Good Article: When Women Earn More.... We'll all be facing this pretty soon!

When women earn more…
By Yolonda Lawrence

The trouble began with a pair of shoes—my pink and black Prada Mary Janes. They’re fabulous, and I feel special whenever I have them on. So I wore them on my date with John. John was a 35-year-old struggling painter I’d met at a party. We’d gone on a few dates, and the more time we spent together, the more smitten I became. What was not to like? He was artistic, smart, and incredibly funny. After an evening filled with witty conversation and flirty repartee, I invited John upstairs for coffee. He made himself comfortable while I went into the kitchen and, doing my best 21st century Martha Stewart impression, figured out how to use an actual coffee press. An hour later, surrounded by empty coffee mugs, John and I were gazing into each other’s eyes. Or at least that’s what I thought was happening. Apparently, John had a wandering eye. He grabbed one of my recently discarded Mary Janes and asked, “How much did you pay for these?” I was confused. This seemed like an odd time to talk about… shoes. So I casually said, “I don’t remember,” then flashed him a flirtatious smile. Surely, our question and answer period had ended, and we would happily go back to gazing into each other’s eyes. Except that John was more interested in eyeing my shoes. “Come on!” he persisted. “Women always remember how much they pay for stuff.” It’s amazing how quickly one’s feelings can turn from amorous to annoyed. I almost got defensive, but stopped myself. Why fight? An hour earlier, I’d learned to use my coffee press for this man. Wasn’t that worth something? So I chose to be agreeable and honest. “I paid 400 dollars for the shoes,” I admitted. John was incredulous. This was not a good sign. “That’s more than half my rent. That’s ridiculous. You’re way too expensive for me.” I felt judged, and I didn’t like it. Not surprisingly, the mood was broken, and our date ended. That was the last time I saw John. Does money have to matter?That night I had trouble falling asleep. I couldn’t help but wonder if John had a point after all. Maybe he was right. Had I become too expensive? The truth was that after a decade-long financial struggle that included getting my car repossessed and wondering how I’d pay for groceries, I’d turned a corner. My hard work finally paid off and I’d become a well-paid television writer. But with my new success came a new dating dilemma: If I dated men who made less money, would I need to make adjustments in my lifestyle? Did my hard-won success — and my enjoyment of it — make me unattractive in the dating world? I woke up the next morning with a solution. I might not need to make adjustments, but I would have to lie. I could keep my penchant for the high-end hidden from my dates. Soon I became the woman I thought the men I dated wanted me to be, and I shoved my designer shoes into the back of my closet. Of course, I could have simply started dating investment bankers, but I’m attracted to artistic types. So I continued to date men who made less money—and somehow I managed to keep my finances a secret. But what began as little white lies turned into an endless stream of falsehoods and obfuscations. I even kept one guy from seeing the inside of my apartment and my art collection with what I thought was an ingenious excuse — fumigation — until I learned that when you use that explanation more than once, you sound like a slob and guys stop calling. How honest should you be?I knew when I met Peter, a preschool teacher whom I fell hard for, that I had to stop lying, but telling him the truth about my financial situation terrified me. I had to work up the nerve to clue him in about what I earned and how I spent it. When I finally said the words, I’m not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t an insouciant shrug, followed by, “That’s cool, babe. Guess you’re paying for dinner. Hurry up. I’m starving.” I couldn’t stop smiling. With one brief exchange, I learned that after 20 years of dating and trying various ways to turn myself inside out to become what I thought men wanted me to be, things didn’t have to be so hard. A pair of fancy shoes revealed the ultimate truth. My salary wasn’t really the issue here, just as in the past it hadn’t really been my weight or my clothes or any other thing I felt insecure about. Instead, it came down to acceptance—my own and that of someone who might fall in love with me. I am who I am, and as long as Peter could deal with a closet full of expensive shoes, money would be the least of our issues.