Buy This And Feel Better — The Lie of Consumerism
My street is quiet. Shelter-in-place orders have turned this bustling tourist city into a ghost town. Except around lunchtime, when the restaurant next door is slammed with people, spilling out of the small building, leaving sandwich wrappers and discarded masks in their wake. Everyone seems eager to partake. But this is more than a craving for a hoagie. When financial security is in jeopardy and the steady stream of purchasing has been paused, we panic culturally.
Maybe it’s a remnant from the Great Depression. Many of us can recall growing up with a relative who hoarded ketchup packets or something similar. When hard times hit, we want to be prepared. And with everything we could ever possibly hope to purchase just a few clicks away, we’re falsely reassured.
The ads started for me in December, perhaps as a consequence of browsing Reddit and my early fear of the approaching pandemic. “Buy THIS BRAND of Vitamin C and boost your immunity!” “Stock up on THIS BRAND of toilet paper and save $$!”. The apocalypse turned into a buying spree, and I am not above it. At one point, cardboard boxes littered our front porch as we had to wait a week for more space in our recycling bin. I was buying snacks and books and clothes, everything we could need for the foreseeable future. The waste it produced was astounding, and the products didn’t come close to quelling the fear within me. And I wasn’t alone.
I’m not an avid consumer of the news, recognizing the escalating trend toward sensationalism and pop culture. When I need a quick refresher, I pull it up in my browser and read what I can until I feel overwhelmed. However, during the first few months of the pandemic, I was scanning the news almost hourly, panicked about one situation after another, and spending money to match my fear.
Meat shortage? Better fill our freezer.
Coronavirus in cats? Is there a supplement for that?
Looking back on it now, I see exactly what was going on. Everything is skewed towards consumerism, we are a culture desensitized to only respond to extreme exaggeration. I know this comes with a huge dose of privilege. I had fallen into the marketing trap of consumerist culture, a siren song that will lead to my own financial doom.
We are constantly encouraged to buy, buy, buy, in nearly every situation. From ads for drugs on television to (probably) well-meaning MLM hawkers on Facebook, everyone cares just enough to pitch you their product. And with the media constantly droning on about this shortage or that company going under, it’s gotten under our skin. The way to safety is purchased with PayPal — add your name to the email list!
Frankly, it’s exhausting. I never thought I’d be one try to keep up with the Joneses, but here we are. And as a millennial who also shoulders the responsibility of “killing every industry”, I’m about through with it. It’s clear that this is late-stage capitalism at its finest, preying on generations who have never had a financial leg up, only to turn on them the second their dollar is spent. Do I sound like a victim here? Because I feel like one.
This began for me way, way back in the day, with a mother who showed her affection through gift-giving. It’s an ingrained habit that’s difficult to break. With a child of my own, I see how easy this path is. But my bank account balance begs to differ!
I am no financial expert — I will not weigh in on trickle-down economics. But I will say that in the past, I have stooped pretty low just to get by with the basics — a mostly solid roof over my head, presentable work clothes on my back, food in the fridge. Things have improved for me exponentially, which opens up the world of better quality purchases and brand loyalty and seeking out companies that match my values. Have I spent a small fortune on Amazon? Yes. But I won’t anymore, and I won’t judge anyone for spending money where they can.
Sometimes more is more.
The alternate path is not an easy one. It means the hard work of getting comfortable with less. Sometimes it means spending a little more, where and when I can. Purchasing local produce from the farmers themselves. Creating gifts for others, buying locally or on Etsy. Starting a herb garden. Setting time to disengage from the constant stream of information online and sitting outside. I’m not a pro at any of this, but I’m trying to be more aware at the very least. I’m not proposing a no-buying policy — I have a four year old and realize that there are things we need acutely at times.
This is not to say that all spending is bad. I’m not proposing living in drab colors, no longer enjoying our favorite things. Instead, I am trying to be more conscious of and intentional with my purchases. Sometimes this means letting things hang out in an online shopping cart for a day or two (or forever). Other times, it means checking in with myself and my husband about whether or not we really need something — and in that exact quantity.
Money doesn’t buy happiness, but it buys security and without that, it’s pretty hard to be at peace. We’re on a precipice, very much aware of the potential for financial ruin. At first, this ignited the capitalist propaganda of “buy your way to safety!”. But now? I’m finally understanding that working extra hours to pay for something that only marginally makes up for the extra work is not gratifying. I’d rather share the work with someone who needs it.
And perhaps there’s the way out — a return to compassion and neighborliness that has gone by the wayside. Financial struggles have a way of isolating us, even more than a very real pandemic. Poverty is not contagious, but this is a real fear that drives the capitalist agenda. With the internet providing a stable means of connecting us all, we are closer than ever, yet farther apart. The first step to bringing us closer together is to listen and to share, in spaces just like this one, so that we may get to know and understand each other. When we recognize the struggle of our neighbor as our own, we have a power that is stronger than the dollar.
