A passionate historian and travel writer specializing in Italian cultural heritage and ancient Roman history.
One afternoon at my job two years ago, an notification hit on my phone: my salary had been deposited. It was a decent sum for a student, so I proceeded with my usual when payday arrived: I launched every single shopping app on my phone. From Amazon to Zara, you name it. In under 60 minutes, I had parted with £90 on clothes, home decor and a totally unused weighted blanket that never touched.
A few days later, I returned to the internet and purchased a blow dryer. I already owned one, but thought an extra one couldn't hurt. Then I included LED strip lights and two shoes that didn't even fit me. This wasn’t new behaviour. In reality, I’d been infamous for it ever since I could afford to buy my own things.
Whenever I felt anxious, exhausted or uninterested, I would doomscroll until it always ended in an impulsive shopping binge. My excuse was constantly: “Oh well, it’s just £5.” But £5 became £10, then £20, and so on.
I was never entirely certain about the reason. Perhaps it was because my upbringing in a poor family, where we’d experience months without buying new outfits or anything to decorate the home. So any moment I had some disposable income, there was always a hidden yearning for new and thrilling things. Or maybe, and definitely more likely, I was just bad with money and gave in readily to the lure of demands.
Eventually, I opted to try a novel idea. Prior to acquiring anything, I’d place it in my digital cart, wait 24 hours, then make a choice on whether to check out. The greatest advantage of this method was that it provided me time to reflect – something I’d never taken. For the first time since I turned 18, I began questioning: “Do I truly need this? Can I afford it?” Most of the time, the response was no.
If I accessed Amazon, Depop or Zara and found products sitting in my basket, I’d remove them and start fresh. Using this system, I stopped buying goods that I intuitively knew I would never utilize. I once wanted to buy three board games, but after waiting before visiting the shop, I realised I never actually play tabletop games.
I also contemplated buying a single-use camera for my first trip to the coast. After pausing I recalled I had a phone, similar to everybody else, that has a perfectly good camera, and thus did not need to acquire a separate camera.
It also means I am more selective about the things I do buy, and I can at last look at my bank statements devoid of feeling guilt or discomfort.
Of course, there have been occasions I’ve relapsed into previous habits – it's human nature. The key change is that I can recognise the signs early, particularly when I’m hastening into a transaction. I’ve realised ennui is a powerful catalyst. It’s perhaps the primary driver of my impulsive expenditure.
Consumer culture exploits this idleness and our need for instant gratification. That’s the reason, in hindsight, compelling myself to pause before buying has felt unexpectedly liberating. To be able to have control over my urges and remind myself that I don't have to spend my hard-earned money on non-essential goods feels as revolutionary as it is simple.
A passionate historian and travel writer specializing in Italian cultural heritage and ancient Roman history.