Relics of the good old days

Dog gyms, hedge funds, stainless steel. What were we thinking?

Joel Stein
LA Times
January 16, 2009

In the clear recessionary morning, all that stuff we've been binge buying suddenly looks gaudy and ridiculous. It's been a 25-year blur of fluorescent Frankie Sez shirts, logo handbags, Hummers and ring tones. We need to have one giant national garage sale and invite the world.

If there are pictures of you with any of the things listed below on Facebook, immediately remove them. Replace them with one of those stately, unsmiling group portraits our grandparents and great-grandparents took that made us feel like we came from important stock. You don't want your descendants to lose all hope when they realize that Great-Grandpa Jaden was flashing fake gang signs at Treasure Island while downing a Grey Goose and Red Bull before his "American Idol" audition.

Tasting menus: The idea that an appetizer, entree and dessert wasn't enough -- that you had to taste everything -- was a pretty clear sign we were on our way toward being a fat, indebted nation. If Morgan Spurlock had tried to follow up "Super Size Me" with a movie in which he had to go 30 days eating only tasting menus -- and accept the wine pairings if they were offered -- he would have died by Week 2. I went with four people to Per Se in New York, and two of them barfed as soon as we got home. To be fair, it was the most delicious barf they'd ever had.

Stainless steel: Every appliance we touched had to be covered in stainless steel, as if we were low-rent King Midases. How the lamest of metals became the way to show off your wealth is going to confuse the hell out of archaeologists. "No, they actually had gold and silver. And plastics of many colors. They were just easily distracted by cheap, shiny things." Thank God the recession came, because we were about two years from having to sit on cold stainless steel toilet seats.

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