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’m in awe of how challenges us to re-think our assumptions about money and writing. She’s proof that what we’ve told ourselves isn’t possible — writing full-time, on our own terms — is actually just a decision. I keep my writing as a fun hobby alongside a full-time corporate tech job. Meanwhile Amy’s lived around the world while running the popular Substack writing job board Make Writing Your Job.

She’s a bestselling author — her latest is Write for Money and Power — and the reason I know anything about Substack is Sutoscience, where she’s now dropping a serialized fiction novel in weekly installments.

She’s the kind of person you’d hate if she weren’t so genuinely kind.

Three Keepers

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

No. 1 — 8Sleep mattress

Sleep is so important and having a temperature-controlled mattress is the one splurge that pays off for 8 hours/night! I got this years ago and it's one of my best purchases. The price tag is shocking, but once you consider the payoff of sleeping (way) better than you would on a normal mattress, it's worth it. I also run cold, so I love curling up in bed with a good book in the afternoons and turning up the temperature to +10.

No. 2 — Branch Duo standing desk

I love my standing desk, and the wood is so nice on the Branch desks. They also have some cool attachments like cord organizers, and as something I use daily it was important to get a desk I love writing at each day!

No. 3 — Stainless-steel Vitamix blender

Blending things in plastic is bad if you’re trying to avoid microplastics, and I use my stainless steel Vitamix blender every day for smoothies. Stainless steel is also better if you’re blending things like hot soup ingredients (i.e. for a puree) and it’s really easy to clean!

One Regret

now the regret

I don’t really have buying regrets as a minimalist! Anything I don’t love I end up offloading at Goodwill, but so far I’ve had a good track record of purchases that I’ve loved and kept.

Influenced, Not Converted

Amy is a minimalist. She doesn’t accumulate regret because she doesn’t accumulate stuff. I tried. I even listened to The Minimalists podcast for a brief stint. But those dudes stressed me out. I was hoping to take little nuggets of lessons that I could apply to my life. You know, ways to have…less. But when they started talking about how they all dress the same, and why they only wear black, I couldn’t do it. Just thinking about it again makes my breathing get way too shallow.

I’m not a minimalist. But I’m apparently open to being influenced by one. I took her Vitamix recommendation. I had just done what I thought was impossible: I broke my machine-grade Vitamix. So much for being indestructible — I don’t even cook.

Amy’s response made me send back the replacement plastic container I’d already received. The stainless-steel is on the way. In case.

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There’s a bakery near me that has delicious little cookies: 3 for $1. My mom loves them, so for her birthday, Radio and I paid her a visit at work with a boxful. I wore cute pants and a brand new white tee, pristine, tags just removed. Seeing her requires the full works – makeup, jewelry, all of it. It’s less hassle than if I don’t.

Parked, with an excited Radio by my side, I went for the cookies and somehow knocked over the iced coffee in the center console. It spilled on the box and splashed on my new shirt. But luckily at the bottom part, which I could tuck in. Faye appreciated her puppy kisses from Radio telling everyone it’s her grandchild. Seeing the coffee splashes across the white box, she laughed.

“I’d expect nothing less,” she said.

But it makes for a real struggle when the perfect white tee is supposed to be the foundation of every wardrobe, or so I’ve been told. It’s a staple and an investment piece. And the shopping gods decided $74 is the going rate for the white tee, and we’re told we need three.

That means dropping $370 on white tees, keeping in mind the $74 tee is just mid-level. The Great, AGOLDE or FLORE FLORE take you up to $100. Reformation, COS and Buck Mason drop you to $50.

It’s how I ended up with 7 in my closet: 3 sleeveless and 4 short-sleeves. Two still wear their price tags.

But none are the “it” brands. And while clearly my closet doesn’t need another white t-shirt, apparently my psyche does.

Because every time I see yet another white tee I don’t own, I send myself on a goose chase. Fearful I don’t have the “right” ones because they’re not from Leset, Perfectwhitetee or Goldie.

The only mental calculus a white tee used to require was at a concert merch table. Now the lifestyle these brands are selling require a consultation with your financial planner, first. Unless you’re making at least $500K a year. Only 1% of US households make that kind of money.

