Do We Have A Problem?

"The happiest day of every girl's life is not when she gets married or pregnant or is set for life, but when the online order finally arrives at her door step... pure bliss." Discuss.

There comes a time in every woman's life when she catches sight of herself in her receipts mirror, and realises she's over-shopped. You realise you didn't really need those dove grey pumps. That this headband is way too OTT, and will be relegated to the headband cemetery with all the other fabulous purple glitter coated mistakes.

The problem is, these days, if you're having an ugly day, you may be couch-detained in frumpy gear and a scrunchy, but your credit card is most likely BOUNDING over the Atlantic.

(Metaphorically. Unless your card has been stolen, it's probably with you and the seven packets of Tim Tams on the couch).

The opening quote was posted online by a dear friend of mine. I immediately giggled and responded in the most enthusiastic caps lock. Post-giggles, I was again struck by something that's been bothering me lately. Why do we buy, and why does it feel so good?

 

The spoils of Ala Moana. I feel giddy.

Too many of us have liked shopping for too long for it to be a fad. It's not a trend, it's not a phase. Hell - it's a sport. You forage through your favourite stores. Given enough time, a true shopper will even rummage through the non-favourites. The mature lady stores, the cheap Asian outlets. The Kmarts. The Big Ws. (Correction - these are my favourites).

You sprint to the sales rack. You flip through with the speed of an Olympic sprinter; the precision of a gold medal archer. 

You improve with training. You get better at knowing what will or won’t flatter. You know a decent price-tag when you see one, and you know how to feign a frown at a counter when you 'spot' a loose stitch (that you spotted twenty minutes ago and decided to fix anyway). Most importantly, you know how to smile sweetly when the salesgirl suggests a ten per cent discount. 

Here's where the game changed; online. There's no instant gratification, no rushing home to show hide it from Mum/boyfriend/cat. You're now seventy bucks out of pocket, and you have nothing to show for it. But shit's about to get crazy.

There's now a heightened sense of excitement. You've hunted further than anyone else. Chances are minimised of someone else owning what will soon be yours. You will be the envy of every woman who dreams of being able to pull off a pair of canary yellow brogues. Seven to ten days delivery? The anticipation! The FEAR that it got lost on the way. The FURY when it hasn't arrived on the seventh day. The frustration that you might actually have to wait til the tenth day like all the other schmucks. The terrifying thought that it might not fit. The SWEET SWEET ELATION WHEN IT DOES! 

Lucy has a problem.

I have this theory. Cavemen. Lionesses. Emperor penguins. We’ve just evolved in the era of the loyalty card. We no longer set out to hunt for food. We don’t impress the rest of the tribe with how much mammoth-bacon we bring home – we now whip out the Olga Berg, the Steve Madden, the MAC lipstick.

'Oooh, ahhh!', the tribe exclaims in the nightclub bathrooms. On holiday, my sole reason for buying a cheap pair of Steve Maddens was to see the look on a friend's face.

Ron Haynes' article Why Do You Shop? 10 Reasons And How To Change Your Shopping Habit reveals we even get some other items with our shiny new purchases. Emotional reward, feeling cool, acceptance. Escape. We get these free of charge! Hooray, bargain, lucky us!

No matter what you buy, how much it cost, or how you bought it, the end result is the same: I bought this and it makes me look and feel fabulous.

Reading those points makes me feel icky. And like I should race out to the nearest nursing home to volunteer. Did I buy that fabulous gold sequinned shirt from Sportsgirl because I liked it, or because I was trying to feel better about myself? Did I buy it because, God forbid I return home from Sydney without having bought anything? Return to the tribe empty-handed? No no no.

Children are starving. Children are dying. Grown men are carting their entire life down the same street every day in a small sad duffle bag. Preventable diseases are rampant and lethal; and here I am, clean, fed, educated and considering a stupid floral purse?

Yeeeeesh. I feel awful. Unless your last name is DeVille (fabulous faux by the way darl), I'm guessing you might too. This piece started as a (hopefully) humourous blow-by-blow description of the online shopping process. And now I've guilted the crap outta myself. I am completely lost in the murky waters of conscience. Let's work through this.

Logically: if you give generously to the less fortunate (and I don't mean your pal who doesn't yet own Mimco), there is nothing wrong with shopping. There is nothing wrong with rewarding yourself for working hard.

... Right?

Then why do I feel so slimy right now?

Martyr mindreader

Driving home today, I had another epiphany.

I know right. Aren't you all lucky.

But before the e-word, lets give you some background.

I am, sometimes, what you might call, an overly conscientious citizen. A martyr, if you will.

I - like many females - derive some sort of sick pleasure in attempting to be all things to all people at all times. Despite my best attempts at laziness, my itty bitty candle often burns at both ends. Indeed, as I sit at the computer to write this (one-handed, whilst consuming ice-lollies), I am texting a friend about what time I'll pick them up tonight, fretting that they'll be inconvenienced by me, making a mental shopping list for the time I'll be inconveniencing my friend, watching an episode of Castle (with just my ears), and worrying about seeing someone tonight who is mad at me (wondering why they are mad at me).

I, as an eight year old at a sleepover, not wanting to wake my older cousins who were sharing the bed with me, tossed and turned in super slow motion. I'm not joking. Slo-mo. The whole time. The next morning they told me it was so incredibly annoying that they almost throttled me.

And when I first began driving, I was almost in an accident.

I was five minutes from home (where the most accidents occur, I once read), and trying to cross a main road. By nature, I'm over-cautious when I make these kinds of turns, so I'd been waiting for a while for the traffic to clear. Waiting, waiting.

I began to get nervous that the person in the car behind me was becoming impatient. And the person behind him. And the person behind her. Oh God, I thought. They're all sitting in their cars muttering about stupid P-platers. I felt it was my duty to protect the sterling reputation of P-platers, and decided to show off my responsible driving skills as soon as I could.

It looked like there was a break in traffic, so, against my better judgement, I pulled out behind a car when I wasn't one hundred per cent sure there wasn't a second car in the next lane obscured from my vision by the first.

There was.

And he almost hit me.

And if I'd felt a hundred per cent sure there was no second car and totally gunned it, he probably would have.

I need to say here, that I feel very lucky to have made it out of that stupid situation without a scratch on me. If there is someone looking out for me, I thank them for all their hard work. (And ask them why they haven't yet put me in the path of Daniel Radcliffe).

But anyway, on with the epiphany.

God speed, bunnies. God speed.

Today I was driving home from work. Same road. Five minutes from home. I was thinking about someone I know (and engage in a pretty hardcore intense hate/love relationship with), and what they'd think if I did decide to go back to studying (a stunning blend of 'I-knew-you'd-fail' and a not-so-subtle hint of condescension). While thinking this, I also got nervous that the dude in the car behind me was mad at me for braking, and moved my foot to the accelerator - and I stopped myself.

(This is the epiphany part).

Hang on, I said. Just hang on a second here girly.

You need to stop caring what other people think.

Because if you're focussed on what everyone else is thinking, and doing, and saying, you cannot give yourself the attention that you need. You might even fail.

You can't drive straight if you're not looking at the road.

And you can't decide what the right thing to do is by gaining acceptance from others. 

 

(I know, right)