I once bought a smartwatch I didn’t need. Not because I’m some fitness freak suddenly training for a marathon. I just saw three YouTubers and at least twenty Instagram reels telling me how it “changed their life.” Apparently counting steps is now a personality trait. So yeah, I bought it. Two weeks later it was just a slightly expensive clock that buzzed at me.
And that’s kind of the point. Most of the time we’re not buying the thing. We’re buying the idea of who we think we’ll become with it.
There’s actually a term for this, though I forgot it the first time I read it. Something about aspirational identity. Basically, when you buy a guitar you’re not just buying wood and strings. You’re buying the fantasy that you might turn into the next Ed Sheeran overnight. Spoiler: most guitars end up collecting dust in corners. I know because my cousin has one. It’s now a decorative piece.
I read somewhere that nearly 60% of gym memberships go unused after the first few months. That’s wild if you think about it. Imagine paying for a Netflix account and never watching anything. Oh wait… people do that too.
Retail Therapy Is a Real Thing (Kind Of)
When I had a bad week last year, I opened an online shopping app “just to browse.” That phrase is dangerous. It’s like going into a bakery “just to smell the bread.” You’re not leaving empty handed.
Buying something gives you a tiny dopamine hit. It’s the same chemical that makes you feel good when you get likes on a post. There’s even research showing that anticipation of a purchase sometimes feels better than actually owning the item. Which explains why tracking a package feels more exciting than opening it.
And social media doesn’t help. On TikTok, there’s always a new “must-have.” That water bottle that keeps ice frozen for 48 hours. That skincare product that apparently makes you glow like you drink three liters of water and meditate daily. The algorithm knows you better than your friends sometimes. It sees you pause for 2 seconds on a video and boom, your feed becomes a shopping mall.
A random stat I saw in a marketing newsletter said around 70% of online purchases are impulse-driven. That means most of us aren’t calculating, we’re reacting. It’s like emotional eating, but with credit cards.
Money Feels Less Real Than It Used To
I think part of the problem is that money doesn’t feel physical anymore. When you pay cash, you actually see the notes leaving your hand. There’s pain in that. Psychologists even call it the “pain of paying.” But when you tap a card or click “Buy Now,” it’s just numbers changing on a screen.
I once bought a pair of shoes at 2 am. I don’t even remember deciding properly. It felt like I was playing a mobile game. Click, confirm, done. Only later, when I checked my bank balance, did it feel real. And not in a good way.
Buy now, pay later services made it even worse. They basically tell you, “Future you can handle this.” Future me is honestly tired of cleaning up past me’s excitement.
In simple terms, it’s like eating on a credit system. Imagine if you could eat five burgers today and promise your stomach you’ll digest them next week. That’s what debt feels like sometimes.
Comparison Is the Quiet Villain
Let’s be honest. A lot of buying is about comparison. Your neighbor gets a new car. Suddenly your perfectly fine car feels… outdated. Even if it works great.
I remember when the new iPhone dropped. My phone was barely one year old, working absolutely fine. But online, everyone was posting unboxing videos. Slow-motion peels of the protective plastic. The comments were full of “worth every penny.” For a moment I genuinely felt behind in life. Because of a phone.
There’s this thing called the Diderot Effect. I learned about it randomly at 1 am. It’s when you buy one new item and then feel like everything else needs upgrading to match it. Buy a fancy sofa, suddenly your old curtains look embarrassing. So you replace them too. One purchase creates five more. It’s like opening a bag of chips. You never stop at one.
And social media amplifies this. You don’t see people’s debt. You see their vacations in Dubai or their brunch at some aesthetic café. No one posts the credit card statement. That part is off-camera.
We Confuse Wants With Needs
If we’re brutally honest, most of our “needs” are upgraded wants. A phone is a need. The latest flagship with three cameras and cinematic mode? Probably not.
Marketing is brilliant at blurring this line. Brands don’t sell products, they sell stories. Nike doesn’t sell shoes, it sells performance and ambition. Apple doesn’t sell phones, it sells creativity and status. And we fall for it because we want meaning attached to what we buy.
There’s also something called hedonic adaptation. Fancy term, simple idea. You get used to things fast. That new car smell? Amazing for a week. After a month it’s just your car. So you chase the next upgrade to feel that excitement again.
It’s kind of like scrolling on social media. You keep refreshing for something new, even if you don’t know what you’re looking for.
So Why Do We Keep Doing It?
Because we’re human. We get bored. We feel insecure. We want to reward ourselves. Sometimes buying something small feels like control in a chaotic world.
I’m not anti-shopping. I like nice things too. But I’ve started asking myself one annoying question before buying something: Would I still want this if no one else saw it? No Instagram story. No compliments. Just me and the item.
If the answer is yes, it’s probably a genuine want. If the answer is “maybe, but it would look cool online,” then I pause.
Another trick that helped me is waiting 48 hours before big purchases. Half the time I forget about the item. Which is kind of embarrassing but also freeing.
At the end of the day, we don’t buy things because we’re stupid. We buy because we’re emotional. Because ads are clever. Because comparison is constant. Because money feels invisible. And because sometimes a small package at your door feels like a tiny celebration.
The problem isn’t buying things. It’s buying them hoping they’ll fix something inside us that no product can really fix. And yeah, I’m still tempted by ads sometimes. I’m not cured. I just try to be a little more aware now. Some days I win. Some days the algorithm wins.