Being raised to rummage through racks while developing a keen eye for luxury styles sold at bargain prices, it wasn’t long before I was introduced to the infamous after-Thanksgiving “holiday” – Black Friday. My family and I weren’t the pitch-a-tent outside Best Buy type, but you could say our attendance at the mall was pretty much expected.
As a kid, Black Friday was like Christmas and Hannukah had come early if my mom didn’t make me wait until then to re-open the items I picked out. When I was younger, I’d find something I liked, show my mom or dad what I found, and then proceed with the typical back and forth: me arguing I needed it, them contemplating, me pretending to have a stomachache, and them giving in. Over time, however, my wallet started being thrown into the pool of contenders at every register, inside any shop I wanted to look in. And when this would happen, I began to question whether the 15 per cent off the $45 long-sleeves were actually worth it – spoiler alert, they usually weren’t.
