We’ve all noticed it when we’re shopping. Easter buns come out on Boxing Day and they’re available for months, accompanied by a foil fiesta of colourfully clad chocolate.
The day after Easter it’s Mother’s Day cards and gift ideas, then Father’s Day, Halloween and Christmas to round the year out before it all starts again. Our calendar is punctuated by consumer festivals that urge us to show our love through our purchasing power.
Somewhere in the cacophony of invitations to spend a little voice whispers, you know you’re being manipulated, but we love our Mum’s, our Dad’s, our kids, and we’re always being told we need to love ourselves. It feels good to show that love in a tangible way, doesn’t it?
Of course, it does.
But these days there are so many gifts, so many occasions and the bar for what’s appropriate keeps getting higher.
Brace yourselves. When I was young, there’s a sentence that never ends well.
But it’s true. When I was young, Mother’s Day was sneaking into the kitchen and trying not to burn the toast or wake Mum before taking the tray to her in bed. As a child, I was proud that I could do something for her.
Now Mother’s Day is months of sweet scented shopping malls and sparkling trinkets lining shopfront windows, but the sound I hear most often in the shops is children complaining that they can’t buy more. More big boxes, more trinkets, more sickly sweet chocolate, just more.
Homewares shops are filled with I Love Mum themed crockery, tea towels and decor.
And it’s all so affordable. Made in China. Cheap and Cheerful.
It’s so easy to reach into your purse for the fantastic plastic and bring home a moment of joy for the family.
But that’s all it is. A moment of joy. Anticipation has been banished in our instant gratification world. I think about the years I spent longing for a big box of sweet chocolates, imagining the contents to be so much more than it was. And the way I rationed my chocolate haul to extend my bliss. Every mouthful a precious experience to be savoured.
And then there’s the question of storage for all those Mother’s Day themed homewares. Most likely they’ll end up at the op-shop, and eventually landfill.
There’s so much more chocolate, so many more trinkets, and yet somehow, no more joy. I hear snatches of conversation about guilty chocolate binges and extra hours in the gym to combat the calories.
What if more doesn’t mean better?
What if scarcity makes some things special?
What if, by having it all, we’ve ended up with less than we’ve ever had before?
And what does all this buying really cost. I don’t mean the price at the counter, I’m talking about the price to the planet.
Cheap production methods mean pollution. Precious resources wasted on one use toys and homewares. Towering landfills full of toxic dyes and decomposing dreams.
Is our addiction to buying costing us the earth?