Bougie on a Budget (aka Aldi Adventures)

When you’re a writer with champagne taste but a boxed-wine bank account, you learn to adapt. And by adapt, I mean… you shop at Aldi.

Let’s be clear: Aldi is not just a grocery store—it’s an extreme sport. You need a quarter for a cart (God help you if you forget). You need Olympic reflexes to bag your own groceries at warp speed. And you need the confidence of a runway model to strut past the middle aisle where the random shit you don’t need but suddenly must have lives. One second you’re buying eggs, the next you’re walking out with a chainsaw, a yoga mat, and a heated llama-shaped blanket.

On a poor writer’s salary, Aldi is salvation. For the price of one “organic, free-range, artisan” avocado at Whole Foods, I can buy six at Aldi and still have enough left for a wine bottle with a screw top. Yes, it’s $3.99. Yes, it tastes like rebellion.

The dogs? They get Aldi-brand treats now. Xena looks at me like I’ve betrayed the family name. Roxi eats them anyway because carbs are carbs. Joke’s on them—when I checked the labels, the Aldi knockoff PupPeroni was healthier than the name brand. My bougie bulldog is basically on a wellness retreat and doesn’t even know it.

Do I miss Trader Joe’s? Sometimes. But do I like being able to buy groceries and still afford gas to get to work? Absolutely.

And don’t try to tell me Aldi and Trader Joe’s are the same. They’re not. One is quirky hipster paradise with everything bagel seasoning in three languages. The other is “here’s a gallon of milk for $1.79 and, oh, do you need a kayak?” They are cousins, not twins—learn the difference.

So if you see me proudly strutting out of Aldi with my 39-cent bananas and a questionable middle-aisle purchase, just know I’m thriving. Poor, but thriving.

Signed,

August Quinn

Your broke writer, part-time cashier’s nightmare, full-time Aldi evangelist.