If you decide you can afford it, you have to get past the principle of it: $74 seems like an insane amount of money for a tee shirt. That could be an amazing sushi lunch, instead.

The white tee isn’t the problem — it’s the canary. The real question is who decided $74 is normal and why nobody is doing the math.

Yet every time another influencer shares “the” t-shirt your closet is missing, I start the doom scroll obsession. Reading about it, dissecting it, querying why everyone loves it. I know the white tee is a symbol – mine at least – of trying to fill an endless hole. But it doesn’t stop me from trying.

I know everything I’ve already spent is a sunk cost. If I were starting from zero, one or two of the good brands would’ve cost me less than this collection. But the hanging shirts haunt me.

How did we get here? Not to date myself, but I remember when a white t-shirt used to be ubiquitous and easy.

When I discuss it with my partner, who does the laundry and battles my stains, his response is the same: “Don’t spend a lot of money on white. You’ll ruin it.”

I know myself. I’ll buy the white tees.

And I still end up with my same problem: I spill and all white tees stain easily. It’s why I have a separate pile of white tees in the coat closet. With stains. Because my wardrobe staples will eventually become my happy place, when I tie dye them all.

Tell me which white tee you bought, kept, and would actually buy again. Brand, price & why it survived.

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

Rani Monson

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Sayonara slop bowl. We’re bored by your basicness, bordering on bitterness. You’ve overstayed your welcome and we’re moving on.

“One of the worst parts of being an adult is figuring out what to eat every day,” said.

She’s right. We’ve got 44K fast casual restaurants surrounding us and nothing to eat.

Portions are shrinking and prices are increasing — at a time when everyone has become more price sensitive, even if you’re not living paycheck to paycheck. Our complaints are as long as the list of ingredients we can add to our bowl.

We’re done spending $25 for bland taste and texture thrown in a bowl with protein lumped on top. Especially when you can get a poke bowl for the same price.

Places that focus on custom slop bowls — think Chipotle and Sweetgreen — are scrambling to stay relevant among the bowl backlash. It’s not working.

We’re done suffering. Long lines, food that looks picked over, not fresh. Nobody is willing to eat one more meal void of personality.

Your meal is served in some cardboard concoction that looks how it tastes. I don’t think wood pulp is what my nutritionist had in mind when she told me to eat more roughage.

We’re demanding some diversity in our diet — even when we’re pounding our protein. But nobody is going to eat a cup of meat. We want to be certain we’re eating food, not the container.

Chipotle's Founder Has Left the Building

Even the founder of Chipotle, Steve Ells, is over the bowl. His new concept, Counter Service, is a bowl-free zone that only sells sandwiches in Manhattan spots.

The only chain that’s been immune to our boredom, according to its financial reports, is CAVA. Store traffic is up nearly 10% but I don’t get it. I was a fan of its predecessor, Zoe’s Kitchen, because of the menu variety. It offered items I knew I couldn’t make at home. As for CAVA, it tastes like it looks – blah and brown.

Sweetgreen I don’t even bother with. After I got greens served brown I was done.

Next Up: DIY

The real question is how low will the bowl go. Already we’re paying more and getting less. Is the next step doing the work ourselves?

I imagine we’re not far from the time where it’s just like going into FedEx. Every time you go in, they shout at you about the self-serve stations. Soon I expect to be handed my own bowl and tongs.

🍴Where are you eating? I’m out of ideas and I want some.

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

Rani Monson

My Hello Kitty socks got me in trouble at work. I wrote about it. This week, Hello Kitty got Donald Trump several million dollars richer.

➡️Read both, in order, for the full arc.

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.

When I was planning a 3-country work trip I was excited. Until my boss told me I couldn’t check a bag. My fear of what I couldn’t take started talking, and I tried to back-out, unsuccessfully. Then I came across from Fashion Soup. She’s one of the only style writers I’ve found who doesn’t pretend price doesn’t matter — her perfect white tee is $14.90 from Uniqlo.

Lindsay packed for a 10-day trip work trip with only a carry-on. She knows her style, picks her looks in advance and packs accordingly. All of which for me is a real struggle. On the plane she wore pull-on pants. I now own three pair.

Here’s Lindsay, who had it figured out days in advance while I’m still packing on the way to the airport.

