Viewport width =
September 6, 2015 | by  | in Fashion |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

Confessions of a shopaholic

I have three “interesting facts about myself” stockpiled for those awkward tutorial introductory games and/or rare boozy truth-or-dare sessions when I am not feeling up to streaking through somebody’s apartment building.

  1. I’m a natural blonde (tame enough for tutes, with sufficient shock value. My hair is waist-length and jet black for the uninitiated).
  2. I have a scar on my butt from drunkenly falling through a glass table (less suitable for academic settings as proof is relentlessly demanded). 
  3. Last semester, I spent 1/3 of a scholarship on lingerie.

This is in no way an exaggeration. I am incidentally the owner of 12 Lonely bras. (Lingerie game is impeccable, bank account is crying.)

My #1 priority in flat-hunting is whether or not the bedrooms will accommodate my four wardrobes.

I am an obsessive shopper. 

When faced with surviving off expired miso soup and limp carrots for a week vs acquiring a new shiny thing, I will always choose the shiny thing. (My flatmate accurately summarises my diet as “deficient in everything, except maybe vitamin C from all the G&Ts she drinks”.)

I emotional shop. I drunk shop, procrasti-shop, shop to relieve stress, when I’m on break at work, bored between lectures. There will be a boy in my bed, an unfinished essay due in two hours, and I’ll be online shopping.

This is simply dandy if you conveniently happen to be a trust fund baby or trophy wife, however for the starving Arts student, it tends to come with some rather scary fiscal repercussions. So, why is it that I willingly endure financial ruin, cheap alcohol and perpetual malnutrition for the sake of a new black mesh thing to add to my plethora of black mesh things?

The acquisition of new objects of desire releases endorphins, otherwise sought through gross drunk-food, sexy times and whatever it is one does at the gym. With your fabulous new thing, comes instant gratification; the world is temporarily an ecstatic blur of rainbows and kittens. The object of desire then slowly loses its novelty as you become accustomed to its glory, and is eventually replaced with a new want, thus restarting the cycle. Life is meaningless, climate change will destroy humanity, but think of all of your wonderful, empty opulent things.

I have hypothesised that the only rational, Adult™ way of coping with this phenomenon is either to marry extremely wealthy, or become incredibly successful, very early in your career. (I shall keep you posted as to how these well-considered financial plans work out for me.)

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Comments are closed.

Recent posts

  1. Laneway: Luck of the Draw
  2. Cuttin’ it with with Miss June
  3. SWAT
  4. Ravished by the Living Embodiment of All Our University Woes
  5. New Zealand’s First Rainbow Crossing is Here (and Queer)
  6. Chloe Has a Yarn About Mental Health
  7. “Stick with Vic” Makes “Insulting” and “Upsetting” Comments
  8. Presidential Address
  9. Final Review
  10. Tears Fall, and Sea Levels Rise

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak English, had decided