shopping: where did our love go?

There was a moment today when I was shopping when I thought to myself, "Shit, this just isn't as fun as it used to be."  That moment was when the total appeared digitized on the register at H&M for four items of clothing: $183.88.  Have you ever noticed that numbers in digital format suck way harder than numbers in any other format?  For instance, clocks, which are the first thing your booger-filled eyes see when you wake up and are blaring the world's most annoying pitch, screaming at you to wake up.  Gasoline pumps, rapidly climbing and climbing and climbing in contrast to your bank account, which is rapidly declining and declining and declining.  And the numbers on your credit card, which mean so much more than an account number, they signify a life of being denied loans and, of course, other credit cards.  Handwritten numbers are so much more personable.  If there was a t-shirt for sale with a tag that had old lady handwriting on it that labeled the product as $120, I would totally buy it.  Just because all I could think about would be the poor little old lady that they make write on every t-shirt in the store.  Come to think of it, that's a really good idea someone should steal.  Old lady guilt.

I used to love shopping.  Shopping for myself, shopping for other people, shopping for myself - it didn't matter, shopping was shopping.  When I felt bad, I would go for retail therapy.  Which explains why for the two years of my first relationship, I always had new clothes and had an ample cute undie collection.  My parents maintain that I have expensive tastes, but I don't think that's true.  I just don't shop at Kohl's.  I don't think that makes me expensive, per se, just... well, you know.  Besides, when I would go shopping, because of the values (see also: guilt) my parents instilled in me, I usually couldn't bring myself to buy anything that wasn't on sale.  So, when my parents would lament "you're wearing another new thing?"  I'd say, "it was on sale!"  This became a running joke in my family.  I don't know if it was because they never believed me, or because of how desperate I was to make it seem like it was all okay because I paid $2 less for something I would have bought anyway.  But I swear to God, that shit was on sale.

And now, here I am, financially independent, and shopping has lost its fun.  Imagine that.  Ever since I grew a mind of my own, I have always had an inner-conflict about consumerism and the material world.  Most of the time, my concern for not contributing to that capitalist climate lost out to my desire to live up to the standards of said climate.  So, I bought.  I wish I could say that the reason I don't enjoy shopping as much as I used to is because I get an overwhelming sense of consumer guilt, but... it's not.

For one thing, shopping, for me, has always been tricky.  No one else can really shop for me, because I have such distinct (see also: picky) tastes that things you would think I'd like, or even own, I won't like.  This could be because I have control issues and if someone else gets it for me before I do then they're making an assumption on me and that makes me uncomfortable because I want to be mysterious and unpredictable.  This could also be because I really am crazy.  Even when I shop for myself I'm only guaranteed to like something for the hours immediately after my purchase.  And then, I'll get home and realize it doesn't fit in as perfectly as I had imagined with the other decor, or I'll notice something wrong with it and kick myself for not inspecting it as carefully as I should have under the florescent lighting of the store, or (and this is almost always the case) what fits perfectly in the store shrinks or changes size when I get home.

When it comes to clothes, I have such a hard time.  I have a very good idea of the wardrobe I want to have, I just fail at acquiring that wardrobe and/or pulling it off.  Every now and then I'll make a purchase that pays off and is exactly right: like my L.A.M.B. sneakers, or my coral cardigan, or one of my scarves.  I'll screw it all up by buying another shirt with stripes, which does nothing for me if not make me look like a 12 year-old boy.  I'm so inconsistent that it's grating.  I'm also a different size in every goddamn store I go into.  Which means nothing is a safe-bet for me.  For instance, today, at H&M I had to go into the dressing room 3 different times.  Each time I had 4 pieces with me.  Why wouldn't I just bring all 12 at once?  By the third trip, the fitting room attendant looked at me like "OMFG R U SERIOUS RIGHT NOW? LET ME SAVE U THE TRUBBLE - TOTES NOT GONNA FIT, GIVE UP AND GO 2 JCPENNY, TTYN."  And he was probably right.  Did that stop me from buying things that aren't going to fit after the first wash?  Nope.

And finally, what really takes the fun out of shopping is my lack of funds.  Now that I'm a big boy I can't bring myself to spend money on clothes.  And when you're working in the non-profit world money is tight.  Unless you're a CEO.  In which case, fuck you, man.  But for me, little old me, when I get to a register to buy something, all I can think of is "this money could be used for alcohol, which comforts me after a stressful day at the office."  And sometimes I even think about the food which could hypothetically be filling my fridge.  And very rarely, I think about paying off my credit card.  It's all about priorities, people.

I can't even enjoy commercials anymore.  I used to appreciate their creativity and cleverness.  Now, if I find myself enjoying one at the end of the 30 seconds I sit there, dejected, thinking "you tricked me.  And now I want to buy your gourmet cat food."  And I can't even enjoy their artistic value ever since I read a Banksy quote about how advertising companies steal artistic talent and make people who would be contributing to the world of modern art contribute to capitalism and consumerism and greed, instead.  Shopping, and all it encompasses, has lost its luster.

I wonder if I'll ever regain that feeling of sheer superficial shopping joy.  I recently actually went and bought a CD for the first time in years, literally.  It was, of course, Lady Gaga's The Fame Monster.  I wanted to buy it to support her as an artist that I respect and I wanted the glossy pictures and the lyrics and the album notes as if I was back in 7th grade obsessing over a Spice Girls CD.  I even got it at Target for super cheap - $9.00.  And even the utter genius of her perfectly-crafted pop songs couldn't kill the feeling of guilt I had for spending money.

It's a conclusion I find myself coming back to more and more: the journey into adulthood is such a bittersweet one.  There's so much more to think about and consider.  This is so great on so many levels, but such a damn downer when it comes to others.  I guess I don't really have anything against shopping, when it comes down to it.  Unsurprisingly, it just seems like another case of growing pains.  All of the fun stuff we got to do when we were younger, without bigger concerns looming in the back of our minds, inevitably loses some of its fun when applied to life as an adult.

If only more things were on sale.