Three Keepers

No. 1 — Dad’s sweatshirt

This sweatshirt is my most prized piece. It was my dad’s from business school, and is fifty years old. There are holes everywhere, and while I used to wear it all the time, now I’m nervous that it will completely disintegrate, so it lives mainly in my drawer. A grey raglan sweatshirt is probably my #1 style. I think it goes with absolutely everything.

No. 2 — Dries Van Noten blazer

I am a Blazer Person through and through. I found this Dries Van Noten peak lapel chocolate brown blazer on sale a few years ago, and it is a magical garment: I always feel good when I wear it. I decided to make this my first day outfit at my new job last year — 12 years after my last first day at a new job.

It makes me feel confident and polished, which was exactly how I needed to feel.

No. 3 — Brooks Brothers boys button-down shirt

I bought this Brooks Brothers boys button-down shirt last year in the spring drop of our Vintage Shop. It’s from the 1960s(!), and I love the soft green color and ivory stripes. The quality, no surprise, is amazing and all the century-old hallmarks of a Brooks Brother’s button-down are there: oxford cloth, button-down collar, and 6-pleat shirring at the barrel cuff.

It reminds me of the history of fashion and the through-line to today.

One Regret

This is such an interesting question, and as I reflect on it, I realized I don’t really regret any of my purchases! Everything I’ve bought has helped me get one step closer to identifying my style and what’s feels right in my closet. I shop both by instinct and intention, and each process has a place in my personal style.

I suppose I’ve regretted a few dress purchases, just because I never seem to want to wear a dress when I could wear a cool jacket and pants!

Why I’m Still Shopping

Lindsay doesn't really regret her dress purchases, and I believe her. She shopped her way to knowing herself. I want to become comfortable enough in my own skin that I see my patterns and know what to avoid. Including the items in my closet still wearing their price tags.

So many of us are still discovering. We’re buying for the version of ourselves we think we should be. And until we accept who we are, we’ll keep shopping for the stuff that stays in the closet.

Fashion Soup

Fashion industry insider serving up delicious design, classic style, and good clothes.

By Lindsay Sword

By the time you read this, you’re probably up to 17. That’s the number of new emails since you last checked, all announcing Memorial Day sales. The same sales they’ve been hitting us with for a week. Nothing new.

I speak from experience and as an urgent reminder to myself to just DELETE the emails. Don’t open them. The result is always the same. I fill my cart with stuff just because of the price. We find something we weren’t looking for, don’t need, don’t want — but goddamnit it’s on sale.

When it shows up, I hate it. And then it’s all shit I have to waste time returning. Because I want my money back. It’s an endless cycle and it all starts the same way. We lull ourselves with the self-soothing scroll.

To help myself, I’ve come to think of my shopping in 2 categories:

1. The items I’ve already decided to buy, on sale or not.

2. The random stuff that shows up at my front door. Always the result of an emotional scroll, convincing myself I’m saving money.

And while it might sound clean, it can be a slippery slope, where items in my nice clean “yes” bucket can slide into the “no” category. Let me show you how.

Category 1: The List

These are the items I’ve already decided to purchase soon:

• The orangey-red silk shirt that’s already in my cart. I know the brand and where I’m buying it from.

• A pair of midrise khaki shorts that are longish but still short enough they’re above my knee. No pleats and definitely not baggy. I haven’t found them — yet.

• A new pair of brown leather sandals that show plenty of skin but still let me walk a mile.

• Two cashmere sweaters: dark navy and chocolate. In the blue I don’t know if I’ll get a deep v-neck or a cardigan. The brown will be a pullover.

Category 2: Everything Else

Here’s the dirty trick we play on ourselves. When we get a compliment on something we’re wearing, it’s much more acceptable to say “Oh I got it on sale.” Nobody says “I paid full price” — even when they did. I say this as someone who has literally driven to a different grocery store to save $1 on a whole watermelon. I’m not proud but was eating a lot of it at the time.

Retailers are smart and know how to play to our fears. They know consumer sentiment just hit a new all-time low. I’m not above this. None of us are. I have a job — today — but no illusion that I’m safe. The job market sucks. I know what my lifestyle costs and what would have to change if the paycheck stopped.

