But that doesn't mean he's a skinflint, tightwad or cheapskate. He doesn't practice thrift to save money. He does it to help save the world.

During the past decade, Stifelman has reorganized his life to align it with his environmental beliefs. He left an advertising agency whose clients included Chrysler and Reebok to work with companies trying to "change the world for the better." He traded his SUV for a Prius -- though he usually zips around town on his bicycle. He doesn't shop much and recycles everything. And he bought one of the 33 environmentally efficient homes in Carrboro's Arcadia Cohousing development. The 1,050-square-foot house offers ample room for him, his wife and child, because Arcadia also has a common house with a library, a guest room, a kitchen and a dining room where residents share meals two or three times a week.

"Eating together is not just less expensive and less wasteful, it's also incredibly fun and satisfying," he said.

Stifelman represents the changing face of thrift in America. Sure, many people still scrimp and save, clip coupons and do without simply to make ends meet. For others, like Stifelman, cutting back is not a matter of economic necessity but a choice -- a way to help save dwindling natural resources and stave off pollution and global warming.

Though many Americans share Stifelman's concern, many find it hard to emulate his environmentally thrifty lifestyle, especially during the buying frenzy of the holidays.

"The problem is that we're addicted to stuff," said Rob Jackson, director of the Center on Global Change at Duke University, who added, "People view frugality as a negative thing. The cultural norm is that if you save, or cut back, you're a bit eccentric. It's hard -- but possible -- to change that."

Historians and environmental experts say broad cultural forces make the simple life a daunting challenge for Americans. Our consumer society -- which prizes convenience and immediate gratification, in which name brands confer social status -- is at odds with the bedrock principles of thrift.

Though rooted in the 19th century, the consumer society took off during the 1950s, historians agree. After almost two decades of sacrifice imposed by depression and war -- and enabled by a steady rise in income -- Americans were eager to unleash their pent-up demand for stuff.

"Fashion and trends drove the market as people sought to replace old things with new ones that were modern and disposable," said Gary Cross, a history professor at Pennsylvania State University and author of "An All-Consuming Century."

All that stuff represents major environmental problems -- from the resources and energy needed to manufacture and ship these throwaway goods to the landfills they overstuff. But we've embraced the disposable culture because it provides instant benefits.

"We feel strapped for time, and we turn to products that offer convenience," said Susan Strasser, a University of Delaware history professor. "Unwrap it, use it, throw it out, forget it. This ease is very appealing."

Even as we have embraced a throwaway culture, we have also attached more meaning to those short-lived objects, according to James Twitchell, a University of Florida professor whose books include "Living it Up: America's Love Affair with Luxury."

Since the 1960s, he argues, our traditional sources of identity -- family, ethnicity, faith, the schools we attend, the organizations we belong to -- have faded. Today, people often define who they are by what they buy.

"We live in a world in which the act of consumption, the act of purchase, is a crucial way that we know who we are," he said. "When we buy bottled water, we are telling the world that we are health conscious. When we purchase a massive SUV or a Prius hybrid, we are not just buying a car, we are making a statement about our values."

The trends have created a modern society that extols the enemies of thrift. "Consumerism defines who we are," Twitchell said.

Environmental advocates are facing many of the challenges encountered by those who urge Americans to lead healthier lives. During the past few decades, newspapers, magazines and government reports have highlighted the importance of diet and exercise. And what's happened? We've gotten fatter.

Similarly, the endless reports on our threatened environment have made little dent in our powerful need to consume. A 2006 Pew Research Center report found that 83 percent of Americans now consider clothes dryers a necessity; 70 percent put air-conditioning in that category and 68 percent the microwave -- triple the number in Pew's 1996 survey.

Choosing their battles

Consumerism is so rampant that many environmental groups are making peace with it. In the long run, they hope people will reduce their needs. For now, they're trying to persuade Americans to spend more wisely.

"We want to promote a positive message that acknowledges certain realities," said Christa Wagner, director of government relations for the N.C. Sierra Club. "We want to promote the idea corporations and consumers have a place in sustainability, and consumers can exercise their choices every time they buy things."

Wagner agrees with Twitchell that our values are reflected in what we buy. While designer clothes and McMansions send one message, hybrid cars, low-energy fluorescent bulbs and organic foods send another. So do informed choices -- such as checking labels for products that use No. 2 plastic, the kind that the city of Raleigh will recycle, or carrying your groceries home in reusable canvas bags rather than plastic or paper.

Some in the Triangle are doing all that and more. Larry Larsen, owner of Larry's Beans of Raleigh, makes coffee deliveries in a bus fueled by cleaner-burning vegetable oil collected from local businesses -- any diesel engine can run on the stuff. Thanks to intense recycling efforts, his 15 employees produce only one can of trash a week. His recently renovated warehouse uses passive solar heat and plenty of windows to reduce the demand for energy.

"People are afraid that being environmentally conscious is a hassle," Larsen said. "Really, all it requires is replacing one set of habits with better ones. Once you get a good system in place, it becomes just as convenient as the ways of waste."

Jerry Stifelman helped Larsen design his colorfully painted, vegetable-oil-burning bus. He loves it but also knows it might lead some to dismiss its larger environmental message as being "crunchy-granola, smelly-freak weird."

Such stereotypes can prevent people from going green.

"Most people don't want to be different," he said. "They don't bring a canvas bag to the market because people might think they're weird. They have ideals and a conscience, but they are less comfortable stepping out."

As our environmental challenges mount, Stifelman hopes that thrift will become acceptable. "For too long, consumerism has seemed the only script we can live our lives by," he said. "We need to write another story that shows us how thrift will help us be happier, healthier people."

He says this process is already under way.

"In just the past few years, as gas prices have climbed and we've learned more about global warming, the SUV has gone from being a high-status vehicle to something more and more people shake their heads at," he said. "Now, hybrids are cool. People are starting to see that thrift might bring them some of that happiness that all stuff they bought could not."