I Paid $800 for a Wallet I Don’t Even Use Anymore

A few years ago, I decided to invest in a luxury wallet—designer designer. One of those names that doesn’t need an introduction. I won’t say which one, but just know it was giving main character energy with every zipper pull. The leather was smooth, the packaging came with attitude, and the price tag—about $800—made me feel like I had officially entered a new financial bracket.

It looked expensive. And that was kind of the point.

But less than a year into using it, the zipper broke.

It started off innocent—snagging here and there. Then it got stuck. Eventually, it split completely, and I was over it. I also realized it was doing too much. The wallet was heavy, bulky, and didn’t even fit in half my bags. Turns out, I was carrying a luxury wallet that wasn’t carrying me. It was more name than necessity. More performance than purpose.

So I set it aside and picked up something else: a $125 leather Coach wallet.

It wasn’t a downgrade. It was a return to reality.

Small, functional, and still stylish enough to feel like a treat. A year later, that Coach wallet still looks brand new. No scuffs, no stitching coming loose, no zipper drama. And honestly? It does everything I need it to do without the emotional baggage of trying to impress anyone.

It made me rethink how we measure “value.”

Yes, Coach is still a name brand, but the difference is—I didn’t buy it for the hype. I bought it because it works. It fits in my life, literally. And I’ve entered a phase where that’s what matters. I want pieces that function. Pieces that last. Pieces that don’t need to shout to be seen.

The same thing happened again recently while I was flying home from a work trip in San Francisco. I stopped in the airport and spotted a MAC Cosmetics store—something I hadn’t paid attention to in years. Like most people, I’d been deep in my Sephora era: always chasing new drops, influencer favorites, and the latest $47 lip liner that came and went like a seasonal latte.

But walking into MAC felt like a reset. Familiar. Grounded.

I picked up a Chestnut lip liner—a classic—and instantly remembered why it used to be my go-to. The formula was still smooth, still wax-based, still everything. And it was $27. Twenty-seven dollars for something that did the job better than what I had just paid nearly double for a month ago. That purchase wasn’t about nostalgia. It was about clarity. It reminded me that sometimes the girls we grew up on were always the moment.

There’s something powerful about scaling back and getting more.

This isn’t about anti-luxury or pretending designer pieces don’t have their place. This is about buying smarter, not louder. About finding joy in things that feel good, look good, and actually work—without the pressure to make it a personality trait.

I’m not chasing trends anymore. I’m building my own edit. And that $125 wallet and $27 lip liner? They’re sitting front row in it.