A few years ago I saw this guy at a gas station. He was driving a baby blue Aston Martin. The guy looked like Ralph Lauren in the 80s—you know, like the PBS commercial. Probably in his late 50’s. Tan. He wasn’t wearing a watch. His wrist was adorned with a simple gold bracelet. He had on a blue button down that was wrinkled. And some dark navy shorts. He saw someone he knew and they were chatting. The other guy had a BMW. Younger. Eager. Dressed to the nines. The guy asked for Aston’s cell number and Aston smiled. He didn’t have one. Of course he didn’t. The look on his face said it all, ‘I don’t need a phone because I am so important that whatever it is, it can wait.’ Or maybe he just didn’t give any fucks—I’m just telling you the story in my head. At any rate, he said he’d be in touch after he got off the boat. I found myself fantasizing about this guy’s boat. And THAT was the first time that I realized I was a slave to technology—among other things.
This week another iPhone came out and I saw my Twitter feed blow up like it always does every time another igadget comes out. I keep wondering when new phones will cease to impress but it seems like we haven’t yet reached that place. Maybe the rest of the world hasn’t yet reached that place but I have. I feel like the thing could hover at this point and I’d be all—Oh, that’s nice.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like new gadgets though. As an early cellular adopter, I’ve got the phone graveyard to prove it.
A few items in my tech graveyard.
Truthfully, my phone does everything I need to it do and lots more that I don’t really need it to do. I’m dependent on it to make calls, text, inform and entertain me, help me navigate my workload, document my life’s events and more. But I know I don’t need a phone upgrade right now and getting one would be satisfying a manufactured need.
The downside of this technology is that I’m tethered in a way that is becoming more of a hindrance every day. What awesome things could I be doing if I were not spending as much time dealing with all the things my “smart” phone has brought into my life?
The occasional beautiful car daydream aside, I’m finding that I really don’t want any more stuff. I just want good stuff that lasts a really long time so I don’t have to think about my stuff so much. I drive a late model car that is in beautiful condition. I have a stereo that sounded great decades ago and sounds better than most sound systems available today. I love the idea of repurposing objects and try to buy fewer but higher quality things that could be passed on rather than thrown into a landfill.
TIP: GET OLD SPEAKERS REFOAMED — YOU’LL BE GLAD YOU DID!
Unfortunately, the pace of technology has made it difficult if not impossible to utilize some gadgets for the long term. There will always be the next greatest version of what you have when you need it—so why be a technology slave? What’s the long-term benefit to that?
What is it about the consumerism trap that so many of us fall prey to? Are we really so stupid as the grandfather of advertising, Edward Bernays, suggested? I definitely think we have been conditioned to become mindless consumers and that it’s not in our best interest in terms of our overall happiness. I used to be one of those people conditioning you to buy things. I know things do not make for a happy life.
In fact, according to the movie Happy, America is one of the least happy places on the planet—in spite of our being one of the richest.
One of the things I regret is getting a bigger house and focusing so much of my money and energy on the thing. For logical reasons that seem completely foreign to me now I it felt necessary to upgrade my space when it wasn’t a real need. I fell for the investment trap thinking my home would be a stepping stone to the real home I wanted—a space that in my mind is actually smaller and more suited to my creative pursuits than my current place. I spent a lot of time and money nesting—you know that’s a marketing term I hope? And dealing with all things house that most Americans long for as part of the American Dream. That’s not to say that I’m not grateful for owning a home because I know most of us are only a few bad breaks from not having one. However, I am seeing my choices in full daylight now and I think in hindsight I would have made a different choice.
These days I ask myself the following: Does this (insert fabulous object)____________ contribute to my long term goals or possess the ability to enhance my life longer than a few months? Most of the time the answer is no and I don’t buy it. That is not to say I don’t buy a new fashion piece or two seasonally or upgrade my tech gear when it becomes outdated. I’m just much more aware of the relativity of the word need.
I’m also finding that the material things I value long term are the ones that have contributed most to my creative process—like a musical instrument or a camera. All of the other stuff in my life can mostly be improvised. Every dwelling I’ve lived in has been creatively beautiful. Even when I was a college student living off three minimum wage jobs I made my studio apartment lovable with interesting unique furnishings that I either made or repurposed. It’s also the reason I don’t really feel jealous when friends have more stuff than I do.
Now that I’m ready to get rid of stuff I’m finding out that it’s not the easiest of propositions. Sure you can give stuff away—and I’ve definitely given a lot of stuff away—but when you’re trying to recoup some money, selling is a chore. It would have been smarter to not buy it in the first place.
My advice: Don’t be a collector of stuff—and get really clear about what makes you happy.
If Christmas Castles make you truly happy then follow your bliss, but I promise you no tech gadget will bring you happiness ten years from now. And trust me—it’s a rare pair of shoes that you’ll want to wear in five years—I do admittedly have a few of those though.
The fact is, when I see the closets of European women who are so well put together and have so few pieces; I feel stupid for not planning better and I’m working to pare down my wardrobe with these women in mind. I’m not sure what I was trying to prove, but looking back, I think I actually looked cooler on my college thrift store budget.
I’m sharing this so you might consider the effect your stuff has on your life before your stuff takes over your life!
Maybe it was a childhood full of financial struggles that made me crave material things, or maybe it was just a whole lot of television and a crap ton of commercial breaks that initiated me into the material world. While my rich friends were at camp, my childhood summer vacations included highlighting the shows in the TV guide that I planned to watch—from The Price Is Right through Gilligan’s Island. If you did the same, you know how many hours of television that was. Have I mentioned how my brother and I used to act out commercials for fun? It’s true.
Palmolive? You’re soaking in it.