Only 13% of us expect the economy to improve over the next year. Which intensifies our fear of buying the wrong thing. So we scroll more, convinced the right version is one click away.

Our anxiety doesn’t make us stop — it makes us more obsessive. More desperate to be sure.

The Slip

Already this weekend I started to slip. Take my chocolate brown cashmere sweater. Cashmere is hard — it’s all about the fit and feel of the fabric. It’s tough to buy online and likely will need to be an IRL buy. There is one on sale at Bloomingdale’s right now. “Is this the one?” I won’t know until I buy it, try it on, and probably return it. That’s the trap — and that’s the whole weekend gone.

But this time, I don’t buy. It’s why I keep unsubscribing from every retailer I’ve ever bought from. I don’t need the temptation and I know it’s a trick I fall for. The sale doesn’t really save us any money. It just gives us cover.

So this Memorial Day weekend I’ll buy the silk top. Yes, it’s on sale. That’s not the point. I won’t scroll for more. I’ll be digging in the garden, reading a book or taking Radio on a long walk. And eating watermelon.

🛍️So tell me: what's already in your cart for this weekend? And what are you going to pretend you bought because it was on sale?

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

He’s known for his love of Diet Coke and McDonald’s. But he doesn’t strike me as the sushi sort. Melania has to be a fan: protein and no carbs — the love of ladies who lunch. But Donald Trump? Not so much.

Which makes you wonder: why did Trump just drop at least $1 million into Kura Sushi? Disclosed this week — 3,700+ trades across hundreds of millions of dollars — most made sense. Nvidia, Amazon. Microsoft. But an 88-location sushi chain?

Personally, I love the idea of plucking my raw fish from a conveyor belt. The best part? For every 15 plates you eat, you earn a prize. But I definitely can’t imagine the President and First Lady grabbing their own small plates of fish before it moves past.

So how does a move into a small sushi chain make investment sense? Trump’s traders bought between $1 million and $5 million of Kura Sushi Feb 2. This was two days after the company announced a new prize promotion. The effect was immediate — think dropping an Alka-Seltzer into a Diet Coke type activity. Sales jumped 8.6% and the number of customers bubbled up 4.3%.

The impact was big enough that the company raised its full-year outlook and the stock popped 6%.

So what was this super successful prize promotion? Hello Kitty.

Sanrio created Hello Kitty in 1974 in Japan. The following year she showed up on a vinyl coin purse and emerged in the US in 1976. Hello Kitty is now an IP selling machine with a brand value of $7 billion. Not bad for a cat.

Of course the algorithm used by investors noticed. Its kid-branded merchandise marketed to women. For ourselves. We are the trade, with our disposable income and desire to re-live the nostalgia of our childhood.

I own a sweatshirt, baseball cap and multiple pairs of Hello Kitty socks, which I’ve written about because they got me in trouble at work. But if you want to go next level, consider the $500 Hello Kitty figurine from Baccarat.

So now I have to decide if I’m willing to spend my money to get my Hello Kitty toy with a visit to Kura Sushi. I don’t want the President getting any more of my money. I’m not even comfortable with the fact I’ve discovered we actually have something in common.

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

Recently I wrote about custom ear plugs being the best $200 I’ve ever spent. I can finally sleep and want everyone to know about the solution that took me years to find. So I went live with my audiologist so others could see how Dr. Angela John made mine. But no one cared about my custom plugs. The real draw was Q-tips.

The item we shouldn’t be using in our ears — ever. Left alone, our ears are actually self-cleaning. The wax acts as a natural moisturizer, keeping the skin inside your ear supple, fighting off bacteria and infections. When we remove the wax unnaturally, the ear canal dries out. It becomes more prone to infection and becomes itchy. Which of course just makes you want to grab a Q-tip to reach the itch in your ear.

Dr. John suggests gentle soap and warm water in the shower, towel dry, done.

This news hit a nerve with me. The nagging at the back of my brain got louder when I started hearing from other readers: “I had no idea I shouldn’t be using Q-tips in my ears.”

After hearing this during our conversation — I failed to ask Dr. John the real question in my mind: how did we start this peculiar habit of sticking something in our ear? And more importantly, why have we become so fastidious about cleaning something that isn’t actually dirty, in a way that can cause harm?

