The trustee overseeing her case objected. He argued that Mrs. C. had run up these debts with no reasonable expectation of paying them back, and more pointedly, that the items themselves were She was a homemaker, not a diplomat or a stage actress. A simple wool dress would keep her warm. A silk one with a train? That was a luxury.
In high-net-worth divorces, one spouse (usually the husband, historically) might object to the other’s clothing expenditures. A judge will ask: Was that $5,000 handbag a reasonable, necessary expense for maintaining the marital standard of living, or was it a frivolous dissipation of assets?
Let’s dive into the strange, fascinating, and surprisingly relevant world of the “frivolous dress order.” To understand the term, we have to travel back to 1887. No, not to a Parisian atelier—to an American bankruptcy court.
Under the U.S. Bankruptcy Code, Section 523(a)(2)(C) creates a presumption of fraud for any “luxury goods” or services totaling more than $725 (adjusted for inflation) bought on a credit card within 90 days of filing for bankruptcy. While the law doesn’t define “luxury goods,” legal precedent consistently points back to that 1887 case. A winter coat? Necessary. A set of designer stilettos? Potentially frivolous. A bespoke suit for a job interview? Necessary. A velvet smoking jacket for lounging? Frivolous.
How a 19th-century legal concept haunts your credit card statement and your closet.
More Than Just a Fancy Gown: Unpacking the “Frivolous Dress Order”
From a sustainability perspective, most of our dress orders are frivolous. The average garment is worn only 7 times before being discarded. A “frivolous” dress in 1887 was a silk gown you wore for years. A “frivolous” dress today is a $15 fast-fashion polyester slip you wear once for an Instagram photo and then send to a landfill, where it will outlive your great-grandchildren.
The trustee overseeing her case objected. He argued that Mrs. C. had run up these debts with no reasonable expectation of paying them back, and more pointedly, that the items themselves were She was a homemaker, not a diplomat or a stage actress. A simple wool dress would keep her warm. A silk one with a train? That was a luxury.
In high-net-worth divorces, one spouse (usually the husband, historically) might object to the other’s clothing expenditures. A judge will ask: Was that $5,000 handbag a reasonable, necessary expense for maintaining the marital standard of living, or was it a frivolous dissipation of assets? frivolous dress order
Let’s dive into the strange, fascinating, and surprisingly relevant world of the “frivolous dress order.” To understand the term, we have to travel back to 1887. No, not to a Parisian atelier—to an American bankruptcy court. The trustee overseeing her case objected
Under the U.S. Bankruptcy Code, Section 523(a)(2)(C) creates a presumption of fraud for any “luxury goods” or services totaling more than $725 (adjusted for inflation) bought on a credit card within 90 days of filing for bankruptcy. While the law doesn’t define “luxury goods,” legal precedent consistently points back to that 1887 case. A winter coat? Necessary. A set of designer stilettos? Potentially frivolous. A bespoke suit for a job interview? Necessary. A velvet smoking jacket for lounging? Frivolous. had run up these debts with no reasonable
How a 19th-century legal concept haunts your credit card statement and your closet.
More Than Just a Fancy Gown: Unpacking the “Frivolous Dress Order”
From a sustainability perspective, most of our dress orders are frivolous. The average garment is worn only 7 times before being discarded. A “frivolous” dress in 1887 was a silk gown you wore for years. A “frivolous” dress today is a $15 fast-fashion polyester slip you wear once for an Instagram photo and then send to a landfill, where it will outlive your great-grandchildren.
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