Please Shop Responsibly
Is $300K too much on impulse spending? The paradox of wanting it all, and starting fall with a break from shopping.
SourceList™ is a blog and buying guide on the good and bad of buying things.
Reformation is running an ad on Instagram with a disclaimer that says: “Shop Responsibly,” government-mandated language previously reserved for advertisements warning against excessive alcohol consumption. Language reserved for what is quite literally poison to the brain.
I’ve been shopping all summer, but not in a 'Here’s everything I bought this summer, and where you can too!' kind of way.” I mean in a feast and famine kind of way, one week entering the vortex of consumption to swipe without abandon only to emerge days later in a come-down. It’s not so much an addiction (famous last words) as it is obsession: equal parts dopamine-seeking and an honest, heart-wrenching desire to fill every crevice of my life with something beautiful and considered.
I allowed myself beauty and convenience this summer. Resolute to travel less in 2024, I enjoyed afternoons in Soho — latte in hand — sale scouting, trips to the best Nordstrom Rack on 34th street, and furniture shopping justified as need. The pursuit of a curated life called to me, not selling me on the objects in hand but the fulfillment promised on the other side of a Tap to Pay.
Before summer was even over, I was ready for fall.
“Shopping responsibly” could mean buying only what you can afford. It could also mean making smart purchasing decisions, buying what you know you will use, and then using it well. What shopping responsibly is not is impulse buying.
The average American will spend $300,000 in their lifetime on impulse spending (Source), and I think about the tragedy of how our American value is equal parts productivity and lifestyle. Work. Shop. Work. Shop.
I live in New York — Brooklyn, no less— where a $2,000 dress paired with Havianas is peak summer styling, and a bag with too obvious a logo is taboo. Where a culture of condescension finds it easy to see our taste (and therefore consumption) as more evolved than the average American.
Here are 10 things I impulse-bought in August:
Roxanne Assoulin bracelet (on sale at Net-A-Porter)
Abstract art (from a local artist in Union Square - tbh regret it)
(2) shoes (from the Maquire archive sale)
Suede kitten heels 50% Off (a steal)
4” unfinished Wooden Balls (to update the hardware on my nightstands)
Vintage necklace (truly excellent, but so statement that I will likely only wear 2x)
Goodpop Ice cream sandwiches (only 7g of sugar! - from Whole Foods)
Pistachio mochi (from Whole Foods, just to have around)
Glytone Lipid Recovery cream (from my Medspa, honestly worth it)
Tocca Hair Perfume (on sale - I think I’ll use it)
Bonus: my apartment???
What started as “everything I impulse bought in August” turned into “10 things” because I earnestly couldn’t remember everything. I found myself turning categories of things over in my mind: skincare…makeup…haircare…clothes…jewelry…wellness…food. I couldn’t trust myself to put everything in a list and title it “everything”.
I admit that I too have set myself apart from the average American, earnestly believing that my drive towards beauty (vs. Consumption) has somehow made me different, justifying the very real part of me that uses shopping like alcohol.
The paradox is that even after admitting this, I still want to chase a curated life. I want the payoff of shopping without the comedown. There’s another universe in which I now write: “So go outside. Call a friend. read a book. Never shop again!” If you know me even a little, you know that I believe deeply in the small, poetic moments of quotidian life, off-screen. But this is a newsletter about shopping and the truth is that shopping is one of the things I frankly think I am best at.
Here’s what I will write: I am ready to quit justifying shopping as a life-fulfilling exercise. All of the things in life that fulfill us are free.
So in September, I’ll be on low-spend, attempting to return to baseline by emphatically using the beauty products I have and wearing the clothes I own. The purpose of this exercise isn’t to permanently radicalize myself, but to reflect on the things that genuinely feel good to look at and have, what I need, and don’t need, and try to come back in a few weeks and do this thing I love — more responsibly.
She’s soooo back
I loved seeing your name in my inbox today, Tenlie!!! I don't know if you feel this way, I know we shared a lot of founder and marketplace experiences and also had a bunch of obviously different experiences, but shopping felt so... off limits to me... when I was dealing with the financial scarcity and subsequent financial ruin of being a founder. At the same time, it felt like one of the very few if not only ways I could "treat" myself or feel like a human person or functional woman. I had a crazy impostor syndrome comparing myself to the polished founders with blowouts and designer clothes-- they'd raised venture capital and they looked so glossy and pretty and I was working in overalls and Vans. (Nevermind that even when I made a great salary, I was still working in overalls and Vans-- that's just who I am. I am wearing overalls and Vans as I type this.)
Ultimately, shopping during and even more so after my time as a founder was one way of restoring some agency to myself or feeling like I was worthy or deserving of things or love or value. In hindsight, I wasted so much fucking money on crap I have long since consigned or donated. It was more about the pursuit of a feeling than an actual need for goods. It probably still is. But it's impossible for me to separate that impulse from the era of extreme scarcity in my life, being a founder and then trying to heal my extreme founder debt. (I'm still not there yet.)
What do you think? I'm curious if you feel like that's part of it for you too, but I also know the jobs we took on immediately after selling our businesses were very different.