My Year of No Shopping. A prelude.
I opted for the audio version of These Precious Days because I have a pencient for listening to authors reading their own essays. When Ann Patchett’s calm voice read to me the title “My Year of No Shopping,” it made me smile but gave me no pause. By now, I have heard many experiences of decluttering, downsizing, organizing and generally taking a step back from consumerist culture. I even have a few stories of my own. But I tend to appreciate the declutter escapades of those among us who don’t consider themselves minimalists - like Ms. Patchett. Why are they embarking on the process? Does this mean that everyone, eventually, gets sucked into the zeitgeist of tidying up? Is it a challenge that some feel bound to accept? Or, does too much stuff weigh others down like it weighs me down? Is their’s a visceral experience like mine is? An uncomfortable sensation that arises from both the thought and the sight of too much stuff?
Ms. Patchett does not appear to be like me. And yet, she embarked on a year of no shopping (that began with inventorying and decluttering her home), and I got curious. What I took away from her piece, what stood out to me - and to her - regarding her shopless year, was all the Time that not shopping freed up in her schedule.
She had my full attention.
I am forever hoping for more hours in the day. I have proclaimed myself a minimalist for years. As such, I don’t consider myself a shopper. So I never connected the idea that less shopping equals more Time. But the more I thought about it, the more I started to get real honest with myself. I may not purchase a ton, but I think about purchasing a lot. I may not purchase as often as the average American, but that does not mean that I do not shop.
In fact, if window shopping were a sport, I’d have a gold medal at it.
Scrolling - the modern day version of window shopping - had become a routine part of my days. I didn’t notice til Ms. Patchett piqued my curiosity. How much time it consumed, only my phone knows. And I’m afraid to inquire.
No, I don’t purchase willy-nilly. But I window shop/scroll endlessly. I research and compare. I put it in the Amazon cart, then look elsewhere on the internet. I come back to it the next night, or the next week. I ponder. I putz. I window shop some more.
It crept up on me, spidey-like. We downsized nearly two years ago. We decluttered and sold, donated and let go of so much stuff. Furniture and kitchen supplies, books and toddler toys. Lamps and chairs. The glider I nursed my baby in. Hampers. A dresser. Blankets and pillows. I couldn’t believe how much we had accumulated.
I spent so much time focusing on the letting go that the new items entering the wee stucco bungalow went nearly unnoticed.
It was born of a desire to acclimate to the new house. We upgraded our bed because we now sleep in the smallest primary bedroom imaginable, accompanied by an even smaller closet. A bed with massive drawers underneath proved essential.
Then there were the art purchases. The piece from an old friend - the NYC painter friend - that I’d wanted for a decade. The wall tapestry that I’d pinned when Pinterest was new and enticing.
Zero regrets buying art from living artists.
But then I emerged from the pandemic. And I realized I actually wanted to wear OUTFITS again. Not just leggings and sweatshirts. And skinny jeans were no longer in vogue. And my collection of J. Crew perfect shirts were no longer perfect. They were old. So, I turned to the same second hand Facebook group that I had sold items on during the downsize, and I started shopping for a new wardrobe. The slow increase in purchasing, in my mind it didn’t count because it was second hand. It felt good. I never was much of a thrifter. It requires a lot of sifting to find the gems. Mama ‘has no time’ for that. But, it turns out that if the thrifting happens via scrolling then I had PLENTY of time for it.
I snagged a few pieces that belong in the zero-regret-you-are-a-forever-part-of-my-wardrobe category. But then, over the last month or so, I started realizing that the majority of these second hand purchases were not gold medal finds. They were purchased hapzardly. Sure, why not! It’s only $10 after all! I didn’t love every item. Just like, in the past, I didn’t love every new article of clothing that I bought. I regretted most purchases. The shot of dopamine I got from the initial sale quickly faded. I even tried to resell some pieces but the world agreed. No thanks!
