I love new clothes, soy sugar-free hazelnut lattes and overpriced mineral cosmetics. And although a barely-paid internship and a senior year of too many classes have slashed my budget, I vividly recall the thrill I experienced when I bought something new and shiny — and expensive.
I remember a time not so long ago when I only carried Kate Spade bags. It was as though that brand was a part of my identity. And as I look through my closet and survey the damage from years of compulsive Gap Inc. credit card purchases, I fear that I actually have surrendered part of my outward identity to a clothing store.
Oddly, in the midst of my heavy consumerism days, I was happy to grant my personal identity to clothing and cosmetics brands. It makes sense, right? Companies spend billions making sure they manufacture an image that you want to represent you as a person.
The sad thing is that we don’t decide what our image gets to be. Our personal identities have been overtaken by companies and an economy that encourages (read: requires) us to buy stuff. Useless stuff.
This realization of this tragedy was elucidated in a documentary I watched recently called “No Impact Man.” The film follows a couple and their young daughter as they try to live with “no impact” in New York City. Part of going no impact means no more buying new clothing. The wife decides to stop buying altogether because she’s so wrapped up in spending money.
As the film progresses, the couple discusses the wife’s feeling that part of her is missing because she hasn’t bought anything — even though there was nothing she actually wanted. When her husband inquired about what would fill that void, she tearfully responded that she didn’t know.
Imagine how much we could learn about ourselves if we ceased to be convinced that our lives consist of the stuff we have. How fulfilled we might become once we discover the joy of living doesn’t just come from being surrounded by inanimate objects.
Think about how much stronger our friendships and relationships would be if we just sat down and talked about what we believed in or where our futures were headed.
What if instead of shopping on Friday nights, we focused on more organic experiences that help us connect with our loved ones on a deeper level? That’s precisely what the family did in the film, and their relationship, health and outlook improved drastically.
Many factors have converged that have made me reconsider my lifestyle. Witnessing the tragedy and need that other people experience on a day-to-day basis is one of them, and participating in a wasteful consumptive culture is another.
Each one of us has so much to offer and we could do so much good, but directly or indirectly, our potentials are stifled by incessant demands to clutter ourselves with extraneous belongings.
Let’s fill our consumption voids with something constructive and harness our collective potential for societal good.
Becky would love to hear about how you’ve changed your consumptive habits. E-mail her at rrubens1@asu.edu
