Once upon a time in an old Sex and the City episode, Carrie Bradshaw fought for a single girl’s right to shoes. Shamed by her married girlfriend’s reluctance to replace her $485 Manolos that were stolen from said married girlfriend’s home, Carrie lamented the value (or lack thereof) of both her possessions and her single life.
For those of you who may have been too young to have seen the episode or maybe just need a refresher, it goes a little something like this…
Carrie: You know what? I am Santa. I did a little mental addition. Over the years, I have bought Kyra [the married girlfriend] an engagement gift, a wedding gift, then there was the trip to Maine for the wedding, three baby gifts. In toto, I have spent over 23,000 dollars celebrating her choices. And she is shaming me for spending a lousy 485 bucks on myself? Yes. I did the math.
Charlotte: But those were gifts. I mean,if you got married or had a child, she would spend the same on you.
Carrie:And if don't ever get married or have a baby? What? I get bubkes? Think about it. If you are single, after graduation, there isn't one occasion where people celebrate you.
Charlotte: We have birthdays. Oh no. We all have birthdays.
Carrie: That's a wash. I am talking about the single gaff.... No. I'm thrilled to give you gifts to celebrate your life. I just think it stinks that single people are left out of it.
I, like Carrie Bradshaw, am indeed Santa Claus. Okay, maybe more like a Dollar Store Santa Claus because, let’s not kid ourselves, I’m on a teacher salary and live in an expensive city. Regardless, though, of the extravagance of my gifts, I have spent the past decade giving—both money and time. When friends decided to throw destination weddings, I went, traveling so far as Europe to attend their blessed events. When girlfriends asked me to take on the role of bridesmaid, I always said yes. I bought the dress (which I ritualistically then threw away the day after each wedding), I attended the bachelorette weekend, contributed to the shower, bought the bridal lingerie, gave a gift, donated my soul, my kidney, and a pint of blood. When acquaintances invited me to their weddings and I politely declined, I still sent a gift, usually one random $80 Pottery Barn bowl, because it was the cheapest item on the registry. When babies started to make their appearances, I attended another round of showers, offering up breast pumps and boppies as my admission fee. And when these babies started to have birthdays and baptisms, I became kid friendly. I bought the annoying musical sets, the make your own bubble gum kits, the backyard slip-n-slide racer—you know, all of the kinds of toys that parents hate. I bought them because that’s what you do to show your friends and their children are important.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not bitter about all of this gift giving. I did it all of my own free will out of the genuine kindness of my heart. I absolutely support my friends and their life choices. I am happy to celebrate and give what I can as a token of their milestones. But I must admit that getting a wedding invitation in the mail is like getting a bill. Life choices are costly, mostly for those who surround the people making the life choices. And it stings a bit to know that as a single person, the gifts and the effort and the celebrations will not be bestowed upon me. No, it’s not a tit-for-tat mentality that I possess, nor an Eeyore state of mind that leaves me believing no one cares. But when you’re single, no one infuses your life decisions with cash prizes or a toast.
Case-in-point: moving. I recently made a pretty big life move, as I took on a new job and a new city. As an eternally single girl who has existed as a full time grad student and then teacher for the past decade, I don’t have much to contribute to this new life. After all, my domestic goods consist of mismatched hand-me-downs, second hand items, and TJMaxx finds. And my furniture mainly comes from my aunt’s garage and IKEA. To fill the gaps in my domestic collection, I went to the Dollar Store for cups and plates, along with a set of “steak knives.” I currently use my computer as a tv, and the fanciest appliance you will find in my apartment is that $20 Crockpot I purchased from Walmart. To be honest, the nicest things I have are surplus items from my sister’s stint as a bride-to-be that she generously donated to her barren older sibling.
