Black Friday and Cyber Monday 2023: No more stuff thanks, I'm buying second hand instead - Gaby Soutar

I love stuff. It’s just so difficult to stop accumulating it. This time of year is the trickiest of all, since today is the meat in the sandwich on the biggest sales weekend of 2023. Let’s call it Splurging Sunday. My email inbox has been bombarded with discount temptations. However, I’m discerning. I usually flick past the 10 and 20 per cent off ones, even if I do feel a bit like a salmon in the Spey, trying to ignore a particularly shiny lure. I’m skim-reading in search of the only two words that excite me almost as much as ‘dinner time’, and that’s ‘half price’.

Shopping spree Pic:Adobe

They’re the messages that’ll catch my attention. I might even open them.

My weakness? Clothes.

More specifically, spanking new sportswear.

My excuse is that spivvy leggings and trainers will motivate me to go to more fitness classes.

Then there are the other things I always covet and can never get enough of: coats, jackets, handbags, cosmetics, books, sparkly frocks, fragrance, ceramics, bubble bath, necklaces and novelty items.

I was recently alerted to the existence of a Scampi Fries ring and I thought, I NEED that. I don’t.

My treasures already include a prawn brooch, a crab bracelet and a langoustine necklace. Don’t ask me how I got into the niche habit of seafood-themed jewellery.

Anyway, resist I might, but there is no denying the power of a retail high.

Whenever I purchase something new and shiny, my internal hunter-gatherer seems to be very pleased with themselves.

It’s like there’s a tiny fireworks display in my skull. I don’t know whether that involves endorphins or oxytocin being released. Whatever. It’s the same sensation as a first kiss, or having a triple shot coffee.

There are few pleasures that match it.

However, there’s a down side. As soon as you buy something new, it’s added to the pile and forgotten about. Then there’s the guilt.

Anyway, I’ve been sensible recently and I don’t want the sale weekend to throw me off my current track of (slightly) more considered consumerism. This year, I've been trying to curb unnecessary spending, partially for environmental reasons as well as financial ones.

None of us really need more stuff, especially as it only feels like a distraction from the fact that the world is burning.

I have also been attempting to buy more second-hand items, which is a throwback to when I was a teenager and bought most of my clothes in charity shops. It’s not as easy as I remember. I’m older and less enthusiastic. I’ve forgotten how to rummage.

As part of this resolution, I’ve sold a few things on Vinted. Then, rather than heading to the shops, I bought used items with the profit, though this turned out to be a bit of a false economy.

The bright red fleece I acquired makes me resemble Elmo from Sesame Street. Whenever I wear it, I giggle, and refer to myself in the third person. I’ve decided that it must only be worn in the house. I also purchased a new sports vest, which would’ve been £40 new. However, it is an unfortunate fleshy colour and smells of roast dinners as it heats up in my aerobics session. And, yes, I have washed it.

At least a glance around my flat has motivated me not to buy any box-fresh tat this weekend.

I often think about when the artist Michael Landy, as part of his work, Break Down (2001), catalogued his possessions over a three-year period, then destroyed those items over the course of two weeks. There were 7,227 pieces, each of which was disassembled then sent to landfill or recycled. I’m sure it felt horrible, but perhaps also cathartic.

I wonder if there’s anyone I could hire to do the same for me?

It’d be a decade-long job, as I’m sure I own many more random objects than the average person. For example, my husband and I had a debate over whether we should keep or bin an orange plastic currywurst fork the other day. We kept it.

While organising a cupboard recently, I counted my cosmetics bags, and there were 22. I didn’t even recognise some of them.

I might take after my granny. She died at the age of 96, and, in the posthumous clear out, we discovered that her dressing table drawer was packed with a mass of half-used and ancient make-up palettes. I’m the same. I don’t agree with expiry dates. All my current eye-shadows are sure to outlive me, so I don’t need any more, even if the Cyber Monday emails are trying to convince me otherwise.

Mind you, I think, subconsciously, owning lots of stuff feels like proof of your existence. Without it, what have I got to show for my 48 years on the planet? Of course, that’s a daft way of thinking. It’s better to depart earth without leaving a giant dirty consumer footprint as our legacy.

If you do want to downsize in your final decades, there’s always Swedish death cleaning - a method that ruthlessly advocates getting shot of belongings by selling or gifting them from the age of 50 onwards.

Presumably, by the time you snuff it, you’ll only own a toaster, a kettle and your front door keys.

However, it’s surely better to kick your acquisitive streak before then. That’s what I’m hoping to do, by firmly resisting any purchases.

This weekend, I shall resist. Unless there are things advertised at half price. Then, I might allow myself just a sneaky little peek.