Advertising and Consumption

“Having too many things, Americans spend their hours and money on the couch searching for a soul. A strange species we are. We can stand anything God and Nature throw at us save only plenty. If I wanted to destroy a nation, I would give it too much and I would have it on its knees, miserable, greedy and sick.”

Now you want a donut, don’t you?

Advertising is a funny thing, in that you are being told what you want. You don’t think you need anything until you get into the store or the mall, and then suddenly you’re bombarded with posters and displays and salespeople, and a whole wellspring of wants bubbles up inside your head, flows through your fingers, and spills over into your credit card balance.

Of course the irony is that you never really needed any of it in the first place. This over-consumption has reached such a pace that the storage business is booming. Americans have too much stuff to store in their houses, so they rent space elsewhere and fill it with the extras. It’s reassuring to know that you can take all that stuff to the local Fortress Self Storage Annex, evocatively named so you can be sure that all that crap that won’t fit in your house is safe with them. We even saw advertisements and billboards for a company called Got Junk. The phone number is 1-800-GOT-JUNK. You call them and they come and haul your junk away. Everybody’s got junk; they may not realize that’s what it is, but they’ve got it. And then the cycle repeats.

At the urging of an old friend we visited along the way, we spent several hours at a home consignment store in an Arizona suburb. The warehouse was in a rich neighborhood, where wealthy people compete with each other to buy even wealthier people’s castoffs: furniture, art, jewelry. The competition is the thing. It’s a high-pressure environment, with holds, second and third holds, better snap it up because someone else is looking over your shoulder and you don’t want them to get it. Our friend had a house full of paintings, some of which she didn’t even like, but she was buying more art, even though she didn’t have room to hang what she already had. The idea was to resell what she bought and make her fortune. In the process, caught up in the search for a bargain, she also bought tables and chairs, lamps and headboards. More furniture for a house already stuffed to the rafters. This is a different kind of mobility; the transience is in the objects around you. Everything else changes while you stay rooted.

“Look at this table! It’s a steal for $150.” But somebody else snapped it up, so she bought a similar one for double the price.

At this place we found a painting that we wanted to take home as a souvenir of our journey. It was a numbered print in a nice frame, and Alissa pointed it out enthusiastically to our friend.

She considered it for a moment with one eye and a certain amount of undisguised disdain. “But you know you’re never going to get any more than you paid for it, right? It’s just a print. It’ll never be worth anything.”

“But I’m buying it because I like it. I want to hang it. I don’t plan on selling it.”

“Oh,” in a confused tone. “OK.”

And that’s where the enjoyment lies for so many Americans, in the process of acquiring and disposing, not necessarily in the objects themselves. The thrill is in finding a better deal, a cheaper car, winning in the hunt for the best bargain. And on some level, this is acknowledged. In one shopping mall restroom in Phoenix, Alissa saw a sign that read: “Fresh flowers to enhance your shopping experience.” The experience of shopping has itself become commoditized.

Along with commoditization comes homogenization. Buying and selling used to be something that was done on a personal level: with a local shopkeeper, someone the customer knew personally and interacted with regularly; with a door-to-door salesman, who came into your home as your guest even as you became his customer; with members of a neighborhood community, people you knew in their personal as well as their professional aspects. Throughout America, this sense of personal interaction between buyer and seller is diminishing. Even in small towns, where main streets used to boast shops staffed by generations of the same family, shoppers increasingly drive to major discount outlets to get the best deal. For the consumer the bargain is the thing. For the seller, the customer is a number, not a face. That’s one thing we’ve found disappointing about this journey, how easy it is to be anonymous in America these days.

3 thoughts on “Advertising and Consumption

  1. Very well written. In my hitchhiking travels, I have seen homeless people who are pack rats. They will have these shopping carts full of stuff. It is like all that stuff in their shopping cart is what defines them. I have seen wealthy people and middle class people as pack rats–they have to keep everything they have ever bought–they just can’t seem to give it up. They are clinging to something, I guess.

    About advertising. I have hitchhiked through Jackson, Wyoming many times over the years. There are around 3.5 million tourists that go through Jackson every summer. I remember walking up the mountain at Snow King Resort in Jackson at 10 PM. I looked in the distance and saw a steady stream of car lights coming into Jackson.

    Somebody once told me that Americans really know how to keep the cattle (or sheep) coming in for business–through advertising: you have to buy this, you have to buy that; you have to visit a certain fashionable place.

    When people spend most of there time spending their money on objects, they tend to treat other people as objects–and sometimes as objects to run over so that they can acquire more objects.

    “And the wind shall say: ‘Here were decent godless people:
    Their only monument the asphalt road
    And a thousand lost golf balls.'”

    “When the Stranger says: ‘What is the meaning of this city?
    Do you huddle close together because you love each other?’
    What will you answer? ‘We all dwell together
    To make money from each other’? or ‘This is a community’?
    And the Stranger will depart and return to the desert.
    O my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger,
    Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions.”

    –T.S. Eliot

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