Boston Gal's Open Wallet

After working for more than a decade in New York ad shops, Chuck Hipsher moved to Detroit in 2005. He took a position at the Campbell-Ewald agency, where he helped launch the Chevrolet Silverado campaign. Raised riding in the back of his grandfather's Chevy pickup in Iowa, Mr. Hipsher, 50, says he was "elated" at the opportunity.

He met his wife at the ad agency, and the two had a $40,000 wedding. Kelly Hipsher, 32, was laid off in October 2007 and found out she was pregnant in February 2008. A week later, Mr. Hipsher's pink slip followed. Two months after that, the out-of-work couple moved to Greenville, S.C., to be closer to family and get a fresh start. Together, they had received about $60,000 in severance. "Now we have $600 to our name," says Mr. Hipsher.

Although their rent was cheaper, Mr. Hipsher says the family continued to spend like before. They moved with three cars -- two BMWs and a Chevy Silverado. They continued to buy cases of $36-a-bottle wine. They spent $250 a month on a cleaning lady, and Mr. Hipsher dropped $50 a week on flowers for his wife. The couple still dined out regularly.

"We were stupid," he says. "You become accustomed to a certain lifestyle. When your world changes and things dictate that you change, you're pretty stubborn to give things up."

He sold the BMWs and voluntarily turned in his beloved Silverado to avoid the repo man. "It was heartbreaking," he says. He replaced the fancy wheels with a Chrysler minivan.

Before the layoffs, the Hipshers had no debt. Today, they owe about $70,000 -- including money borrowed from family members and $31,000 in credit-card debt. To hold off the collection companies that call daily, Mr. Hipsher says he is doing his best but is also considering filing for personal bankruptcy.

After a stint selling new and used BMWs on a lot in Greenville, Mr. Hipsher recently began consulting for free for a small marketing firm, "to stay busy."

In September, a Web solutions company hired him as a marketing director. Between salary and commission, he thought he could match half his old income. But so far, he says he's only received about $1,220. Tight for cash recently, he pawned his wife's $12,000 wedding ring for a $2,000 loan. He has until Dec. 28 to pay back the principal, plus $500 in interest -- or else he forfeits the ring.

Looking back, he kicks himself for failing to enforce financial discipline right after losing his job in Detroit. "That precious nest egg is gone," he says.

Kristen lives with her 8-year-old twins, Aidan and Ellie, in a stucco cottage in the woods. The house is miniature and remote, at the end of a long unpaved drive. It is 800 square feet, with low wood ceilings and stone floors. The family of three shares one bedroom and two beds. The single bath is the size of a telephone booth. The first time I visited, I was both impressed and appalled. "Maybe you shouldn't have put the house in the dryer?" I teased.

Before renting the cottage, they had lived in a 3,600-square-foot, five-bedroom house with two kitchens. There was a playroom. There was a laundry room. There was enough space not to see each other for hours at a stretch. "I didn't even use some of the rooms," Kristen says. In the cottage, privacy is nonexistent, yet she loves her home with unbridled fervor.

Her new lifestyle has a precedent. "I lived in the woods when I was 21, 22," she says. "I had my own garden. I was really into my nice, quiet, cheap life."

Then she got engaged to a businessman and told herself grown-ups didn't live in the woods, without a television or a set of china. So after she got married, she found herself in a huge home, full of things, which she took great care in placing here and there, while ignoring the signs that all was not well beneath the surface.

The babies were a distraction for a time. Then they weren't. Depression followed. And insomnia. Then medications, therapy. None of it worked. Kristen found herself unable to get out of bed. She lost 20 pounds. Her husband, earnest and traditional, was confused by her unhappiness. After all, they were supposed to be living the American dream.

"I knew it was time to get out when my life started to make me physically sick," she says now.

Kristen realized that to become the person she longed to be, she had to leave her marriage. So, after much soul-searching, she abandoned her old life in its entirety—her spouse, her furniture, excess clothes, collectible salt and pepper shakers—and returned, with her children, to the woods of her youth.

"The day I moved, I brought only my car, a few clothes, and food," she says. "I got to the cottage around 4 in the afternoon and went out looking for firewood. As I made a big pile by my door, I kept thinking, I'm getting my do-over!"

Labels: Living Small