/Consumerism Guilt

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the guilt that follows consumerism - not just buying things, but the realization that I don’t truly need most of what I purchase. Still, I can’t deny that I genuinely want these things. The problem isn’t so much the desire itself, but the way the process of acquiring them pulls me in. It’s stimulating. Endless products, comparisons, reviews - it’s a rabbit hole that feels designed to consume you.

Last month, I bought what I thought would be my “endgame” headphones - the HIFIMAN HE1000 Stealths. I wanted them so badly, convinced they’d be the ultimate upgrade from my Beyerdynamic DT-1990 Pros. But as soon as I put them on, I felt underwhelmed. They weren’t the step up I had imagined, not as fun or practical as my trusty Beyers. After an hour of listening, I felt a creeping regret: a thousand dollars for something that didn’t meet my expectations. Now, they sit in their box, a reminder of the gap between what I wanted and what I got.

It’s not just headphones, though. When AMD’s 9800X3D processor was announced, I became obsessed. Black Friday turned into a frenzy of refreshing product pages, watching stock disappear in seconds. I even paid for a bot to grab it for me because the process felt almost gamified - a challenge to beat the system, to win the chase. And when I finally succeeded? The thrill was fleeting, replaced by the nagging thought: Was this really worth all the effort?

The way consumerism hooks you isn’t accidental. Products are endlessly flashed in front of you, their allure tied to promises of better sound, faster speeds, or a more fulfilling experience. It’s not just about what you need or even what you want - it’s about the process. There’s always more to learn, more reviews to read, more deals to hunt. It’s a cycle that draws you in, where the acquisition becomes as addictive as the product itself.

A few summers ago, I helped clean out my grandparents’ house. Decades of carefully collected belongings were reduced to piles: keep, donate, trash. It was sobering to see so many things, once cherished, now stripped of meaning. I couldn’t help but think about my own habits. Am I just collecting more stuff that will eventually end up in someone else’s donation box?

Lately, I’ve tried channeling this energy elsewhere - buying stocks instead of things. It feels smarter, but the underlying pattern is the same. Watching green numbers rise gives me the same dopamine hit as unboxing something new, while the red numbers bring the same twinge of regret. It’s just another way to engage with the same drive.

And then there’s the scrolling. It’s no longer just Instagram or Reddit; it’s Amazon, Hardwareswap, Grailed. Browsing has turned into foraging - a constant hunt for deals, rare finds, or the next upgrade. Maybe this is consumerism in its most modern form: a dopamine hit from a confirmation email, the satisfaction of checking out. But no matter how thrilling the chase, the feeling doesn’t last. A new item arrives, the rush fades, and I’m left looking for the next thing.

What makes it so hard to escape is how deeply it’s ingrained in our culture. Consumerism has bled into the core of society - everything is about what you have. The guilt comes from knowing that, deep down, no possession will ever be enough to fill that void. And yet I still find myself scrolling, clicking, adding to cart. Maybe it’s less about the things themselves and more about the endless pursuit.