I remember when I first learned about using this bathroom staple around second grade. I was at my neighbor’s house, she was a bit older and known for her baton twirling skills. She was getting ready to go perform, but before she left, I saw her clean her ears with a Q-tip.

I’d never seen this and of course wanted a turn. I was appalled by what came out of mine. I sniffed, trying to figure out if it had an odor. I don’t know if I said the shameful part out loud or kept it to myself. “I’ve never cleaned my ears before.”

I went home and repeated the process multiple times, worried I hadn’t gotten it all cleaned out. I feared others might have witnessed my yellowish wax. I started a rigorous cleansing habit. My shame stuck.

I never thought to question if this was necessary. And even if I had, my embarrassment would have outweighed my curiosity. Which is how the rest of us got here — doing something harmful — because none of us wanted to be the one to ask.

Leo Gerstenzang invented the Q-tip in 1923 after watching his wife wrap cotton around a toothpick to clean their baby. She solved the problem. He gets the credit.

From the baby we started to stick them in our bellybutton, then up our nose. So naturally we were going to keep shoving them into places where we can pull something out. Instant gratification and visible proof of personal hygiene.

By the 1970s, doctors saw a spike in issues caused by Q-tips, including punctured eardrums and impacted wax that got pushed further into the ear canal. The manufacturer added a warning: “Do not insert swab into ear canal.”

The caution still graces the side of the package. I’ve seen it, but convinced myself that it didn’t apply to me. Still sulking in my childhood shame, I was dedicated to my hygiene at all costs.

The Q-tip wasn’t long enough, and neither were my fingers. There’s no way I was shoving the swab into the canal. If anything, I was just doing a light dusting around the edge. Because that wax needed to come out. Right? Wrong.

Each year we buy 25 billion swabs just to feel clean. We all got the hygiene memo. But at what cost? The warning label is printed there in plain English. We just couldn’t read it through our shame.

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

In Case You Missed It:

• Why $180 on custom ear plugs is the best money I ever spent

• Learn more about Dr. Angela John, audiologist

Dr. John spends her free time practicing Pilates, travelling internationally and attending musicals and concerts. So she’s a perfect person to ask how we should protect our ears at concerts and to explain the risks we take when we don’t.

Dr. John on Why She Became an Audiologist

She has her B.S. in Speech Language Pathology and Audiology and her Doctor of Audiology. She is licensed by the Texas State Board of Examiners for Speech-Language Pathology and Audiology. She is available by appointment at Total Hearing Care located at 4130 Abrams Rd. Dallas, TX 75214 (214) 827-1900.

Questions I’ll Ask

• I go to tons of concerts: what should I do to protect my hearing? What risks am I taking when I don’t? As that’s typically the case.

• Blackheads in ears: you too? We’ll talk about how to prevent them.

• What are we doing wrong when it comes to ear health?

What Do You Want to Hear About?

Already have questions for Dr. John? Drop them in the comments below.

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Shit I broke it. The allegedly indestructible NeeDoh wasn’t having a great week. It popped like a pimple.

I was on a work call with my boss, twisting and releasing the corner of my neon pink NeeDoh cube, watching it recover. I kept pinching. But one twist went too far. It started to ooze. Clear sticky gel quickly covering fingers on both hands, so I couldn’t put myself on mute or turn the camera off.

“Um yeah I need to take a break for a minute,” I said to my boss, shrugging my shoulders and showing him the remains of my NeeDoh, now covering my hands.

I could repair it with Gorilla Glue, according to Reddit readers. Of course this didn’t surface until after it was already a corpse, buried deep in the trash.

“Yeah, you better go get that off. I think that stuff is toxic,” he replied with a shrug. He used the pause to go grab another Monster energy drink.

I had to use the dish scrubber to release the stuck gunk; soap alone wouldn’t do it. Fearing the stuff could be toxic, now that it had been mentioned, I knew we couldn’t take a risk with our food. The brush joined what had been my stress release in the trash.

“What happened to the dish brush?” my partner bellowed at me later that night, he was in the kitchen and I was in my office, music on.

