For a long time I had a vintage stall, where I sold men's vintage clothing, and my girlfriend was convinced it was just to do with a problem I had where I just couldn't stop buying senseless clothes, even if they didn't fit me.
People sometimes think that I bring home all these old books because I'm addicted, that I'm no better than a hoarder with a houseful of crumbling newspapers.
I'm a bit of a clothes hoarder, admittedly.
The joy of being a consumer is that it doesn't require thought, responsibility, self-awareness or shame: All you have to do is obey the first urge that gurgles up from your stomach. And then obey the next. And the next. And the next.
You hear about women buying shoes? I buy DVDs. I definitely have a problem.
Consumerism thrives on emotional voids.
Now that I have the access and money, I spend all of it on clothes and shoes. I have no other pursuits. I don't drink or smoke.
We shop out of boredom, for release, for excitement, for a sense of achievement, for a sense of control over our unruly existences. And every so often, we shop because we need something to wear.
The mystical nature of American consumption accounts for its joylessness. We spend a great deal of time in stores, but if we don't seem to take much pleasure in our buying, it's because we're engaged in the acts of sacrifice and self-definition. Abashed in the presence of expensive merchandise, we recognize ourselves . . . as suppliants admitted to a shrine.
I'm always buying gadgets, especially at airports.
All of us experience the sad effects of blind submission to consumerism. In the first place it represents crass materialism. At the same time it represents a radical dissatisfaction because one quickly learns that the more one possesses, the more one wants, while deeper aspirations remain unsatisfied and perhaps even stifled.
The model of ownership, in a society organized round mass consumption, is addiction.
People who acquire things beyond their usefulness not only will derive little or no marginal gains from these acquisitions, but they also will experience negative consequences, as with any form of gluttony.
The emptier a person's heart is, the more he or she needs to buy, own, and consume.
I'm a danger to myself and others in expensive, designer shops, as they send me giddy with excitement, causing me to snap up all manner of silly things.
Sometimes I can't stop myself from buying things just because I see them - even when I don't really need them.
I'm a pretty big clothes horse. I shop for clothes constantly. I do so much shopping. I should go to Shoppers Anonymous.
I'm an extremist. If I go to a sneaker store, I buy 20 pairs of sneakers, not one.
I'm an incompetent consumer. I have two settings: Buy and Don't Buy.
In my closet, you'd find five black shirts that look the same, 10 pairs of the same white pants, and five pairs of almost the exact same shoe. Every time I go out, I buy shoes that are very similar to my other shoes - it's a problem.
Collection is an addiction.
Mania's premonitory signs are unusual acts of extravagance, manifested by the purchase of houses, and certain expensive and unnecessary articles of furniture.
Everywhere I go, I buy something. I probably have an issue with shopping.
I'm obsessed with shopping. I'll get these urges to buy, like to shop for stuff on the Internet. I search for all kinds of weird gizmos I could get.
In midlife, I feel that my tendency to acquire books is rather like someone smoking two packs a day: it's a terrible vice that I wish I could shuck.
