When I was 16, I thought my life would be something out of 13 Going on 30 or The Devil Wears Prada. I thought I’d be living a posh life in New York City as a magazine editor who wears fabulous designer clothing and makes a ton of money. I imagined the fantastic dress suits like Donna Karan and Elie Tahari that I would wear. I figured I’d be prancing around in Jimmy Choos. My purses would have a seal that bared Prada or Fendi.

Now that I’m 30, my life doesn’t look anything like that. The closest to designed I can get is Coach (affordable designer if I save up for a few months). Prada leather is still kept in glass cases locked from the likes of me. I have yet to even try on a pair of Jimmy Choos or Christian Louboutins. I haven’t bough anything Donna Karan since I pulled myself out of my bipolar credit card debt. And by the way, I’ve discovered  I don’t like Fendi or Louis Vuitton. But I never fail to be envious when I see others carrying the namesake totes.

My life consists of middle-class labels—Old Navy, Gap, Express, New York & Company. I used to care more about designer garments and shoes but not so much anymore. I buy what I like whether it’s an affordable $17.99 or a splurge of $300. (Yes, $300 is a splurge for me because it’s money usually saved up during the course of a year.) I own a ton of Jessica Simpson shoes (I like her fashion more than her music), Skechers shoes, and assorted purses (such as Puma and Adidas) bought at warehouses like DSW. And to be honest (because I’d lie to you), I’m okay with what I buy. I’m too “fat” to fit into anything designer anyway. I can’t imagine the eating disorder I’d have if my closet were full of designer clothing.

So, yeah, I’m pretty much okay with the life I have.