It’s September and the urge is coming on strong.
I’ve paged through a dozen houseware catalogs. I’ve scanned hefty fashion magazines that could double as doorstops. On the street, I’ve perked up to the tell-tale white cords of iPod owners or indulged in a little more window shopping than usual.
All of a sudden, like a kid going back to school. I want stuff. Stuff. I can’t explain it except that, in a sense, whether buying up new No. 2 pencils or new clothes for work, these items somehow herald a new you and a new year. So each fall I make a new purchase of some sort–it’s not the best way to encourage personal growth, but there it is.
One year I became strangely attached to my Global 10-inch chef’s knife. I was exchanging a college graduation present at a museum gift shop when I noticed this single piece of perfectly balanced stainless steel loveliness. Oh!
With it, I envisioned a future of brilliant dinners overflowing with friends, simmering pots and spilling wine. I ended up talking about the knife so much that friends would ask to see it, clearly half-joking.
And no one else I knew had one.
That’s materialism, but hopefully not in the must-have-it, on-the-Prada-prowl kind of way. At that moment, months out of college, my $120 purchase represented me and my adult life ahead. Even though I didn’t end up playing host to the indulgent epicurean salon of my dreams, I still enjoyed imagining it.
Whether we like it or not, people connect material items to personalities and use it as a way to identify other people. Those cat-eye glasses and slouchy corduroys scream, “Hipster ahead!”–announcing your insouciance and telling the world who you are in a kind of SKU shorthand.
It affirms your own sense of self too. Does that item fit you, tell a story about you? Maybe it references others who wear it or use it or drive it, and a little of their glamor rubs off onto you.
“Every design carries luggage this way; no design exists in a vacuum,” wrote author Luc Sante. Sante’s obsession was the Citroen DS, a quirky but still-coveted car that inspired Godard-loving, espresso-drinking snobbish hipsters everywhere.
“Every coffee cup refers to the entire history of coffee cups, and by your choice of one style over another you are casting a vote among an intricate array of variables,” he explained.
Those who claim not to attach anything to objects are fooling themselves. Eventually they find something that seduces them, a new gadget that pleases them or something that becomes imbued with meaning, despite preconceived notions.
A friend who swore she wouldn’t get caught up in her own wedding hoopla found herself in love with an expensive gown for the big day. Another friend rewarded himself with a fancy mountain bike when he scored a dream job.
But the odd thing is, these objects are mass-produced notions of individuality. We sneer at those who have something everyone has–only to remember that we’re all mocking the same thing, and we probably all have a version of it back at home.
So, are you cool or conformist?
The question can’t be answered without a lot of angst. Most of us aren’t obscenely wealthy, so purchasing decisions need to be relatively rational. While I’d like to buy the fur-trimmed, lime green boots (on second thought, maybe not), a black pair really makes more sense. Black pants, black purse, black whatever-everybody-else-has.
One odd result is the emergence of the uber-trendy combo item, an effort to blend all the individual designs into one muddy answer. It’s like a 20-car pileup on the expressway. Tell me, what does a belted leopard print Ugg miniskirt with a jeweled brooch on the hem say about you?
That’s easy: Identity crisis.
More Top Picks Best Outdoor Tvs For Patios
———-