Another Day, Another... Dolce?

Myth: All diplomats are filthy rich. Fact: All diplomats are employed and thus paid by the government.

This question, or assumption is one I get quite often, is that because my parents are diplomats then my family must be loaded. Hence the term 'diplobrat' because really, I and all the rest of the children of the foreign service must all be spoiled selfish little brats with no concept of work, money, savings or the meaning of a good hard day's job. Magazines and newspapers splash pictures of us in our fancy dresses drinking champagne and nibbling on exotic meats and cheeses, mingling with royalty and nobility and other high society personnel while snubbing the wait-staff who bring us our snob water, all the while littering wherever we step because 'someone else will clean it up!'.

Except not really. Diplomats, such as my parents, do have money... but that doesn't mean I do.

An ex-boyfriend once shamed me (on my way to work, mind you!) about my supposed "high society" status which made me '100 yards in front of him' and one of 'the lucky girls'... you know, the kind you see on laguna beach who's mothers or fathers or whatevers pay their 4,000$ credit card bills, most of which they spent on hoodies or something ridiculous. I can tell you with absolute certainty that this is NOT the case; at least not with me. Yes, I admit that thanks to the hard work of my father and mother, both of which have been in the service for over 25 years, my brother and I have had more opportunities for education, for advancement, for the pleasures in life that every parent wishes to bestow on their children. While I acknowledge the great sacrifices that my parents have made for the benefit of my brother and I, I will not apologise for my parents choices to reap the benefits of their work in whichever way they so choose to.

I live in an apartment that my parents own. They invested in it and will turn a profit when we sell it, as supposed to sinking money into rent while they are at post. My tuition is taken care of for university, and I get assistance from them if my books cost more than 500$ (which, I can tell you, they do). My mother insists that I am too skinny, so she sends me money to buy food. Everything else that I do/have/need/want, I get for myself.

It's not like they haven't taught me the value of work. I had chores to do as soon as I could do them; I got what I needed but not always what I wanted... and eventually at 16 I discovered that it was a hell of a lot easier to get a job and work for the money I needed to buy the things I wanted than have to justify to another person why I wished to have whatever I wanted at the time. So from the age of 16 to where I am now, 22, I have had a job either part time or full time, while I was going to school. In fact, for the past 6 years that I have been working, I spent 4.5 working 2 jobs at the same time. That's right: a diplobrat working 2 jobs, unglamorous ones too, to buy the nice clothing you see on her today.

I let my girlfriends borrow some pieces from time to time... I enjoy having them 'go shopping' in my closet for outfits they don't want to buy and never wear again. I do it because I am a generous person, and also enjoy shopping in other peoples closets. Most of the time my friends give my clothing back to me; and some of the really lovely ones wash them before returning them. But there have been others who have borrowed piece after piece after piece and have yet to return them. I can't help but wonder why... is it because they think I won't notice? Or is it because I have "so much clothing" that really, what is a dress here or a skirt there?

Well... a dress here or a skirt there, and every subsequent piece hanging in my (or your) closet is actually a much prettier physical representation of the hours of my life spent earning what I wear. I work for my clothing.

Contrary to popular myth, "daddy" did NOT buy it for me. "Daddy" didn't give me the money to buy it either. "Daddy" doesn't even receive the credit card bill at the end of the month. "Daddy" has nothing to do with my shopping because if he did I wouldn't buy half as much clothing/shoes/accessories/purses/shampoo as I do.

I admit that I have a walk-in closet full of clothes. Nice clothes... so many, in fact, that I have run out of hangers to hang and space to put whatever is still folded nicely and not in a pile on my floor. But despite their disheveled appearance and ability to disappear right in front of my eyes, each and every piece of clothing that I own represents the countless numbers of hours that I spent working for the money to buy them. I have been working since I was 16 to buy myself the pretty things I want without having to justify wanting it.

I am no martyr here: my basic necessities of shelter, food and education are met by my parents. I am by NO means struggling, but everything else that you see is all me. I'm just insulted by the fact that as soon as people find out that my parents are diplomats that all of a sudden the past 6 years of my life spent working some really shitty jobs is suddenly erased by the misconception of invisible wealth.

Really. The possessions that I have, be it clothing, shoes, technology... whatever, isn't a testament to my family's supposed wealth. Oh no; it's more a testament to my work ethic, and not to mention, my fabulous taste.