I grew up mainly owning hand-me-down clothes, and it made sense to me. Why buy a new one when you can get one for free? Things weren’t designed for obsolescence; they seemed built to last like the stand fan and refrigerator we had growing up which were older than I was.
As a second-born child in an Asian family, I was expected to receive hand-me-downs. I couldn’t imagine an alternate reality unless people decided to gift me new stuff, which was okay, too. I never really complained; instead, I looked forward to more hand-me-downs, mostly clothes and shoes. The only times I could have new stuff were the first day of school, Christmas, and birthdays.
It got to the point that when my older sister bought stuff, I would also mentally assess how I would look wearing them because I was sure they’d be given to me years later when she didn’t want to wear them anymore and when they’d finally fit me.
Because I was getting used to hand-me-downs, I never really had a sense of style. I had to make do with what I was given and not think much about expressing myself through fashion. I could only accept or decline hand-me-downs, but I seldom decline any.
The only time I started saying no to a lot was when I started being laughed at in school for wearing large shirts, baggy pants, and shoes that were too big for my size.
My mother believed buying a new one would only be practical when something was beyond repair, given how purchasing a new one would cost us a lot.
If you’ve got a tear in your clothes, you better learn how to sew it up. If your sole snapped out of place, you had better have shoe glue around the house and stick it in. If a device stops working, you better know the nearest repair shop and have it fixed if you don’t have any idea how to fix it yourself. Broken umbrellas? No problem! There’s always someone who can fix it for you.
But as I was growing up, being married and living far from my family, having the buying power now changed how I position myself with buying stuff. What used to be an abundance of hand-me-downs became scarce unless I’d go home and bring all the clothes and shoes my sister didn’t want to wear anymore. And about repairs? It has become cheaper to throw away stuff now and buy a new one.
And oh my how I used to tell myself I wouldn’t be like those who throw away stuff when I grow up. But two decades later, I’ve become so good at feeling nothing when I throw stuff away—out of mind, out of sight.
That’s why as much as possible, I try not to accumulate stuff especially when I’m certain they would find themselves in the trash later. Trying to be intentional when buying stuff is hard. But it’s the trying that is important, right?
Of course, we also give away things, especially the ones that are still usable but have already served us well enough that it’s time for them to move on to someone else—stuff that doesn’t fit us anymore but is still in mint condition.
Being bombarded with ads about products I don’t necessarily need also affects my desire to acquire them. Remember all the nights we used to have, scrolling through online shops as entertainment? It’s like going to the mall window shopping while never leaving your home.
The next thing we knew, we added a product to our online carts to satiate that irresistible but manufactured desire. At least they could sit in our virtual carts without spending anything right? But most of the time, we keep thinking about the things we added to cart. And during our weakest of days, we succumb to their humming and simply click that purchase button to appease our thirst for a dopamine hit.
Payment successful!
We think having more stuff would make us happy, in style, and live better and fancy lives, as marketers made it seem in the ads they created.
But the joy was as fleeting as enjoying an ice cream in the summer heat.
We’re surrounded by more things but experience less joy. Consumption has been untethered from genuine human needs. Marketing doesn’t just sell products—it manufactures desires, creates artificial scarcity, and constructs identities around brands. We’re not buying things because they improve our lives; we’re buying them because we’ve been convinced that our worth depends on ownership.
The Future is More Stuff
We might feel a little bit of excitement once our parcels arrive. But it never lasts beyond opening them and trying out whatever we bought. And just because we have the money to buy, we crawl back to our dark bedrooms to check out what’s nice online, add to cart what we think we need, and let the cycle repeat.
There were moments when I felt troubled about participating in the system, especially when throwing away all the packaging that contributes to the growing waste from fast fashion. But at the same time, I felt stuck because I couldn’t afford the alternatives.
The most frustrating aspect of this situation is how difficult it is to escape individually. You can refuse to upgrade your phone, but eventually security updates stop, apps become incompatible, and planned obsolescence forces your hand. You can avoid fast fashion, but finding durable alternatives requires time and money many don’t have. You can buy second-hand, but as fast fashion products disintegrate, so does the pipeline of resell-able products.
You’re still stuck.
The system is self-reinforcing. Companies invest in making products obsolete because it drives sales. Investors reward companies that grow rapidly, not those that make durable products. Marketing creates artificial needs because satisfying real ones isn’t profitable enough. Politicians promote consumption because economic growth metrics depend on it.
So, the cycle continues. More stuff. Slightly better stuff. More marketing to convince us we need the slightly better stuff. More debt to buy the slightly better stuff. More work to pay off the debt. More environmental damage to produce the stuff. More waste when we discard it for the next slightly better iteration.
The Future is More Stuff
Sometimes, if I just think hard enough, I begin to have clarity about how I need less in life—how, in reality, we have more than enough to function on a day-to-day basis. I don’t need many things to produce good work, create, and touch a life.
But sometimes, it’s also lovely to afford something nice, like a cup of less ice, less sugar, dirty matcha.
jessa 