I come from the middle of the middle class. Politically, I am militantly middle of the road. The truth usually lies somewhere in the middle.
I’m a classic example of ‘social drift’ .British prep and public school educated. Solid middle class upbringing . Father was a diplomat. He retired as Consul general to Atlanta.
I’ve lived in private places for those on benefits and in social housing since living independently. Mixed mostly with people on low incomes IRL.
I’m from the low of the lower class but always had a supportive and loving environment. I’m not a bad human being and it doesn’t take me much to live large. I’ve lived in the middle for a while though…it wasn’t half bad!
I came from the lower middle class.
We lived in a village with people who were mostly upper middle class, so although we weren’t really poor, I always felt like the pauper.
Hand-me-downs instead of new clothes, used wobbly bikes instead of new ones, never the same toys or gadgets as the other kids, vacations were spent driving to visit family while all my classmates went to exotic countries, never name-brand foods or luxury items like nutella, etc.
I don’t blame my parents at all, they did the best they could under the circumstances. But it does make me question whether continuing to have kids when you can barely afford the ones you’ve got is a good idea…
I wass oddly shaped as a teen, and finding pants that fit well was really hard. Most pants cost 500kr and up. One of the few times my mom let me pick out a new pair instead of wearing handmedowns, she told me they could not cost more than 300kr. The only ones that fit cost 400 (for reference, 100kr is like 20$).
She was adamant those were too expensive. I was so stressed from trying on pants and shopping that I just lost it. I threw a temper tantrum and yelled about how sick I was of always being poor and never having clothes I actually liked. Secretly I was upset because she’d promised me something I felt she wasn’t gonna give me.
Needless to say, I got no pants that day.
Reflecting on it later, I realised that while ±100 didn’t seem like a big deal, it might very well have been unaffordable for her.
I am the pain in the ass.
Although I could buy new clothes, I am proud if I find some clothes at flea markets. I have a funny story. My sister studied in the Soviet Union and once in 1987 I had a trip to Moscow. My mother had filled two suitcases with all kinds of flea market clothes that I was supposed to deliver to my sister who then sold these ‘western’ clothes in Moscow. When I arrived at the Moscow airport, the customs officer asked whose suitcases were these and I replied ‘mine’ and he let me go. And so I delivered these clothes to my sister who then sold them in Moscow. I am a big flea market fan.
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