The secret habit that gives me a ‘fleeting thrill’

If you have an eye for detail, when you enter my perfectly serviceable kitchen you may notice that one thing is not like the others. Nestled among the Kmart appliances, the mishmash of glassware, the bargain-basement pots and the elderly fridge is one gleaming, glorious piece of artistry.

My rubbish bin.

Yes, taking pride of place in the space is a top-of-the-line, designer garbage receptacle. The bin has three different compartments, colourful interiors and exteriors of sparkling white and chrome. It is my favourite piece of furniture. I paid a fortune for it. My kids think it’s utterly absurd.

Splurges are not about needs, they are about wants.Credit: ISTOCK

My bin was one of my (relatively) few splurges in a generally quite prudent life. For the most part, I am a person of simple tastes. I drive a beaten-up car. My homewares are modern but inexpensive. I am usually quite easy to please. When I needed a new desk, for example, I didn’t browse upmarket stores; I headed straight to IKEA and bought a white slab on legs. (Its name, Lagkapten/Spänd, was truly the fanciest thing about it.)

But when I saw that luxurious rubbish bin in a storefront one day, I felt a profound, visceral stirring. It was sleek and futuristic and I wanted it, desperately. The stirring paused for a moment when I looked at the price, but then it quickly returned with even greater intensity. I wasn’t actually in the market for a new rubbish bin – I’d been contentedly using a cheap pedal bin from Target – but that was not the point. I couldn’t possibly go back to my old model now that I’d seen this magnificent specimen. I longed for this bin. I deserved this bin! I barely even tried to resist.

I squealed when I brought it into my home. It transformed my entire kitchen. They say that material possessions don’t bring us happiness, but “they” haven’t owned a sculptural, multi-compartmented bin.

I splurged and bought myself a Laneige lip balm, which was about six times the price of a ChapStick. Whether it actually does a better job is yet to be decided.

KERRI SACKVILLE

I would like to say that my bin was my first splurge in a while, but really, it was not. Only a few months prior, I had bought a spectacular Gucci tee, which I had lusted after for many years. I found the tee on a second-hand clothing site, but it still set me back quite a hefty sum. It was worth every single penny. My tee is soft and beautiful and works with all of my pants, and I look fabulous in it, every time.

More recently, I splurged and bought myself a Laneige lip balm, which was about six times the price of a ChapStick. Whether it actually does a noticeably better job is yet to be decided, but it smells like vanilla and glides on silkily smooth, and I feel glamorous every time I use it.

Most of us splurge from time to time, though our personal budgets may vary. And, no matter how much or how little they cost, splurges feel very different from regular purchases. When I’m contemplating a regular purchase, I decide whether I need it, then I look for the cheapest good option. I need new leggings? I’ll buy a mid-range pair online. My sneakers are wearing out? I’ll replace them when my favourite brand is on sale.

But splurges are not about needs, they are about wants. Regular purchases can give me a fleeting thrill because it’s always fun to have something new. Splurges, on the other hand, bring enduring pleasure because they give the ongoing gift of self-care.

My T-shirt and my lip balm and my rubbish bin do far more than just cover my torso, or moisturise my lips, or keep my food scraps and recycling in conveniently discrete sections. They pamper me. They soothe me. They speak to me, every day. My splurges remind me that I work hard and that I try to be a good person and that I deserve to have nice things. They tell me that I am entitled to a little bit of luxury to help me through the banalities of life. They tell me there is beauty to be found every day, even in this difficult and chaotic world.

What’s more, my splurges elevate all of my more basic, functional possessions. Hell, my splurges elevate me! I can wear my Gucci tee with my tatty jeans and slides, and I feel Gucci from head to toe. I can apply my extravagant vanilla balm to my tired old lips, and I am transformed into a veritable Kardashian. And though my pantry door is dented, and my toaster is full of crumbs, my garbage bin upgrades my ordinary kitchen into a chic atelier.

Some people regard splurges as indulgent and wasteful. I see them as necessary and important. And if anyone dares to tell me otherwise, well, they can get in the bin.

Get the best of Sunday Life magazine delivered to your inbox every Sunday morning. Sign up here for our free newsletter.