the healing power of consumerism

by ella mordarski

art by lauren mallett

Everyone has their vice. Something we inherently know is so wrong, but just feels so right. It simultaneously clams our thoughts, while also making our heart beat rapidly. For you it could be a freshly lit cigarette, others like their vice on the rocks with vodka. For me personally, my vice is shopping. 

After a long day at work, or a particularly draining day of education, you can often find me racking up credit at the local mall. From a jolt around Newbury Street, to hours spent online, I don’t discriminate the modality. While my vice may not lead to illness, it's just as addicting. Nothing could ever replace the rush of serotonin I get from typing in my pin number. There is probably a deep psychological reason this act of financial recklessness satisfies me. Something having to do with chemicals, classical conditioning, and Freud. One may call me a shopaholic, I like referring to my practice as “retail therapy.”

If you ask me, shopping and therapy have a lot in common. Other than being wildly expensive, both change the perception of oneself and the outside world. When I light a new candle, I get more work done and feel the creativity flow. Stepping out of the house wearing a new dress, I feel revived and ready to take on the world. People around me notice too. Compliments on my clutch from strangers boost my confidence like no therapist ever could. One session of shopping can lead to more breakthroughs then I have purses. 

You're probably wondering where this nasty habit was formed. I could blame it on my parents, like many do at their weekly therapy appointment. But in reality, I hold Sex and the City accountable. Every episode Carrie Bradshaw—a column writer mind you—takes out her romantic frustrations by purchasing the newest Fendi baguette. 

Carrie’s closet is a wonderland of fashion, showcasing every small inconvenience she's ever had. In my imagination Carrie talks to her Manolo Blanik’s like they have a degree in counseling. “Oh spring 2002 Maysale pump in Tiffany blue, Mr. Big really screwed up the other day.” The other three ladies weren’t much better. Their lives may have been falling apart weekly, but at least they looked good while it was happening. 

It would be nice to end this piece on a virtuous note. I tell you I took some time away from retail therapy, it changed my life, and I’ve been shopping sober for 2 months. Sorry to disappoint, but that is not how this story ends. Just the other day I spent $130 on a reformation top because I was proud of my 21-year-old self for getting a flu vaccine. Society teaches us to hide our vices, but I am choosing to wear mine (literally) on my sleeve. 

Is shopping solving my problems? No, definitely not. There are times when I leave my favorite store with nothing but a wishlist and a good time. Some may say this vice is not financially stable, and that I should quit cold turkey. But, is any vice worth the price? A little debt—and a good pair of shoes—never hurt any fashion icons I know.