I am uneasily aware that around this time last year I wrote that my drive to acquire material things had somewhat subsided: I was older and wiser, had everything I needed, was repelled by the sheer volume of stuff in the world, blah blah blah. Unfortunately, the internet seemingly viewed that as fighting talk, an impossible-to-turn-down challenge, and in recent months I have once more found myself wanting stuff. Lots of stuff.
It’s not surprising perhaps – stuff is everywhere, whispering, or shouting, to us from every screen we stare at. “The constant stream of ads on Instagram is exhausting,” said my best friend gloomily just last week, and she’s right: my eyes are constantly assaulted with offers of miracle goop for my mature skin, wellness gadgetry, expensive knitwear and greenwashed “disruptors” of almost everything. I just spent a minute scrolling and was offered, in quick succession, a “calfPRO” (no idea, alarming), kombucha, cleanser, an eco frying pan, “reminiscent of Phoebe Philo-era Celine” jumpers and, bafflingly, Canadian sea urchins.
