Walking around Suntec City Mall a month ago, I spied a store that touts itself as an eyebrow specialist. Venturing into the dimly lit, air-conditioned space, I picked up a brochure - and my eyebrows shot up.

I never knew getting my brows neatened and tidied could cost more than $20. More, if I wanted the pair 'rejuvenated'. I toyed with the idea of splashing out the cash, but decided that my DIY routine would do as well.

I mean, I could always draw two lines on my forehead if a major accident happened.

Then a week later, I came across another eyebrow specialist in Bedok Town Centre, which took up half of a shop space. It was open-air, with a row of plastic chairs on one side, on which were seated the tudung-covered, sari-clad, T-shirt-and-shorts heartland horde.

I seated myself on one chair and, in five minutes, I was up again. I parted with $5 for both brows, neatened and tidied.

I suppose you get more careful with money spent on temporary beauty fixes as you get older. After all, those eyebrows always grow out.

I never used to mind splurging on luxury treats and pampering. In fact, for several years, it was routine.

I used to pay more than $100 for a manicure and pedicure at a really swanky shop in Raffles City. Like the Suntec City one, it was air-conditioned and dimly lit, with manicurists in tasteful uniforms.

Now, I spend less than half that amount, sitting on a plastic chair in the neighbourhood centre. Plus, I go for three visits and the fourth is free.

My hairdresser of the past could be found in Ngee Ann City. The salon claims to also 'do'' for the Japanese royal family. A hair cut cost $60 - and that was 10 years ago.

Now, my hairdresser is on the upper floor of a Joo Chiat shophouse and charges me $28. He throws in a free cup of thick coffee from the kopitiam downstairs too.

Likewise, my monthly facial is done at the back of a hairdressing salon amid Mandarin pop.

BUY THE WAY

I don't know how I became such a penny-pincher.

Some people were aghast that I would seat myself out in the open for passers-by to stare at while my eyebrows are being plucked.

What if someone saw you, they asked.

My reply was: So what?

Sure, there have been embarrassing moments.

I sometimes trawl the temporary stalls at my nearby market- cum-hawker centre to pick up good bargains.

Pawing through some panties a few months ago, the stallholder - female, thank goodness - asked in a very, very loud voice if I was looking for underwear especially for that time of the month.

There were plenty of women around and no one batted an eyelid. I picked up three pairs, paid $10 for them and left as fast as my slippered feet could take me.

When you are young, you look forward to becoming a mature, working professional with all the accoutrements and trappings.

That means getting your hair and face done at some high-class place and buying your first designer bag. That is even more true for today's young 'uns.

I had what I thought was a surreal conversation a few years ago with a colleague who had just started work. Her lament was that she wasn't able to afford the things that I can.

She shocked me quite a bit and I don't think she was convinced by my telling her that when I started work, I wore clothes that had been tailored by my mother.

And that it was some years before shopping became a more regular affair, rather than a twice-yearly adventure for me.

I suppose every young person goes through the 'designer'' and 'collector'' phase. Of course, the argument to end all arguments is: you have to pay when you want quality.

But how much high-priced, quality stuff do you really need? What are you trying to prove? Who are you trying to prove what to?

There was a time I used to collect Ferragamo shoes. They last ages and I swear by them. But now, I intersperse my collection with cheaper soles, which can be thrown away without too much heartache. I reason that I need only a few good pairs.

I pick up my handbags from abroad, because I reckon that what I am really looking for are unique bags - not the ubiquitous Louis Vuitton.

I tell myself that I am who I am, not what I wear and where I go to to do my face, hair or nails.

Perhaps I can be accused of inverse snobbery. Or maybe, I have reached a stage where it really doesn't matter to me what others think.

My mother is not too pleased with my penchant for the cheaper - or relatively cheaper - things in life.

The way she sees it, someone who has been working for as long as I have and who sometimes has to meet important people has to dress the part.

Last month, she dragged me through Ion Orchard in search of 'good'' shoes and bags. I went in and out of designer shops and couldn't bear to use the plastic in my wallet.

I found myself gagging at price tags and brow-beating sales staff with every single complaint that can be levelled at leather goods, like, 'you sure it's leather?'

Finally, I got myself a $70 bag from a 'normal'' shop, which I thought was really nice. The young man told me his shop was frequented mainly by polytechnic students. I shushed him but my mother still heard him.

I sometimes use my mother's own argument against her: If it's good enough and it's cheap, why not? I don't need labels to tell others who I am.

In any case, you wouldn't know if my newly neatened and tidied up eyebrows had cost me $20 or $5, would you?

Some people go through life thinking that they are paying for quality when they are simply paying for being in an air-conditioned, dimly lit space.

And sometimes, they just don't look hard enough - or can't be bothered to.

Last month, I went into an air-conditioned, dimly lit shop in Siglap where the owner wanted to sell me a pair of beaded slippers for $15. I laughed and said I had five such pairs, and paid $5 for each.

Where did you buy them, she asked. Oh, from two young Indian boys who turn up occasionally to sell them in my market. I also told her the slippers came in their own 'net'' - which hers didn't have.

Her eyebrows shot up.

This article was first published in Urban, The Straits Times.