I was bred to shop. While some people drown their feelings in food or liquor, I drown mine in the comfort of a credit card swipe and a new pair of pumps. Shopping started out as a fun hobby. Out with friends? New sweater. Date night? New shoes. Bad day? New dress. Good day? Two new dresses. What started out as simply something to do on the weekends became a need. As the need grew, the panic set in. Shopping takes away all the feels, and leaves you in a state of bliss in your happy little pile of shoes where nothing bad can ever happen.
I became able to rationalize anything. It was sad, really. I was able to "forget" about my empty gas tank and pre-order the newest pair of Valentino leather pumps. When I couldn't sleep, I sat up at night calculating each paycheck (tax, store discount and all) to see how much I could spend on new clothes while still being a semi-functioning adult. I was literally becoming Rain Man, except with (probably) a better sweater collection and no desire to get real good at blackjack. I was addicted to the euphoria of an emailed receipt with the order and tracking numbers of a new clothing item.
However, in this accountant-like state of mind, my math never seemed to be right. Unlike Rain Man, who probably had a killer bank account, my calculations never seemed to include minor things like bills or "necessities" like food. In my dream state of that Antonio Berardi dress, I somehow forgot that I needed heat, water and the occasional meal. Somehow, that extra few hundred left over for the month quickly disappeared through dinners out, coffees bought, books purchased and a few regretful Amazon Prime orders. Shopping was becoming more of a pain than a blissful activity—and that mere fact showed me reality.
I used to think an addiction to shopping wasn't actually a real thing. Then I came across a "research article" that claimed shopping was a "clinical disorder." While I still laugh at the fact that these research undergrads are spending their degrees and "free time" shaming my love of shoes, I started to reconsider the constant swiping of the credit card—and turned my attention to other activities.
So as I continue to get rejected by credit card companies because you know, I am 19 and have no real credit history, I see it as a semi-good thing. Slowly but surely halting my feeling-numbing shopping sprees has not only saved a ton of money in a short amount of time, but has also shown me there are other things things to do out there. (This surprised me, too.)
In short, I advise all shopaholics out there to stop swiping the card for a few months. Go outside, start drowning your feelings in chocolate or actually learn to play blackjack. Because however hard it may be to deal with the withdrawal symptoms of wearing the same dress a few times without buying a new one, I am (mostly) sure it won't kill us to save a little bit.