Last night, as I boiled water in a hand-me-down pot from my mom (which I believe dates back to her own wedding registry in the early 80s), I considered the single girl inequalities. I have literally spent thousands of dollars on overpriced housewares, ridiculous items like sorbet makers, and bullshit toasting glasses people will never use again. Yet, here I am boiling water for my $2 packet of soup in a 30 year old hand-me-down pot because I am single. And yes, I am totally blaming the second hand pot on my single status. Because, you see, if I had a ring on my finger as I made this move to DC, it would have been socially acceptable to register for the items I need to build this new life. It would have been encouraged, even expected, for my full time working self, along with my hypothetical full time working fiancé to spend hours…maybe even days…in Macy’s or Bed, Bath, and Beyond pointing a laser gun at 300 thread count bedsheets and stainless steel flatware. Even if my fiancé and I already had such items, we would be encouraged to still register. Because, why not? Why not upgrade? Or why not create a honeymoon registry so people can pay for your vacation? People really want to buy you things when you get married, and they are just itching for that list of items to rifle through.
Sadly, though, there’s no laser gun for the single girl. No one will stop to think that maybe you need household items for your new apartment. You don’t need a lot of things when it’s just you. And when you move alone, it’s not a big deal. It’s not called an event. It’s called a Saturday. No one will worry that you don't have the latest appliances or plush towels. Matching sets and high quality items are only deserving of married couples. Single girl, if you want something nice, work hard and buy it yourself. You’re an independent woman. No one will consider that your salary is stretched because you don’t have the luxury of a double income to face life’s bills each month. So no one will recognize that you could really use a little help or a gift of generosity. And sadly, no one will view your move or your new rental or new job or that graduate degree as cause for real celebration. Sure, they might treat you to a drink or a dinner, but no one’s going to throw the single girl a reception for her milestones. Such public validation for the single girl is rare at best.
So why is it that we validate marriages and babies with grandiose parties and material objects? Why do we, as a society, so willingly rejoice in areas of life that are oftentimes the result of sheer fate or luck, good timing or good karma? Yet we overlook so many opportunities to celebrate hard work or a person’s more understated markers of success and growth? How it it that we expect our ‘village’ of family, friends, and coworkers to rally together and contribute to our choices—but only certain choices that are deemed worthy of financial support? Oh, a baby stroller is going to be at least $300? Don’t worry, it’s on the registry. We’re actually going to need two carseats. At least one will get taken care of on the registry. I really want that $400 Williams and Sonoma mixer, put it on the registry. For those who don’t or can’t fit in to these prescribed social norms and traditions, why is there not a comparable outpouring of generosity? Of communal support?
When I was accepted into a prestigious graduate program, no one threw me a party or sent me gifts or checks. I was not celebrated for this life choice, a choice that was the result of years of dedication and good old fashioned hard work. I couldn’t register on Amazon for my textbooks or expect anyone to assemble a wishing well or basket of precious school supplies for me. Nope. Instead, I quietly moved into my dingy apartment on the bad side of town, applied to a gaggle of part-time jobs, and stalked half.com for the best textbook deals.
Therefore, I shouldn’t really be surprised that I am facing this new life marker in a similar manner—no party, no registry, no big public display of community support. Of course, though, I’m not really lacking in support. Those who love me are proud that I am going after the things I want in my life, that I am taking chances, that I’m being brave enough to do things on my own. Those who love me are ready to help should I ever need something—financial or otherwise. Those who love me are there—just not in the way that they would express this support if I were making more traditional life decisions.
Ultimately, I don’t feel sorry for myself because I lack a state of the art blender or because I’ve never had a catered event thrown in my honor. And I don’t expect anyone else to feel sorry for me and my single existence or to financially support my choices. I just want to be registered.
I want to register for acknowledgement—that the things I do are momentous and life changing in their own special, personal ways. They are my version of buying a house or becoming a mother. These things are my big deals and are therefore worthy of celebration.
I want to register for consideration—that single life isn’t as ideal as some may think. Being on your own can be tough and lonely at times. Don’t always tell me that you’re jealous of my freedom or that my solitude Sunday sounds like a dream vacation. I consider the challenges you face, like your lack of sleep or the small child attached to your breast. Don’t forget that I have challenges too, challenges that are just as important and daunting as yours are to you.
I want to register for understanding—that regardless of marital status or lifestyle, we all want to feel loved and to feel part of something. When you’re single, your ‘part of something’ is comprised of other people’s couples and families. We are not at the center of anyone’s world, nor anyone’s top priority. Please do your best to make us feel like we matter. Because we have always registered with you.
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