It takes me some time to peel myself away from the idea of owning a pair of black, strappy waterproof hiking sandals. I don’t hike, but I would. They’d be great street shoes; like an alternative to sneakers with laced-up, peek-a-boo sides but a fully enclosed toe box. And they’re waterproof.
My phone lays on the armrest of the chair I’m in, unlocked and inviting me to counteroffer $16 for the shoes with a $21 asking price. The open weave of their upper construction stares back at me like eight pairs of probing eyes. I’ll give it a think, I decide, and let my phone glow for a while.
Somehow, even though I wouldn’t call this blog a blog about culture or technology, I’m always thinking about it. Social media has become such a recurrent theme of my writing that it body checks me like a jock as I pass it in the corridors of my psyche. Can’t keep talking about hating social media, I think as I gather my books and search for a different feeling to explore.
But social media has ruled my life, sadly, for the last 5 years. It kept me busy as I learned guitar, shared my music, found an audience, shared my writing, my tattooing, helped me find friends in New York, helped me find my partner, helped me find the confidence to talk loudly about things that make me feel joy or anger or fear or curious, kept me informed and sometimes misinformed me, too.
Mostly, though, I hate social media. I hate its inescapable connected accounts, its insidious misogyny and its “went viral to the wrong audience” fuckups. I hate that it can cause irreversible damage to peoples lives while being responsible for nothing. I hate that it can launch careers for abusers and literal murderers with the “right” politics. I hate its likes and shares and follows. I hate that it sells me things. I hate that I buy them.
I've spent $135 on pants. I’ve spent $65 on shirts. I’ve spent $200 on dresses I’ve worn once. Social media isn’t about being social, it’s about selling us things, but knowing this doesn’t even give you power over it. I held out for a while, but the algorithm got way too good at predicting what I wouldn’t just want but have to have.
And if there’s anything I hate more than social media, it’s overconsumption. Social media has made me an overconsumer, and I’ll never forgive it for that. But it’s not because I want to consume, it’s because social media addicted me to the endless scroll. The scroll is the goal, the unintended side effect is that sometimes the scroll is so good it hits on a jackpot and my eyes burst into a pair of big red rubies like a cartoon character on a slot machine, then I go one step further into the scroll; I click.
Enter a different app, because I did realize Instagram’s targeted ads, specifically, were doing a number on me. Depop’s ethos of “keep it circular” appealed to me, so I tried it. I sold a few things to make room in my closet for a new-to-me thing and got hooked.
Then it was five pairs of black wide leg pants. A black North Face rain jacket ($50 instead of $150 and I will definitely need one of those!)
No more new stuff! Only secondhand! Shoes are GREAT secondhand — I’m never buying new shoes again! The bargaining began.
Tall boots, short boots, unique boots, swimsuit coverup, and suddenly my dresser drawers are overstuffed and “Doc Marten new with box platform Oxfords” seem to be multiplying in every corner of my apartment.
Soon, I would no longer want anything, but I would scroll Depop to escape Instagram, then Instagram to escape Depop, then Pinterest to cleanse my palette and back to IG when my Pinterest homepage just didn’t feel like “me” anymore.
I began to feel plagued by the strange packages that would arrive every few days. That sinking self-disgust that came with the realization that I didn’t even care to open them made me want to hide these packages from my boyfriend. And what is that shit? I’ve never done anything like that in my life.
So, after indulging myself for a few intense weeks, I came down from my retail therapy high. In fairness to myself, I did make great purchasing decisions because I did get great prices on things I will be using a lot. Even if I already have those pants.
The Depop debacle comes on the heels of a year where I felt excited about my personal style journey and I’ve tried to collect only things that I will want to wear, culling my closet of the stuff I just wished I’d want to wear or bright colors and patterns, because I don’t ever really wear those. I’m starting to value comfort and a great fit over everything else and I think that’s what makes your style yours and a timeless one, at that.
All this is to say, my shame really came from the feeling that my actions weren’t lining up with my morals. My dopamine receptors had found a loophole in my distaste for social media by finding an app that wasn’t social, only media, and the part of my brain that needed the soothing numbness of The Scroll welcomed it without asking why.
Now, I need to let you know that I’ve locked my phone. I don’t need hiking sandals — which sound really impractical, actually — and I don’t need a $160 Rick Owens top even if ThriftyVintage did send a special offer just for me, and I don’t need another pair of Docs, and I already have a black raincoat.
I decided this morning that I’m going to re-commit to saving extra money instead of parting with it in $23 portions every 3 days. I will not be saving for anything in particular. Perhaps a trip to the woods.