Social media advertising is out of control.
I can’t watch a blueberry muffin video without being advertised name brand yogurt. I can't go fifteen seconds on tiktok without being sold lip liner and energy drinks. My online shopping carts stack up as I admire the infinite closets of fashion influencers and the immaculate kitchens of recipe developers. Though I don’t have the means to pull the trigger on my cart, the idea of what it would feel like to have all of these things festers in my mind.
And then, the other day, a style influencer I follow, who is battling cancer, posted an image of a clothing store on her instagram story with the caption, “I need retail therapy,” after coming back from an oncology appointment where she seemingly received bad news regarding her prognosis.
It broke my heart.
I don’t think she’s bad or wrong for shopping as a way to comfort herself during what is likely the hardest thing anyone will ever have to go through, but her reaction did make me think about how deeply ingrained consumerism is in our culture. We don’t even pretend that we’re not trying to escape hard feelings by accumulating stuff. Her hourglass is running out in front of her eyes, but what about the rest of us? Are we also holding onto the physical world as tightly as we can, hoarding material objects so as not to have to confront our own mortality?
I notice myself justifying my own purchases, if I just had new linen bedding and a pair of Mary Jane loafers, if I could buy that curl cream or acne fighting serum, maybe then I would finally feel content and confident. But where does the discontentment or lack of confidence come from in the first place and is more stuff really the cure?
I would argue that some of the unnecessary things we buy, do improve our quality of life. But in a society ruled by social media, which has become a never ending ad campaign, on a planet that is melting, I wonder where we draw the line on optimizing our lives and whether it’s our responsibility as consumers to practice self control.
I read an essay this week on the substack, Evil Female, Instagram Store Core: A Manifesto Against Avant-Basic Home Design. The author, Charlie Squire, critiques an almost inescapable interior design trend on instagram that consists of checkerboard carpets, colorful ceramics, wavy mirrors and floral prints that are undeniably aesthetically pleasing, but (according to them) without any soul.
I thought their take was interesting not only because I have been thinking deeply about my own consumerism, but specifically because I work in a vintage home goods store that features some new items, including the exact items referenced in the article.
Upon further investigation, I learned that one of the brands we carry at the store that is critiqued in the manifesto preaches positivity and inclusivity on their website. They feature images of mostly women and BIPOC artists and creative contributors on their page. If those are the people making and profiting from the products, maybe the items aren’t so soulless. Maybe the brand is doing right by these artists and they deserve our money OR maybe it’s just good marketing.
Ultimately, I was left with more questions than answers.
Is it my responsibility as a consumer to investigate the brand more deeply? Is buying vintage goods inherently better than buying new things? Or as the author argues, is it better to decorate our homes with items that have sentimental value than to simply collect what is trendy for the sake of being instagram post worthy?
OR should we stop collecting items all together? Do we really need more stuff?
I honestly don’t know if it’s possible to escape the capitalist hellscape that has whittled our lives into marketable commodities that can be defined by the items we acquire. Sometimes it feels like there’s no point in even trying to fight against big corporations and algorithms that are designed to dominate our attention.
But I can’t ignore the fact that most of what I’ve purchased on Amazon has NOT profoundly increased my happiness the way I thought it would.
It occurs to me that, in many ways, I AM content with my life. I have everything I technically need and somehow it doesn’t feel like enough. So maybe, it’s not actually about having the best clothes or home decor. The fantasy lifestyle on my phone represents my greatest desire, security and freedom in a world that is otherwise unpredictable and even scary.
But how much more freedom can an able bodied white girl from an affluent family living in an affluent city possibly achieve? I want to have it all, make it count, see all there is to see and optimize my experience before it’s OVER. I can’t help but think that the desire for the Best Life Ever isn’t too far removed from the fear of dying.
Ultimately, my answer to consumerism is the same as my answer to wellness. I will educate myself to the best of my ability so I can make the most responsible decisions without making myself crazy by obsessing and restricting. I will shop secondhand and from sustainable companies when I can. I will not buy mindlessly for the sake of collecting items in the hopes they will make me feel better, but I will also give myself a break when the more ethical options are out of my financial reach or when I succumb to the instant gratification of an extravagant Target run.
But is that enough? Is my moderate stance a healthy balanced way to live or does the pendulum need to swing farther to the side of minimalism and strict buy-only-what-you-need policies if we really want to investigate the inner workings of our own discontent, save our planet and ourselves?