Retail Therapy? No Thank You

Don’t get me wrong. I love going into town and joining in the buzz. I even look forward to it. And it’s great to sit in a café and people watch – particularly if you’re also consuming an excellent coffee and a delicious piece of cake – preferably at a Druckers outlet. I even enjoy spending money- usually on a good book, a nice glass of red or on tickets for an excellent show. But I can also do without all of that if I’m short of pennies.

I do like to look nice, and since I’ve had my colours and style analysed and only ever buy clothes which are suitable – and I normally can do that very quickly. And I do enjoy wearing my clothes.

But I can’t see where the joy is in trailing through shop after shop, where it’s usually too stuffy, confronting yourself in the changing-room mirror, then becoming laden with shopping and guilt, for the few moments it gives of feeling good about yourself. Even when you really do need a new pair of shoes for work, there’s the problem that they’re never quite right, except if they’re extremely expensive.

Okay, I’m middle-aged, I’ll admit it. After all, I celebrate my Heinz Varieties birthday tomorrow. I’ve see just about every fashion come and go, and I’m a Natural Classic anyway, so I can wear timeless clothes. Unfortunately I don’t always notice when they wear out and when I do, and decide they need replacing, it’s all actually a bit of a drag. I just prefer to keep my eyes open when I’m out on some other Artist’s Treat.

But I think my lack of need for retail therapy goes much deeper than this. You see, I’m living the dream. I’m writing and getting published. I’m running my own publishing company and helping other good but as yet unrecognised writers to get published. I do have a day job, but one where I’m actually paid to get on with the type of writing I like and talk to other people about writing. I look forward to every day, and the only thing I hate doing is personal administration – you know, checking bank statements and filing papers away. The admin associated with my day job is the most boring aspect of my work, but it still beats the domestic stuff. I just get both of those done as quickly and efficiently as I can during my lower energy times.

So why would I need retail therapy?

I used to need it more when I was unhappy in my work. Is it possible that we reward ourselves because it was such hard, miserable work earning this money that we’re jolly well going to spend it on something nice? In being frivolous in our spending are we perhaps saying that we don’t actually value the work we’ve been doing?

Of course, some people have to do the dirty work. But I suspect they’re not the people who indulge in excessive spending in the name of retail therapy. I’m sure it’s more often those with the high-pressure jobs which look good on paper but which leave them feeling really uncomfortable and with their finances so tied-up that the fear of losing their job is ever present, specially these days.

I’m happy with my working life. I don’t have to buy possessions or experiences to compensate for any awfulness, though in these hard times, I’m spending a little to help make the money, and therefore the world go round. I can’t really think of anything I desperately want, though I’ve mentioned a few small things which would give a little pleasure to some of my friends and relations for the coming birthday and Christmas time. It would be nice to spend some time in their company, maybe with some good food present. Home-cooked is as good as a restaurant – whatever suits everybody best.

But retail therapy? No thanks.