Let me paint you a picture: I’m a 48-year-old accountant living in a cozy 60-square-meter flat near Trastevere. My wife loves doing her nails after work, but our tiny bathroom counter can’t hold a full salon setup. Last month, she tried a cheap kit from a local market and ended up with glitter all over … Read more
I’m a 48-year-old dad working as a copywriter from our Prenzlauer Berg flat, and let me tell you—nothing kills a morning faster than trying to curl my wife’s fine, shoulder-length hair when Berlin’s damp, grey winter air turns every strand into a frizz bomb. I’ve burned her hair with cheap irons, spent a fortune on … Read more
You know the drill. You’re a 48-year-old guy in a cramped Murray Hill studio, trying to shave your back before a 45-minute subway commute to Midtown, but the humidity makes your skin break out by the time you hit 42nd Street. Last summer, I wasted $300 on a cheap IPL device from a local drugstore … Read more
I’m a 48-year-old dad living in a two-bedroom unit in Parramatta, and I’ve been burned before by cheap DVD box sets that skip like a scratched record. Last summer, I bought a “Complete Collection” from a dodgy seller, and half the discs wouldn’t play—my kids were furious, and I wasted $80. Living in Sydney, where … Read more
Let’s be honest: after a 50-hour week managing a small accounting firm in the CBD, the last thing I want is to spend two hours rehydrating tamarind and pounding spices for a proper Mohinga. I tried making it from scratch once in my cramped Ponsonby kitchen—my wife couldn’t breathe for an hour, and the landlord … Read more
Last winter, I was stuck on the SkyTrain heading home from my office in Gastown, laptop bag soaked through because I forgot my umbrella during yet another surprise downpour. My old HP Pavilion just died on me mid-presentation—the screen flickered and went black from the moisture. As a 48-year-old freelance marketing copywriter who works from … Read more
I’m a 48-year-old insurance adjuster in Chicago, and I spent last winter hunched over a dying 2015 MacBook Air in my Evanston apartment, cursing the 45-minute Metra commute where the battery died before I hit Ogilvie. I almost dropped $1,200 on a new Dell XPS, but my daughter’s braces reminded me that “value” isn’t just … Read more
I’m 48, a copywriter who’s lived in Clapham for 20 years, and I’ve wasted too much money on ‘art’ that looked cheap under London’s grey light or didn’t survive the damp. Last year, I bought a supposedly ‘premium’ framed print from a high-street shop—it warped within two months. That’s when I finally tried this vintage … Read more
I’m Mark, 48, a copywriter who works from a small terrace in Newtown, and I’ve got a 9-year-old Labrador who’s basically my shadow. Last January, during that brutal Sydney heatwave, I made the classic mistake of buying a cheap gel mat from a pet store in Bondi. It leaked within a week, left a sticky … Read more
Look, I’m a 48-year-old copywriter living in a Prenzlauer Berg apartment with a family to feed and deadlines that don’t care about the U-Bahn delays. Last month, after a 45-minute ride from Alexanderplatz, I opened a sad, soggy sandwich and nearly cried. My wife keeps telling me to pack “proper” snacks, but proper snacks don’t … Read more