay full price for their bone-colored pair — before I went to the store. But then I had to go up two full sizes. Other people act like “sizing up” is no biggie. It feels like a thing to me.

On me, it was a good color with a decent stretch, which I prefer for long work days when traveling. But you could see the front inside pockets. Which made me self-conscious. Could you see them because my legs looked like chubby sausages?

I asked why they were see-through and was informed that most clients take them to a tailor and have the pockets “professionally removed.” Like that’s a normally required expenditure to wear a pair of pants. On a $288 pair of jeans that I still had to pay to have shortened.

I took the sparkling water and left. And I still don’t have any bone-colored jeans.

Shout-out and thanks to Vivian Manning-Schaffel of

When life stops making sense, we shop avoid trying on jeans. More soon.

Rani Monson

I’ve planned more than my fair share of events throughout my career, and it’s never easy. It’s stressful. Then you have to manage the angst of others across minutes or days. It’s basically babysitting adults who act like toddlers.

I’m decent at it, but only because it’s easy for me to dwell on everything that could go wrong and come up with contingencies. In case. Sadly, it’s how I’ve lived life. I’m working to evolve, but I’m not wired to expect the best. It’s exhausting and emotional, after the fact, but when needed I can jump into action and keep my head during a worst-case scenario.

In every case, there are certain things that are non-negotiables. You always have way too much food. If people leave hungry, it’s all they’ll remember. You want them to not even have to consider any necessity that comes up everyday.

Someone I know recently did an event in Greece. The AC was faulty and not working. By day three, everyone ditched their business attire and showed up in as little as possible to offset the oppressive heat. Sadly, it’s what people will remember about the event.

Like not having easy access to the bathroom. Which is critical when you’re providing an open bar at a venue that allows marijuana delivery to the front gate. The abundance of decadent food gets gobbled up when the munchies strike. All of which ensures an abundance of bathrooms need to be available.

All of which makes me baffled: how are the brands and businesses that dropped six figures for a private suite at the US Open just now aware that the luxury suites they rented no longer include private en suite bathrooms? The shock and consternation, dubbed the “VI-Pees” Crisis, makes no sense. Rental rates range from $100K up to $1 million. How could this detail have been missed? Who was actually caught with their pants down?

The missing facilities are a result of the $800 million facelift underway at Arthur Ashe Stadium, inside the public Flushing Meadows park in Queens. Already the name is ripe for bathroom jokes. Now, it’s worse. You start to wonder who the joke is actually on.

The bathroom brouhaha landed like a turd in year two of the three-year overhaul, which is expected to be completed next year in time for the matches. Gone are the cheap seats, removed to add pricier options. Of course. The private suites moved further from the court and lost the private bathrooms. If you want to learn more about the work underway, check out this post from .

The response from the US Open is a doozy: “more space, less maintenance…, and the ability for bathroom users to have privacy away from their fellow suite attendees.”

The horror. Having to pee with others in what’s essentially a community bathroom in a public park. But it’s not like those being entertained in the private areas are doing so on their own dime. It’s all about the sponsors and who they bring as guests.

A decent seat comes with a $2,333 price tag. And that’s face value, not resale. Which is what you’re probably paying. And don’t forget a tip for when you have your pot delivered outside the front gate before entering the stadium. The dispensaries are staffed up and ready to deliver.

The tennis tournament attracted more than 1 million people in 2025 and is one of the highest revenue-generating, multiday events in American sports, according to the US Tennis Association. The organization says suite owners were aware of the bathroom ban, which they claim is becoming “industry standard” in new stadium designs.

Scoring a ticket to the tennis tournament, which started Aug. 23 and ends Sept. 13, is essentially the end-of-summer party for those in the know who need to be seen. It’s like being in the Hamptons or showing up in Ibiza or Burning Man, if that’s your thing.

The number of invited influencers doubled from last year. They’re noisy, talking and drinking. Anyone who thought they’d be there watching the tennis clearly has never gone to Drag Bingo. It’s impossible to pay attention to the numbers on my card. I’m drinking cocktails and taking in the sights.

Honey Deuces, a vodka-melon drink that sounds delicious, costs $23. At least 800K will be sold. At a tennis tournament played in a public park. Where attendees proudly pile their empties to see whose tower is tallest.

Some brands considered having interns stand in line until someone needed to go. And the VIP could then come take their place. That would have been shitty. But it would have made for fabulous online videos. I would have watched.

When you’re paying 7 figures for a suite, due diligence is required. I would have done a walk-through on-site in advance. More than once. That’s the job. The angst is understandable. No guest should have to think about where they pee. But that uncertainty is what will be remembered.

When life stops making sense, we shop drink Honey Deuces. More soon.

Return Window: The Rejects

The things I spent my money on and now spend my time boxing up to send away. I want them gone and my money back. Consider this my public service announcement in response to all the stuff Substack told us to buy. I’m not naming the people, just the products.

Final Sale: The Shit We’re Stuck With

No returns, no exchanges. Not even the annoying store credit that forces you to buy something you don’t want. Some of it I bought. The rest we’re all just paying for. Lately, it’s mostly politics. You were warned.

Check out wearing the “financially responsible” version from Zara. Since she first shared this I watched the page diligently, awaiting it’s arrival in the hopes of snagging it. Nope - it went from not available to sold out.

Keepers: What’s bringing us delight

I won’t name the people whose stuff I’m returning. I’ll absolutely name the ones who got it right.

When life stops making sense, we shop. More soon.

Rani Monson