But it wasn’t just me. I am part of a herd after all. As Black Friday came and went and the world launched into the holiday season, I’ve noticed that my second hand Facebook group filled with holiday decor. It was a cycle I couldn’t unsee. Go to Target ‘just for a few essentials,’ walk by this year’s holiday decor isle, get seduced and purchase, grow weary of the item in a few years time. Resell… but then buy something in its stead.
When would it stop?
Couple my regret with Patchett’s promise for more time, and I set in motion a plan to pause on shopping for the year.
I tentatively messaged my husband. Might he want to join me in a year of no shopping? A minimalist married to a collector always approaches such topics with caution. But, to my surprise and delight, he was game. We agreed that some ground rules specific to our lifestyle and needs was needed.
To help ourselves resist the shopping in the first place, we are unsubscribing to emails. We are deleting certain apps. We’re not unsubscribing to Amazon, but to access the store, I’ll need to use my computer. If I can’t buy, why scroll?
And then there are the agreed upon purchases already planned and/ needed:
Our 2022 Annual Heirloom Album (obvi)
Storyworth books for our parents & brothers
House projects already decided upon (paint for 3 rooms, plastering the fireplace, landscaping the backyard [read: hostas & ferns, mulch], supplies to build planter boxes for the garden)
Shoes & clothes for our daughter (kids keep growing, it seems)
Essentials/supplies but only if we don’t have anything else that could replace it already
Presents for our daughter for her birthday & Christmas (she didn’t sign off on this challenge)
My annual skincare bulk purchase that take place every Black Friday. This is how I resist buying very shiny new serum that hits the market and convinces me it’ll solve my wrinkle woes. (Never works. Ever hopeful.)
2 mulligan’s each (my husband suggested this; two freebies because he is reasonable, and we are fallible)
I told of this plan to two old friends over the Thanksgiving weekend. One asked what I would do to fill to void when I just need to check out of life and mindlessly scroll. I have the same question. I think I’ll squirm a lot. The transition will bring some discomfort to my life. But I’d like to believe that eventually I’ll find a rhythm that doesn’t include scrolling. I’ll check in here to chart the path. Idealistic hoping is different than moving through change in real life, this I know.
OR, I’ll pin everything to a secret board - or a collection of (secret) boards titled to suit different interests - and go on a spree come 2024.
Or somewhere in between.
As we sorted through our rules of engagement, did I find myself adding objects to the cart hapzard-like, desperate, as if I’d never shop again? I did. It’s fascinating, to observe oneself with all my human foibles, with all my hypocrisies and dichotomies, with all my imperfections.
As I started deleting apps and unsubscribing, I got a Facebook message from the second hand Facebook group. I was ‘ up for the custom art’. A screenshot accompanied the message but it wouldn’t load. I ignored the message. I was DONE, hadn’t you heard?. A few days later seller followed up with a simple, ‘?’. This time, the screenshot loaded…
It was a custom Otomi embroidery piece, mounted and framed. I’d been eyeing and researching Otomi embroideries since our honeymoon in Tulum. I have “liked” a ton on Etsy; several pinned on Pinterest. This particular one is sewn with an orange thread. Not a color I would have ever chosen. But as it goes, there is burnt orange woven into the red rug in our guest room. It fits in a way that I never would have arranged if left to my own scrolling. And, the very best part of thrifting, it was a fraction of the price of buying new.
If you’re eclectic and have a passion for wall tapestries - if you’re me, is what I’m saying - this Otomi piece might be the most perfect thrifted item one come stumble upon. And stumble upon it I did. I nabbed it and hung it and sent pictures to my nearest and dearest for days. “Can you believe someone sold this? And, that I’m the one who got it?”
I ended my thrifting and shopping on a high note. The highest of notes, perhaps. And now, I embark upon a new, unknown journey that includes no purchases or window shopping. Instead, hopefully, there will be lots of library books and writing and maybe even a return to hobbies left by the wayside. Maybe, instead of purchasing wall tapestries, I’ll finally cross-stitch that massive monochromatic pattern I bought but never made. Because the only thing better than a thrifted Otomi tapestry, is a tapestry that my own two hands made, when I had time and space away from consumerism, left alone to create instead of consume.
Wish me luck.
