When you think of a “Prepper” you probably think of someone who has a 72-hour-survival kit at the ready; a trunk of firearms, an evacuation kit, a plan in place for a natural disaster or global pandemonium.
I have an excessive stash of chocolate and diet soda in the garage (I know, its kinda contradictory to an outsider, but not in my biosphere) but that’s about it.
I committed to doing the No Shopping Experiment January 3rd. Prior to that, I’d had a brewing sense that I needed to make some changes. You know the feeling, like the winds are picking up and a storms a comin’ but you don’t know when.
On Christmas morning I looked at the kids haul (75% of which I was wholly responsible for) and I said to myself, that is IT until their birthdays. NO MORE. I thought, I can keep that commitment, maybe. I mean, except for clothes. They’ll probably need more clothes in the next four to five months. Who wouldn’t?
When it came to modifying my own, self-centered shopping, I preferred a more vague approach. I would “reel it in,” “lock it down,” “take a break.” Except, I know those phrases and have previously tried to apply them to my alcoholic drinking on a Monday morning dripping with regret and self-loathing. Two days later, or a week, there I was again, two bottles of wine in scratching my head and shrugging my shoulders.
Addiction aside, immeasurable, mushy resolutions NEVER work. “I’ll lose weight,” “Hit the gym more,” and my personal favorite from my daughter this week, “I’m just going to always choose the right this year.” Oh– that should be easy to track. Not too broad at all.
Still, I didn’t want to commit because the thing about committing, is, well, you’re committed, which means wholeheartedly dedicated… to not shopping, which is literally my favorite thing to do. Vomit.
But I was committed to taking a kid-buying sabbatical…. as soon as I stalked up on post-Christmas sale items for daughter. To the tune of $300. I’ll spare you the details of hitting the sale just right at Gap Kids and then imagine the luck when Hanna Anderson offered an additional 20% off sale items that day only–but it happened–suffices to say, I was like a dieter at Burger King the day before a cleanse. Bags in hand, just days after my White House Black Market score, I felt an itch of shame and regret. I tried to gloss over it, justifying the purchases by the price and the fact that I’d bought a little large, but the truth is, without any of those items, little miss would have been just fine til spring. And who knows if she’ll still love that rainbow sweater next year when it fits.
Wednesday I ran into a friend and while wishing each other a happy New Year we asked about resolutions. She mentioned the New York Times article and that she was planning to go a year without shopping. I’d heard of the experiment. I think there has even been a memoir published about it, but it just sounded so ridiculous. Maybe a good undertaking for a crunchy-granola mom who hates shopping and likes wearing her baby or whatever, but not for a girl like me whom the mall food court worker provides an employee discount to. Seriously. She just started doing it, and I was too embarrassed to correct her.
I started throwing out objections like a flower girl scattering petals. “What about when the seasons change?” “What about eye make-up remover pads?! You have to keep buying eye make-up remover pads?” “And what if you go on vacation! I feel like if you cross three rivers it shouldn’t count, because in college we had a rule that if you crossed three rivers and hooked up with a guy it wasn’t cheating and I feel the same guideline should be invoked here.” “What if one of your favorite items fails– like gets a hole in it, not a cute distressed hole, but an unacceptable hole– can you replace it?”
My friend said she had been all-in but I was starting to make her nervous which I found oddly satisfying. Panicked, I started bartering, which incidentally is the stage of grief that follows denial and anger. “How bout, if we just set a limit, like a monetary limit to our spending on stuff to wear. And we don’t spend more than that each month?!” Ta-da!
Friend referred me to the article which I read in the parking lot. That’s when I got the point. The point is, to free up the time and the brain space. In our conversation, I asked my friend how she would navigate Target and she said simply, “I don’t go to Target. I quit five years ago. Because everything looks good in Target.” I think this will go down as an aha moment in my life. It reminded me of when I first heard, “Its not the fifth drink, or the seventh that gets you drunk, it’s the first one.”
I had been going about solving the problem the wrong way. I kept trying to stop at three drinks. I kept trying not to “over-spend” at Target, and nearly every time I gleefully wheel out a red basket filled with $125 dollars of random delights– stuff I can’t explain, don’t need, mostly wasn’t on the list but look how cute/inexpensive/fun whatever.
Stay. Out. Of. Target. According to my December Wells Fargo summary that change alone will save approximately 1 bagillion dollars/ read also, every 4th transaction.
So that’s where that rule came from.
But it was only 10:30 Wednesday morning when I felt pulled toward the decision of, ‘Okay, I’m in– but only for a half a year. That’s all I can think about.’
Enter, PREPPING:
I had to go to Nordstroms to drop off some pants my husband needed altered. That was legit. What was not legit was making my way to the women’s shoe department where my shoe consultant Saundra agreed that getting the same pump in three colors/patterns was not excessive.: one animal print, one red suede, and one black and gold. Three pair, of the same shoe.
I blitzed to Homegoods because I knew I’d need a rule eliminating this loophole, and it would have to involve letting my husband weigh in on necessities and well, our opinions differ drastically. I filled the cart frantically. But I couldn’t find the perfect rugs I needed for the entry way and kitchen so off to Target I went. I got my Starbucks and I pushed my cart through the aisles. I swear this is meditation.
I got some greeting cards, and construction paper which we are out of except for brown, and who wants that, then I grabbed a few make-up items I needed. They also did not have the rugs I wanted. Plus, the problem with rugs from Target, is they look like everyone else’s rugs, and I guess I wanted something a little more unique. So I paid my $50 for two small bags of NOTHINGNESS, and off I went to At Home which is another giant home goods store, because dammit I wanted my rugs.
I was on the phone the whole time I was there, but thought I made pretty sound decisions on a few runners, a regular 23×30, and 2 throw pillows BECAUSE that’s why, but I had to go because, it was time to pick kids up from school.
I also realized at this point I hadn’t eaten all day. Which is another thing I love about shopping: its an all natural appetite suppressant. I grabbed a bag of candy and a Diet Coke and headed to pick up the kids. And that is how I frequently waste days doing nothing. A day burned in search of some rugs. The dog wasn’t walked. No laundry got done. House needed attending to, but… rugs.
When I got the rugs and throw pillows home it was immediately obvious that I hated them. They look cheap and hurried. Because they were. Is it possible for rugs to look desperate, because I swear these do? They are going back today. (See, more time wasted. But really. They have to go back.) Then my addict rationalizing brain said, “Well, you spent that money before the challenge started, so technically you have, like, a credit if you want to look somewhere else for the rugs.” Because, this is what minds do, they argue against our own best interest.
If I’d given myself more notice of the No Shopping Experiment I would have definitely purchased more, including the White House Black Market jeans– even at full price. Because surely right now that would make all the difference between being prepared and calm about challenge and an anxious mess who can’t stop spinning about stuff I might fake-need in the next half-year.