The Most In-Demand Item on Earth, Destroyed

Clearly my boss was stressing me out. My response? Destroy the most in-demand item on earth — the one you can’t find for any amount of money. It was supposed to absorb my angst. Instead, it exploded because of it.

And it was the one thing I owned that made me feel relevant because everyone wants one and can’t find it anywhere. It was displayed on my desk, showed off during meetings and proudly discussed at work dinners.

Now what can I talk about?

And Then the Vitamix

You’ve had weeks like this, right? Where the things that are meant to hold us together just...don’t.

Then my Vitamix blender started to malfunction. I’m not sure which happened first: the visible smoke or the putrid smell. I shut it off and decided to inspect the bottom of the container. Which of course I was then dumb enough to touch, burning the tip of my finger. Filled with all the ingredients that were meant to be a relaxing smoothie, I didn’t know what to do. So I just set the entire thing in the sink and walked away.

But it puts me in a bit of a pickle. The only two foods I can reliably make are eggs and smoothies. Eating is already a total pain in the ass. Now what do I do with that beet I just bought?

I called Vitamix to figure out my options, and the rep wanted to know what is my favorite thing to make with my blender.

“Uh, smoothies,” I replied.

I’m already feeling like a loser — I’ve destroyed the things that are supposed to help me. Dear God, do not try to shame me because I don’t use my blender to make a souffle. I’m not in the mood.

It’s bad enough when the world is already making you feel like you’re not enough. But when your stuff starts to agree, that’s a whole new low.

And what does it say about me, when my stuff starts attempting a coup?

“You know, we have lots of great recipes you can find for free on our website,” I was informed.

“Great, I’ll tell my husband. He does the cooking,” I replied, just wanting it to be over. My machine wasn’t under warranty.

The Financial Decision Nobody Needs

I could spend $159.95 to replace the 48 ounce container I just stripped. In which case I had to hope I didn’t damage the motor. Or, spend $299 for a brand new machine.

I ordered the container. I’ll spend the difference trying to replace my NeeDoh by doing what rarely works — throwing money at the problem. This time I’m going for the Gummy Bear.

What's your most recent “I definitely did not need that” purchase that you absolutely must have? Comments are open. Let’s chat!

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For the week of Thanksgiving one year, we decided to ditch all familial obligations and nurse our vices in New Orleans. Alone. Which basically meant a week of gluttony: rich meals, late nights and live music. Sleeping on the floor in the hallway of our oversized room in the French Quarter wasn’t part of the plan.

But that’s where I found myself in the middle of the night, begging my body to sleep. My partner’s snoring had gone from being loud to a “call the authorities” noise disturbance. I tried to cover myself in a tent of pillows, but I couldn’t escape his exhales. I’m already a bad sleeper. This was my worst hell.

The next morning I bought a generic box of disposable ear plugs at 7-Eleven. These were hard, hurt and kept falling out. But I sorta slept.

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Once home, in search of a perfect fit, I learned ear plugs came in various sizes and the color of the foam indicates the level of squishiness. My sleep arsenal already included sleep masks and white noise. Blocking out noise while I slept was helping, if they stayed in all night. Often I’d wake up to find a stray bud lost in my hair.

I built up an impressive collection of more than 300 disposable plugs. Purchases included: HEAROS Sleep Pretty in Pink; Mack’s: Slim Fit Soft and Original Soft Foam; and three different styles from Howard Leight: Women Earplugs, Honeywell Laser Lite and Honeywell Maximum Disposable. On rare occasions, I got both plugs in perfectly. But more often than not, I still struggled to muzzle my partner’s nightly commotion and woke up.

It didn’t matter which brand I tried, or how hard I shoved them into my ears, I just couldn’t find my perfect pair. Turns out I was trying too hard. And I actually rubbed my inner ears raw. I’m not a wimp. I don’t need numbing cream for botox and filler. I can handle physical discomfort. But holy hell, scratching the inside of your ear is painful. To the point I got concerned I’d done real damage and went to an Ear Nose and Throat doctor.

That’s how I learned I’d scratched my inner ears — and that I needed to go custom.

“Custom? Like custom clothing?” I asked.

