THESE DAYS in Hollywood it is important to spend as much money as possible on the appearance of thrift. Naturally, this applies only if your expensive belt tightening will make some kind of wider political statement. Worried about global warming? Tear the roof off your home and replace it with solar panelling for $75,000 (£42,000), then boast about the cents you save on electricity.

Concerned about the cruelty of battery-farmed eggs? Buy your own hens, build a hen house and hire a dozen Mexican hen keepers. Then write the whole thing off against your taxes.

To the practitioners of conspicuous thrift, the size of the initial capital outlay is rendered trivial by the ability to appear politically correct and financially prudent at the same time.

Hence Oprah Winfrey recently went on television with Leonardo DiCaprio to persuade Americans to buy energy-saving lightbulbs for $6.99 apiece, as opposed to the regular ones, which cost 49 cents. The reason for switching? Annual savings on utility bills, and, more to the point, the satisfaction of knowing that you are Saving Humankind. Some may argue that households would save more money by putting the $6.50 difference towards their credit card balances. But those people would be cynics.

There is nothing new about conspicuous thrift. Bertolt Brecht, the Marxist playwright who fled Nazi Germany and became a Hollywood screenwriter (where he ran into trouble with the House Committee on Un-American Activities) was famous for his leather trench coat, which was expensively tailored to give the impression of having crooked seams and a bent collar. This marked him out as an member of the proletariat who also happened to look like a Prada model.

I used to consider myself immune to such grandstanding — until, that is, all my friends started to buy hybrid cars. Although they cost several thousand dollars more than conventional cars, hybrids give their owners the ultimate Hollywood bragging rights: meagre fuel consumption. At first I ignored their boasts. But then came the guilt. I lost sleep over the “climate footprint” of my 4x4. At dinner parties, miles-per-gallon figures were bandied about like IQ scores. “I ’m doing 44, and my husband’s on 27, but he doesn’t commute,” declared one friend.

I kept quiet and looked at the floor.

Then, one night, I had an epiphany: I would play a game of averages. If I could find a second mode of transport, and alternate it with my 4x4, I could double or triple my MPG. Yes, I would buy a motorcycle! I would wear a Brechtian leather jacket and steel-capped boots! I would save the planet and look edgy at the same time!

An appointment was made with my local Triumph dealer. I would do my bit for global warming with a mean 1,000cc street machine.

My wife, aware of my limited talent on the road, looked vaguely worried but kept a tactful silence. Then, in a brilliant pre-emptive move, she gave me a Vespa for Christmas. “Don’t worry,” she cooed. “You’ll look cute on it.”

Now, as any man knows, there is a whole universe of difference between cool and cute. The element of pity, an essential part of cute, is entirely absent in cool. A sparrow with a broken wing is cute; a British bulldog is cool.

As I wobbled down Sunset Plaza Drive on a plum-coloured scooter, wearing an oversized helmet with no visor, I knew I was more sparrow than bulldog. My misgivings disappeared, however, when I stopped for fuel. The cost of filling up the Vespa? A thigh-slapping $2.98.

So far, I have done 50 miles, and still have quarter of a tank left. Combined with my 4x4, I am now averaging near 45mpg — a perfect example of conspicuous thrift, given that the Vespa cost $5,000 to buy in the first place.

Alas, the smugness didn’t last. A few days ago I got a call from one of my hybrid-owning friends, who is about to trade in her 2003 Honda Civic hybrid for a new one. Apparently her Honda, which has low mileage and no dings or scratches, is worth $21,000, because demand for the new models cannot be met by the manufacturers. Not bad, given that she bought it three years ago for $18,600.

“I can’t believe it,” gloated my friend. “Houses are supposed to appreciate, not cars.” So, it seems, conspicuous thrift can actually result in a conspicuous profit.

Read previous LA Notebooks: www.timesonline.co.uk/chrisayres

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