Neal Rubin

Student uses Craigslist to sell 'I love me' items

College costs force Julia Yax to give up possessions

This would probably be a better tale if Julia Yax was broke, in the true, classic, Ramen-noodles-three-times-a-day and can't-pay-the-tuition sense of collegiate poverty.

Truth is, she's getting by. But that's also in the collegiate sense, meaning potential disaster is only one unexpected bill from paying her a visit.

To guard against that, she has adopted several novel strategies. First, if you don't count the student loans, she lives within her means.

Second, she's selling most everything she owns.

Not the salt shakers and bath towels. Not the clothes on her back, or at least not the ones she wears frequently. Otherwise, make her an offer.

The ad she posted online notes that while Yax, 21, holds a part-time job, the hours are inconsistent. As for the loans, "they make me cringe and sick to my stomach."

Even though they won't come due until after she graduates, the Wayne State junior chips away at them when she can. Mostly, of course, she can't.

Meanwhile, she works at a store at the Somerset Collection where people buy expensive versions of everyday items you can find at Target. One day, she sold $10,700 worth of merchandise -- just about a year's tuition.

"I don't know how hard they worked," she says of the buyers. So no, she's not resentful. But it makes her appreciate her mom's lessons about the difference between wants and needs, and the concept of the I-love-me gift.

They're pretty good lessons for anyone.

Debt piles up

Yax hails from Kawkawlin, near Bay City, and spent her freshman year racking up credits at Saginaw Valley State.

Then, thinking she'd be an architect, she signed on for more than $30,000 in aid and transferred to Lawrence Tech. Reality set in after two semesters, and she realized two or three more years of that was more debt than her psyche could handle.

Now she's sharing a house in Southfield for $412.50 a month plus utilities and preparing to move to the university district in Detroit, where the rent will be cheaper and she can save money by walking to class.

That's progress. But in her quiet moments -- of which she has many, being the "relatively nerdy" sort who spent high school painting murals on the walls -- it struck her that she could do more.

She could live, she decided, without a majority of her stuff: the sweater (J. Crew) and size 8L jeans (Abercrombie & Fitch), the CDs (from Eminem to Celine Dion), the guitar she always meant to learn to play (Art & Lutherie), her white sofa (leather) and rocking chair (wicker), the books and prom shoes (size 8½) and certainly some felt-good-at-the-time splurges (designer wristwatch, $42 change purse).

For some reason, her mom didn't want her to sell her toys (Barbies) and childhood videos ("101 Dalmatians"). But that runs contrary to what Yax already absorbed at home.

A simple trick

Christine Yax, a single mom who works for a road grading company, used to tell her young daughter, "I don't want to hear 'I want' or 'I need.' "

Julia would simply start over: "Me got to have ..."

Before long, though, she caught on. It helped that Christine found an actual kiddie checkbook at a discount store. Mom was the bank, the deposits were holiday checks from relatives, and Julia would have to think hard before she decided a $5 whim was worthwhile.

Later, her mom taught her to make lists: Things you want, things you need. It's a simple trick, but it's a line most of us don't draw so clearly. You can make a case that a lot of companies and municipalities haven't drawn it too well, either.

There was a carrot, though, at the end of the pencil. "Every once in awhile," Christine says, "get yourself an I-love-me-gift." Remind yourself that there are benefits to hard work.

That explains the unworn sterling silver ring (size 8) and barely used Armani timepiece in Julia's ad on Craigslist. Ultimately, she decided they hadn't even belonged on the "I want" list, but they didn't cost much and they felt good at the cash register.

Now she's taking offers. There's a symmetry to it: The castoffs from her pared-down life could be someone else's I-love-me reward.

nrubin@detnews.com (313) 222-1874