I’m Dead Broke but Also Dead Set on Buying a Pair of Safety Yellow Platform Filas
Buying random crap you’ve become inexplicably fixated on is the consumerist version of “me time”
The color.
The size.
Don’t even get me started on the chunkiness. Chunk-factor. Chunk-itude.
Nothing about these shoes is reasonable. Nothing about desire is reasonable. I have no money but I want to spend all the money I don’t have on shoes I don’t need. What gives?
When I used to work the night shift, I would often come home unable to sleep and end up scrolling through page after page of online shopping websites—Amazon, H&M, ASOS. That’s all my brain could handle, the only thing that seemed both engaging and mindless enough to occupy my racing, exhausted mind.
I wouldn’t even buy anything. I would just scroll, and scroll, and scroll, row after row of bright, shiny objects to peruse popping up like groundhogs before my brain had a chance to tire.
Maybe this dress or that romper or this Totoro body pillow will fill the gaping void in my soul while also leaving a gaping hole in my wallet.
Buying random shit you’ve become inexplicably fixated on feels like the consumerist…
