My sister with my mum & dad.
I really, really, really love buying stuff. There I said it. I get such joy from it, and when I find something good, I feel a sense of accomplishment.
I adore beautiful things and I love expressing myself through the objects I surround myself with. But I also realise that this urge to shop isn't quite healthy, mindful or sustainable, and I felt like opening up about it because A. maybe you'll understand (please) B. it will maybe help rid some of my guilt C. it's Christmas, every shopaholic's favourite time of year.
Truth be told, I come from a family of good taste. My dad always bought his ties and shirts at Brooks Brothers and I remember he always wore Classic Sperry Top-Siders. Now, at 74, he swears by Volcom khakis. There are stories of my great aunt, a lavish lady, only buying her clothes in Geneva, the same city she'd travel to solely to get chocolate for her mousse. She also only cooked rice with Champagne. And when I look at my mum's old photographs, I'm in awe of her outfits.
But look, it's not like I've lost all self-control — I don't go on crazy shopping sprees, I know my limits, I have savings. I'm also quite selective about the brands I buy from, because I care about quality, craftsmanship and ethical values. I'm fortunate that I can afford to avoid fast fashion. I also have a very financially-conscious and responsible boyfriend who's always there to remind me that I should spend my money wisely and think carefully about my priorities.
Dressing up, decorating your house, is a form of creative expression. The thing is, I am very much aware that sometimes too much of my creative energy is spent on browsing online stores, when I should be channeling it to other more fulfilling projects instead. I read an essay a while ago by Motherhood author, Sheila Heiti, in which she expressed exactly this:
"Shopping sucks the creative energy out of my body—energy which could be put into writing—which I have instead put into shopping. Shopping makes me lose money. Writing earns me money. Writing gives me a feeling of satisfaction after having done it. Shopping gives me a feeling of nervous tension, anxiety, excitement and dread.
When I have written on my computer, I have my riches there in front of me. When I have shopped online, the riches take days or weeks to come, and when they arrive, they no longer feel like riches. They are never all I hoped they would be. They are objects. They are not hopes. They are not wishes. They are not dreams. Writing—have been written—remains a hope, a dream, a wish. Why don’t I write when I feel like shopping?"
Why don't I write when I feel like shopping? Because shopping is so easy, and I'm so good at it. It's that whole instant gratification thing, right? I know it's been ages since I've actually properly saved up for something I really wanted. Probably because I really want something all the time.
So, for next year, I've set myself the goal of practicing at least two activities that provide delayed gratification — doing things that require thoughtful actions in order create more fulfilling, longer lasting joy for me and those around me.
It feels good to know that there are people out there who share the same anxieties as me, especially people whom I look up to. I had lunch last week with author and journalist (and hopefully my new best friend), Alex Holder, who wrote the book, "Open Up: The power of talking about money", — it’s about how being open about money will help abolish unfair pay gaps and lead to a healthier relationship with our finances and our family and friends.
I obviously brought up the topic of shopping. Alex very quickly admitted to also shopping online way too much, "Most of us are stuck at home with nothing else to do right now, buying stuff is a form of escape", she said. She then gave me some tips on how to organise my spendings, "Make note of what you've bought. Knowing exactly how much you've spent on stuff will help you take your spendings more seriously." It might be an obvious thing to do, but most of us don't do it.
I also wanted to ask her if she thinks I'm shopping to fill some sort of void (which I most definitely am), but it was our first encounter and I didn't want to scare her away with my intensity.
So, am I a shopping addict? Maybe. But it’s like I always say, my boyfriend invests in Bitcoin and Zoom, I invest in Issey Miyake and Marni. "Yes, that is correct, these are investment pieces."