Competitive thrift – it’s the new spending

A WEALTHY father at my son's school recently swapped the oversized Bentley for a more modest Lexus. Another father who, a mere two years ago, flew PJ (private jet) was talking about how his wife had recently taken easyJet. The Porsches are parked further and further from the school gates while the parents on bikes pitch up in front of the headmaster.

Belts may be tightening and the economy crashing, but the competitive streak is still alive and well. Thrift, not excess, is how we show each other up these days. Gone in my neighbourhood are the Whole Foods bags and Royal-sealed fish delivery vans.

Four years ago, the race may have been on for who could land the Kelly bag first: these days it's more who can get rid of it on eBay. My local Oxfam on Westbourne Grove recently underwent an expensive facelift. Other shops are empty but this one is packed full of women who hardly look bedraggled by their recent turn of fortune.

Thrift one-upmanship is far worse than its opposite. Any old idiot can spend well. But to unspend well now that demands talent and perseverance.

"I simply refuse to pay the retail price for clothes," my stylish art dealer friend Marie said during a recent downsizing conversation. She only shops in second-hand stores or special "private" sample sales (meaning she gets to save first). My other stylish friend Tara offered up her used handbag (Hermès) for inspection. A Russian oligarch's wife would refer to that five-year-old accessory as "vintage".

Ladies are still lunching but minus the restaurant. My last two invitations were "at home": this is code for not presuming that anyone wants to spend £30 on a salad. And no less than three women have boasted that they now take the bus: they use cabs only at night when no one can see them.

Seeing what you can live without is now an official competitive sport. Purging oneself of things not only clears the house: it gives one a sense of superiority.

But even in our new state of thrift, we draw the line somewhere. "I will give up the handbag habit," says my glamorous PR friend Anne, "but I will keep the spa visit." We may boycott Harvey Nichols, skip Daylesford's £15 breakfast and give the holiday a miss (staycations are more fashionable) but it will be a long time before we give up grooming. During my recent visit to Heidi Klein I noticed no one was even looking at the £350 bathing suits but the timetable for Brazilian waxes and fake tans was as booked as ever. Looking good is a psychological defence in hard times. In today's harsh economic climate, to be seen with grown- out highlights is to admit defeat.