Walking with a limp means I walk slowly, which means I have to budget extra time into any trip. If I need to be somewhere at 12:30, it's best to aim for 12:10 or so, just in case a steep hill or detour or simple fatigue thwart my efforts to be on time. That's why yesterday, I had a good half-hour to kill before an appointment downtown.
Since there's not much else to do around there, I decided to window-shop. I hadn't been shopping since August, at least not for fun things. (Insoles and groceries are not fun things.) In general, I am not into consumption as entertainment, but recent weight loss has rendered most of my wardrobe unwearable, so I hoped to find some simple APC-ish basics. Slim gray sweater, black trousers, that sort of thing. Instead, I wound up purchasing a bagful of brassieres, even though most of mine still fit. (Oh no, I've mentioned unmentionables.)
If I were a better person, this admission would be more horrifying than embarrassing, but: Shopping made me happy yesterday. I liked the ritual of the clerk carefully wrapping everything in tissue paper, then sealing it with a sticker before putting it into a sturdy shopping bag. I liked unpacking the bag at home and setting everything out in a neat little row. Buying nudged me into a happier mood, and even worse, it made me feel as though I'd accomplished something.
Of course I know that any sense of accomplishment is flimsy and false. And I know that shopping is not only a money vampire, it also has a lot to do with what's wrong with our culture. I recognize the gross plague of consumption that, in many ways, defines American life. I see how it distracts us from important issues, how it creates a voracious yet insatiable appetite for newer/faster/better/more, and how it ultimately disappoints us for failing to produce the happiness and satisfaction promised by advertisers and marketers.
But, see, I'm a huge hypocrite. It's easy to judge the people who hit Wal-Mart for 4 a.m. Black Friday deals — and trust me, the fiendish gleam in shoppers' eyes as they swarmed shops for holiday deals definitely weirded me out yesterday. But how am I any better? Although I really was pleased with my new acquisitions at first, at home I felt different about them. Removed from the seductive ambiance of the store, they seemed just as lovely but not nearly as necessary as I'd told myself they were just hours before.
Normally, I can easily resist shopping because I see relatively few messages to do so. My roommate and I don't watch television, so we don't see commercials. Adblockplus hides all of the ads online. The boutiques in my neighborhood sell $400 dresses that I can't afford, so I don't even go through the doors. I already have everything that I need, and I know better than to buy into consumerist culture, so to speak. Yet it didn't take five minutes in the store to produce a perceived need (ooh, French bra!), create an emotional response to it (will be secret vixen under baggy clothes!) and justify the purchase (treat yourself!). Object lust tricks our brains and I'm just as susceptible as anyone else.
I've rewrapped my purchases in their crisp tissue paper, and the bag sits on my dresser. I'll give it a few days, but I'll most likely return the items. That's not because I genuinely want to; there's an impish little voice telling me, "But it's so difficult to find bras in your size! Keep them!" I'd be returning them because it just doesn't feel right to buy things I inarguably don't need. Plus, in the same way that people get that shopping high, it might feel good to prove that I can resist the shop-shop-shop message. We'll see.
(In shoppydevil-Annie's defense, it really is difficult to find bras in my size! I often have to get them altered to properly hug my scrawny ribcage. Thus, when I find some that fit, I want to snap them up so I don't have another tear-filled breakdown in the Nordstrom lingerie department because most brands don't even make bras in my size. See? I am a terrible person. Naomi Klein hates me.)
Since there's not much else to do around there, I decided to window-shop. I hadn't been shopping since August, at least not for fun things. (Insoles and groceries are not fun things.) In general, I am not into consumption as entertainment, but recent weight loss has rendered most of my wardrobe unwearable, so I hoped to find some simple APC-ish basics. Slim gray sweater, black trousers, that sort of thing. Instead, I wound up purchasing a bagful of brassieres, even though most of mine still fit. (Oh no, I've mentioned unmentionables.)
If I were a better person, this admission would be more horrifying than embarrassing, but: Shopping made me happy yesterday. I liked the ritual of the clerk carefully wrapping everything in tissue paper, then sealing it with a sticker before putting it into a sturdy shopping bag. I liked unpacking the bag at home and setting everything out in a neat little row. Buying nudged me into a happier mood, and even worse, it made me feel as though I'd accomplished something.
Of course I know that any sense of accomplishment is flimsy and false. And I know that shopping is not only a money vampire, it also has a lot to do with what's wrong with our culture. I recognize the gross plague of consumption that, in many ways, defines American life. I see how it distracts us from important issues, how it creates a voracious yet insatiable appetite for newer/faster/better/more, and how it ultimately disappoints us for failing to produce the happiness and satisfaction promised by advertisers and marketers.
But, see, I'm a huge hypocrite. It's easy to judge the people who hit Wal-Mart for 4 a.m. Black Friday deals — and trust me, the fiendish gleam in shoppers' eyes as they swarmed shops for holiday deals definitely weirded me out yesterday. But how am I any better? Although I really was pleased with my new acquisitions at first, at home I felt different about them. Removed from the seductive ambiance of the store, they seemed just as lovely but not nearly as necessary as I'd told myself they were just hours before.
Normally, I can easily resist shopping because I see relatively few messages to do so. My roommate and I don't watch television, so we don't see commercials. Adblockplus hides all of the ads online. The boutiques in my neighborhood sell $400 dresses that I can't afford, so I don't even go through the doors. I already have everything that I need, and I know better than to buy into consumerist culture, so to speak. Yet it didn't take five minutes in the store to produce a perceived need (ooh, French bra!), create an emotional response to it (will be secret vixen under baggy clothes!) and justify the purchase (treat yourself!). Object lust tricks our brains and I'm just as susceptible as anyone else.
I've rewrapped my purchases in their crisp tissue paper, and the bag sits on my dresser. I'll give it a few days, but I'll most likely return the items. That's not because I genuinely want to; there's an impish little voice telling me, "But it's so difficult to find bras in your size! Keep them!" I'd be returning them because it just doesn't feel right to buy things I inarguably don't need. Plus, in the same way that people get that shopping high, it might feel good to prove that I can resist the shop-shop-shop message. We'll see.
(In shoppydevil-Annie's defense, it really is difficult to find bras in my size! I often have to get them altered to properly hug my scrawny ribcage. Thus, when I find some that fit, I want to snap them up so I don't have another tear-filled breakdown in the Nordstrom lingerie department because most brands don't even make bras in my size. See? I am a terrible person. Naomi Klein hates me.)
Labels: neuroses
You are SUCH a better person than me. Jesus, keeps the bras, woman! You could always save them for when your current bras are all broken-down and gross.
I feel so guilty now. I bought myself some expensive jacket from Barneys. I told myself that it's on sale and I don't buy clothes the whole year waiting this one event. I can probably use the money to do other more "important" things. I will let it sit in my closet for few days, then maybe I will return it :(
Oh god, I'm not trying to guilt anyone! And I'm not a better person, trust me. (Hi, Catherine! It's so nice to see you.) I just really do not need any more bras. I have maybe two that are broken-down, and probably 20 that are in nearly pristine condition. So you see, there is truly no reason to keep them other than me wanting them.