A Material World

Today is a national holiday. It's the first Monday in August, a Civic Holiday, whatever that means, so banks/post offices/Government agencies are closed, there is no mail delivery, and some stores are also closed and others are open.

I had to go to the bank machine today (I actually had to go last week, but every single day I went up there the stupid thing was out of service -- another rant entirely), and the route to the bank machine takes me through one of those new Canadian consumer paradises -- the Big Box Store park. You know the ones: they're popping up all over our country in cities and towns big and small. They involve a handful of vendors building stores that are just far enough away that parking in one spot and walking to all of the stores is slightly inconvenient, meaning that people pop in and out of parking spots that are less than a two minute drive away from each other so they don't have to walk an extra five. The stores are always the same, the parking lots are always full, and stores are always busy.

Today, however, things were different. I guess the holiday had prompted one vendor to lock the doors for the day, so one parking lot was empty. The rest, it seemed to me, were fuller than ever. I got the impression that people who were not working on their holiday Monday had run out of stuff to do at home and went out -- and they all went out shopping. They were desperate; they swarmed to the stores, found one closed, and went directly to the one next door, even though they didn't actually need anything. Who needs to buy consumer electronics on a holiday Monday? Are we so incapable of entertaining ourselves at home that we need to go shopping just so we have something to do?

Later, I drove by the shopping mall, and the parking lot was jam-packed there, too. I should add that the weather all weekend has been absolutely gorgeous.

We are such a consuming, materialistic culture. As a critic of it, I am the world's biggest hypocrite. I love my designer duds and trendy gadgets as much as anyone, or maybe more. I love my jeans, but I hate that I love them. They don't make me a better person, and I probably could clothes to wear that look just as good and cost half as much, if I really wanted to, but I don't want to. They make me happy; I treasure them.

It's pathetic.

The other day on the subway, I saw a young girl of around ten or eleven dressed in designer yoga pants, carrying a designer backpack, wearing a trendy MP3 player, and drinking from a bottle of designer water. Now, this really bothered me, and not just because she had a better handbag than me. Again, hypocrite here, but I justify it by saying that I work, and the things that I purchase are with money that I've earned. When I was a pre-teen teenybopper, I had to beg my parents to buy me a piece of clothing that was even vaguely trendy (and they always bought me the cheap and horrible knock-off -- something that will haunt me forever. I hate the knock-off.) This girl does not work. Her parents buy her wardrobe, and maybe some of these things are gifts. I just wonder, if she's dressed like this now, what will she be lusting after when she's 30? And why do I care?