Exactly that. I went to an audiologist for custom earplugs. They are more expensive than the disposable ones, but they’re reusable by design. Simply wash with gentle soap and warm water. They last a few years and my most recent pair cost $180. Hands down, it’s the best money I’ve ever spent and I finally can sleep. Most nights.

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The difference, in the nights when I can sleep, is almost surreal. I’ve had professional sleep studies done, but never did things like noise disturbances get taken into account. The focus was always on breathing and possible sleep apnea. Not once did anyone ask what else might be in my sleep environment. Like my partner, who sounds like an airplane on a fast descent after all its engines stopped working.

Recently I went back to the audiologist because the removal stem was breaking off. While there getting fitted for molds, I started asking Angela John, a Doctor of Audiology in Dallas, some questions.

“Why do I get blackheads in my ear?” I asked her. I was relieved to hear it’s not just me. She actually said the space in our ear is similar to the skin on our nose.

I invited Dr. John to join us for a Retail Therapy Substack Live: AMA on Ears. Dr. John, who I should say I paid full price to see – $180 for the new pair – graciously agreed. Join us Wed. May 13 at 3:45pm CST for a Substack Live with Dr. John. Bring your questions. Nothing is too odd or gross.

Got questions? Pop them into the comments and let’s get the list going.

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Since our invite obviously got lost in the mail, Radio and I took matters into our own hands. Of course my doodle dog has thoughts on his attire.

Up until now, who would be filling the 475 seats has remained a mystery. Today.com just published the full guest list of those who got the honor of paying $75K+ to attend. You also can watch the Red Carpet live on The Guardian. I recommend a tasty snack and strong beverage to help you properly digest all of the couture and controversy.

We know NYC Mayor Zohran Mamdani is boycotting the event, in his nod to make the city more affordable. In a surprise appearance, Mother Jones magazine showed up on the red carpet with commentary — and barely came out swinging.

What might leave the biggest stain on the night? The bottles of urine allegedly left by activists protesting the role of Jeff Bezos hosting and paying for the shindig. Who says billionaires don’t share?

It just doesn’t trickle down to us mere mortals who get the honor of living the Met Gala vicariously through the billionaires and beautiful people.

But don’t let my snarkiness fool you. I do way more than my fair share of shopping at Amazon. Tonight I'll be taking notes on looks I plan to recreate. I’ll definitely be checking Amazon for dupes.

What outfits are you hoping to recreate? Or are you a bigger person than me and able to avoid this nonsense altogether? Comments are open: tell me what you’re thinking.

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Cheers to spending our time and money well!

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Diamond Prices are Crashing

Hello friends and happy “World Diamond Day.” Didn’t know today was a special day? Of course you didn’t — this holiday isn’t real. Today is the very first time it’s happening.

Diamonds. We’ve been taught they’re forever, thanks to smart marketing. But what’s actually hap…

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This week tech talk show TBPN sold itself to one of the biggest and most controversial companies it covers: OpenAI. The unexpected acquisition reverberated throughout Tech and Media circles, as if the show hosts smashed the gong they use on air during their 3-hour weekday streaming show.

Why would an AI company prepping for an IPO buy a media show? To control the narrative. The gong was just a bonus.

The laughable part is the company insisting TBPN will maintain its editorial independence. History isn’t in TBPN’s favor. When a billionaire buys a media company, it always starts off with them patting themselves on the back. How their wealth is allowing them to provide this noble gesture to protect Free Speech and Democracy.

It’s bullshit.

Billionaires choke on their own words as soon as it’s a threat to the bottom line or their own personal wealth, backfiring aggressively on the Freedom of Press claims and hurting Democracy as a whole. Because at the end of the day, a billionaire cares most about … their billions.

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To fully dissect just how messy this will get — all of which ultimately will limit what information is available to the public — we’re going to look at two aspects of this news.

1. All the business changes that have already been announced for TBPN, throwing every red flag saying TBPN will not maintain editorial independence.

2. What’s happened every time a billionaire has bought a media brand and kept that brand quiet to cover their own ass, hurting the public. Think the Los Angeles Times and the Washington Post, owned by Jeff Bezos of Amazon.

And before you dismiss any concerns, remember media owners impacted the outcome of the last 3 Presidential elections, all involving Donald Trump.

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