M. A. Stevenson
January 2023
“I got no self-control, no self-control at all.” I loosely paraphrase Rodney Dangerfield, and when I utter the sentence in my head, it’s in his voice.
Last year I completed a no-shopping year. Yay me! (Well, with 99% success.) Ann Patchett[1] wrote an essay on her experience in 2017 and I was intrigued. Her essay got me thinking about trying a no-shopping challenge myself. Here’s why in two words: Zero willpower. I love shopping, whether I can afford it or not. I buy stuff when I feel happy, sad, angry, or sometimes just because it’s a Friday. Or someone’s birthday. Or a holiday. New shoes, make-up, books, and clothes are excellent emotional crutches. Even the acquisition of a cheap thing wraps a nice Band-Aid over whatever emotion is trying to surface. Up until 2022, I exercised zero willpower over my shopping habits.
When the pandemic hit in 2020, like many, I switched to buying everyday items online. By the time 2021 rolled around, frequent online shopping became entrenched as a habit. Brick-and-mortar stores had reopened, too. Double the shopping! Double the retail therapy!
By the fall of 2021, I had added secondhand websites to the roster. I felt eco-smug, like when Becky Bloomwood[2] discovered environmentally responsible shopping. When the eco-smugness started to wear off, I bought more stuff. Christmas was around the corner, so it was the perfect opportunity to justify the habit. By then, however, I’d quietly decided to take a break from shopping. I’ve always been prone to rash decisions and sweeping declarations. What a pairing, right? Plus, I’m a big-picture person, real light on the details. Was I going to quit cold turkey or gradually? Don’t know. How would I manage not shopping for an entire year? Hell if I knew.
I announced my grand plan to my long-distance husband of two years and my teenage kids of all the years. They laughed raucously. Rau. Cous. Ly. I couldn’t even pretend to be indignant, what with my rich history of rash decisions and sweeping declarations. Later, at a Christmas get-together, I made the same announcement to my large, loving, close-knit family. The laughter was louder and raucouser: after all, they’ve known me longer than hubby and kids. That’s what you get from being close-knit. At that point I realized failure was not an option.
And so the first day of January of 2022 marked the beginning. Here is what I banned myself from buying: shoes (my absolute favorite!), cosmetics, books, clothes, accessories, jewelry, home décor, and souvenirs. Also, no recreational massages, mani-pedis, or facials. And only root touch-ups and trims, no new hair color changes. I allowed myself experiences (movies, plays), dining out (mainly because I hate cooking, anyway), coffee shops, and gifts for others.
To reduce temptation, I unsubscribed from shopping emails and unfollowed shopping accounts on social media. I avoided window-shopping in person and online. I rearranged my clothes and shoes and tried wear everything I owned. I used up the make-up in my case and discovered doubles. And get this: I didn’t run out of anything!
To be clear, I didn’t buy more experiences than in past years: I went to two plays, one musical, a comedy show, and a handful of movies. I dined out and ordered in once or twice a week, the same amount as prior years. I bought coffee and a snack a few times a week, same as always. As for buying gifts for others, that’s where it could get dangerous. I would ask someone to accompany me to the mall because I didn’t trust myself to go alone. My “chaperone” and I would each buy a coffee and a pastry, and stroll along until we arrived at the desired store. A secondary rule of gift shopping was a spending limit: $100 for immediate family and $50 for extended family and friends. I drew great joy from buying those presents. At home, I took my time wrapping the gift – also joyful.
There were tough times, though. I’m perimenopausal and anybody in this state knows that “Merry Peri” is quite the unpredictable ride. In my case, I forced myself to stay home one week every month, where I would white-knuckle it until Merry Peri passed. Familiar movies and shows, chocolates, chips, and Indian food were my companions. No outings whatsoever outside of work and family visits.
Eventually, about six months in, the dependence on retail as a mood-booster eased. I had worried the deprivation would dominate my thoughts, that I’d become one of those people who talked incessantly about one single subject. To my own surprise, multiple thoughts occupied my head and conversations. Plus, I began to appreciate beautiful things simply for their beauty without thinking, “I must have it!”
That said, I did make three purchases: eyeglasses, flip-flops, and a book.
In the spring, I renewed by prescription and got three pairs of glasses: regular, sunshades, and readers. Technically, I could have gone the whole year with almost clear vision, but lawd, I see way better with these new specs!
At the end of the summer, when the kids and I were traveling from West to East, our flight was delayed several hours. I was dressed for the air-conditioned airport and plane, in socks and booties. Good old Merry Peri had other plans, though. The heat that emanated from within was too much to bear. The choice was either strip down or walk barefoot on Nordstrom’s cool tiled floor. But the “No shoes, no shirt, no service” policy and common decency demanded the next best option, $10 flip-flops for my hot and sweaty feet.
In the early fall, my son and I went to the mall for a friend’s birthday gift. We picked up the customary coffee and pastries, then walked through the shiny and colorful anchor bookstore. There, we happened upon a promotional table displaying many copies of a novel. I stopped to chat with the author, a lovely woman who, like me, is a teacher. The book was her first one published. I felt a kinship to the author because she accomplished what I wished for myself – to write and publish a novel. I was looking at my future self across that display table. So, I bought her book. I felt conflicted for weeks after, wondering if to return the novel. But I decided to keep it, telling myself that she’s a local first-time novelist and I had to support her endeavor. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t read it during the no-shopping year.
Throughout the year, I received cosmetics samples from my bestie Farah, birthday and Christmas gifts from relatives, and one or two “just because” presents from hubby. All unsolicited, might I add. As I said, my willpower improved over time. Farah and I drooled over gorgeous clothes, shoes, and bags on Sundays when we met for coffee, and then emailed each other links to more gorgeous fashion pieces.
The main reason I went on a no-shopping year was to get my self-control under control (har, har.) Still, a byproduct arose from this experiment: was some money saved. I say some money because much of the world – my country included – experienced extraordinary inflation in 2022.
And now in ’23? I am doing my best to practice self-control and exercise willpower when I see pretty things behind a store window. I try to consider whether I need or want the thing. Is it worth it, financially and emotionally? After careful thought, I made my first discretionary purchase in January ‘23. It was a fantastic pair of shoes that I had been eyeing for six months, from a brand I love. Let’s see how the rest of the year goes, shall we?
[1] You can read the essay here: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/12/15/opinion/sunday/shopping-consumerism.html
[2] Becky Bloomwood is the lovably incorrigible protagonist in Sophie Kinsella’s Shopaholic series. Becky became “eco”, and in my words, eco-smug, in Christmas Shopaholic.
ScarletMels in Black & White 