My mother-in-law is old-money rich—these 7 stores she refuses to shop at explain everything

I noticed it during our first weekend visit. My mother-in-law needed a sweater, and I suggested stopping at the mall on our way to dinner. The look on her face—not disgust, exactly, but polite bewilderment—told me I'd suggested something incomprehensible.

"Oh, I wouldn't find anything there," she said, as if stating an obvious fact.

Three years into this marriage, I've compiled a mental list of places she simply doesn't shop. Not out of snobbery—more like they don't exist in her shopping universe. Watching where old money refuses to go has taught me more about wealth than any luxury brand ever could.

1. Target

Everyone loves Target. It's practically a personality trait for millennials. But my mother-in-law walks past it like it's invisible, even when we're in the same plaza as a store she actually visits.

She explained it once, obliquely: "The lighting bothers me." But I think it's really about the experience feeling too democratic. Old money prefers discretion over accessibility. Target's genius is making everyone feel like they're getting a deal on something stylish. For her, that shared experience removes the quiet exclusivity she's accustomed to.

2. Fast fashion chains

Zara, H&M, Forever 21—the whole ecosystem doesn't register.

I once mentioned a Zara blazer, and she looked genuinely confused about where Zara was. Not judgmental, just unaware. These stores simply aren't on her radar.

Old money operates on a different timeline than fast fashion. They buy pieces meant to last decades, not seasons. The idea of disposable clothing doesn't compute when you're still wearing your mother's cashmere cardigan from the seventies. Quality over quantity isn't a philosophy—it's just how things work.

3. Outlet malls

This one felt personal, since I love a good outlet mall hunt.

My mother-in-law doesn't understand why brands would discount their own merchandise. If something was worth making, she reasons, it's worth its price. The outlet model—previous season's goods at reduced prices—suggests the original pricing was arbitrary.

She'd rather wait and buy one perfect thing at full price than several good-enough things on sale. The story matters. "I found it on discount" isn't one she wants to tell.

4. Department store beauty sections

She's never browsed Sephora or the Macy's cosmetics counter in her life.

Instead, she has "her facialist" who orders products directly from European brands most Americans haven't heard of. She's used the same skincare line since the eighties, ordered from a boutique in Paris that doesn't ship to the US. Her sister brings it when she visits.

The department store experience—testing products, collecting samples, browsing new releases—feels too transactional. Old money beauty routines emphasize consistency and heritage over discovery. Switching foundations would mean abandoning decades of habit.

5. Any store with "sale" or "discount" in its name

Marshalls, TJ Maxx, Ross—all invisible.

I understand the appeal of treasure hunting through discount racks. She doesn't. The randomness of inventory, the fluorescent lighting, the sense that you're sorting through what other stores couldn't sell—none of it aligns with how she thinks about shopping.

Wealth that needs building looks for value. Wealth that's always been there looks for consistency. She knows exactly where to get what she needs, often from places her mother shopped. The thrill of finding a designer piece for 70% off holds no appeal when you'd just buy it directly anyway.

6. Big box stores

Costco, Sam's Club, BJ's—she's never held a membership.

The bulk-buying model assumes you're managing a household budget carefully enough that buying 36 rolls of paper towels at once makes financial sense. For her, someone else handles household supplies. They appear without her thinking about them.

But it's more than delegation. The warehouse aesthetic, the industrial shelving, the need to validate your membership at the door—it all creates friction she doesn't encounter elsewhere. Old money shops where they're known by name, where items come wrapped individually, where transactions feel personal.

7. Anywhere with aggressive branding

If the logo is bigger than a dime, she's not wearing it.

This extends to stores too. She avoids places where branded shopping bags are the point—where carrying that particular bag down the street matters. A plain bag from a boutique is fine. A branded bag that announces where you shopped is not.

I watched her refuse a shopping bag once at an upscale store. "I'll just carry it," she said, tucking a small box under her arm. Later I realized: she didn't want to advertise. Understated luxury means your clothes do the talking, not your shopping bags.

Final thoughts

My mother-in-law isn't avoiding these stores to make a statement. She genuinely doesn't think about them.

That might be the real difference between old money and everyone else—the absence of internal debate. She doesn't walk past Target thinking "I'm too good for this." Target just isn't part of the landscape. The stores she frequents came recommended by her mother, or a close friend's mother, decades ago.

Watching her has taught me that wealth isn't about where you do shop. It's about not having to think about where you don't. The mental bandwidth most of us spend evaluating stores, comparing prices, hunting for deals—she spends elsewhere. That might be the ultimate luxury: not the things she owns, but the decisions she never has to make.