Boxing Day is a capitalists’ wet dream.
The commemoration of the Winter Solstice and Yule has already been commercialized into an obsession with gifts from an omnipotent, bearded man who arbitrarily determines my worthiness (sound familiar, my ex-vangelicals?). Then when we are up to our elbows in items we were told we wanted by the same commercial outlets who profited from our mass spending spree (that we’re told is a way to demonstrate love to our friends & family & without gifts, how can we ever express the love we hold so deeply in our hearts?). And then the day after all of the wrapping is in the garbage, we go buy MORE.
It is all so nonsensical.
This is not to say gifts themselves are immoral or capitalist - gifts are a whole love language, some say. It is to say that we have become, perhaps, uncertain of expressing love, intimacy, gratitude in ways that do not rely solely on an exploitive system (exploitive from creation to purchase, from sweat shops to retail doors).
This is also not to say that our desires are immoral or capitalist - quite the contrary, our desires hold deep wisdom. It is to say that our desires are heavily influenced by media commercialism, that we are driven as a species to reduce pain by disappearing into pleasure and that our desires may not wholly be our own. It is imperative we inquire into our desires, to not take them at face value but to hold with open curiosity - why do you desire this ornate glass vase from Home Sense? What value does it actually hold for you? What need does it actually meet?
Boxing Day in particular is a day of sordid manipulation. From the red tag sales (peek at a previous post on colour manipulation - suffice to say that red, the colour of blood, triggers an unconscious survival instinct that requires satiation - a need is implanted even from the colour of the sale tag). This is no judgement of you as a person if you partake in the days’ ritualistic animalism, tearing boxes and hangars from the hands of your fellow humans in the name of acquisition - no, this is a judgement of the systems and corporations that intentionally wield psychological warfare to achieve their bottom line.
As per the “laws” of supply and demand, prices rise in the days leading up to Christmas. Desperation sets in and people don’t consider the price - they have a need to be filled at any cost. We might come to in January when we review our budget but by then, the damage is done. Boxing Day “sales” give the illusion of savings when corporations are just marking down the increased holiday price down to its regular (still exorbitant) non-holiday price. If you don’t believe me on the price increase, try asking any party vendor (catering, dress, photography, cake) for a party quote and then for a wedding quote - the difference is astronomical.
The whole “sales” gimmick came hand in hand with the Industrial Revolution. Once items could be produced on an assembly line instead of “by hand”, demand had to be increased to coincide with the increase in supply.
To increase demand, we are promised a new life or we are promised to be saved. Promises of a new life are common in the advertising industry where a product represents a lifestyle: if you use this perfume, THIS is the kind of person you’ll be. We are promised acceptance, desire, recognition, love - all of the things a human could want. (sound familiar to any Aldous Huxley fans?) A promise is to be saved is the ultimate charlatan where the system creates the problem and offers the solution simultaneously. They spill wine on the carpet and then sell a cleanser to remove the stain. We are to be grateful to be saved (even though we weren’t in danger in the first place).
Manipulating fear into consumerism is nothing new. In the wake of the 9/11 tragedy, President Bush urged Americans to go about their daily lives and “go shopping”. In the wake of catastrophic loss, we are given the salve that keeps the economy turning through our ever-increasing debt. One thing that happens when people are afraid is they freeze - time stands still, priorities are clarified when our life flashes before our eyes. To keep people from experiencing the gravity of this loss, they were handed a salve of certain dopamine in an uncertain time.
This salve is witnessed closely in the cycle of addiction - take a peek here to see why retail “therapy” is an addiction like any other (deserving of respect, dignity and harm reduction)
Boxing Day Sales don’t exist - it is Boxing Day Scarcity.
Viewing a regular priced item on its own has a certain dopamine incentive, but viewing that same item with “Rare Find” or “4 people have this in their cart” or “your cart will expire in 5 minutes” triggers a non-pre-existing need. The idea of scarcity, that this item is limited, that it will cease to exist, initiates a “must have” cascade in our brain-body system. It is our own fear of non-existence that we believe we must OWN this item - in possessing this item that will disappear without me, I am saving it {and me, in the process} from annihilation. This is just a projection of our own fear of the abyss of nothing, expertly prodded by corporations who affirm this scarcity. The McRib is the best example because it isn’t spectacular, but it is available for a limited time and those constraints make it even more tantalizing than if it were available year round.
Consumerism pulls on the strings of attachment, waving our existential needs right under our nose. Phrases like “Our Special Price” or “Exclusive Discount” or “Members Price” create a sense of belonging, of acceptance. And for a moment, it works. We feel included and the rush of dopamine satiates any inner discomfort. While we’re in the store at least. As soon as we get the purchase home, we feel the same emptiness as we do after we get home from a party where we had fun but were performing a persona the entire time. Inner discomfort cannot be satiated with external salve - inner discomfort requires us to turn toward our true Selves.
The things we impulsively buy can be fulfilling unmet attachment needs (buying different decor for the house is often connected to people pleasing a maternal figure) or create a sense of control in an otherwise powerless world. Either way, consumerism creates a sense of safety.
Scarcity works as a tool of control because most of us were raised with conditional love, where we had to earn love and when we had love, it could be taken away if we weren’t “good”. Consumerism works the same way - you must earn your acceptance by following the rules of trend and if you aren’t contributing to the economy by getting into debt, you are unpatriotic. We experience love as a finite resource, something to be rationed and tucked away - not the immersive, infinite experience of limitless beauty that love truly is.
We play into consumerism even if our highest morals beg us not to because there are entire systems that are triggering our attachment wounds, our dopamine reward centres and our worst fears of scarcity are being confirmed everyday in commercials (“limited time offer”).
Consumerism works because we have a cultural intolerance to space, but we need space. We need to let a cake rest before cutting it. We need to let pottery sit before firing it. The compulsivity to fill our lives - to spend beyond our means, to purge & donate car loads twice a year, only to fill the space with the next load of what-you’re-supposed-to-desire - keeps us chasing a dragon. We are seeking inner peace from external acquisition. It won’t happen. Our intolerance has us chained to a hedonic treadmill, constantly chasing happiness from a new boat, or a new car, or new clothes - but we’re on a treadmill. We’re going nowhere.
And also - we cannot attack the system without acknowledging the need the system is meeting, the purpose it is serving. Consumerism has taken the place of our attachment needs as we have become increasingly individualistic post industrial revolution. Leaving behind our collectivist roots has not severed the deeply rooted need of attachment. Consumerism has promised we will both give and receive love through this third party of gifts. We have it all backwards. We experience the earths’ resource as being infinite (even though we learn in the third grade about non-renewable resources, it’s literally in the name) and we experience love as a finite resource.
It is love that is infinite - and not a measly, carrot-on-a-string love - but a heart cracking open kind of love. That kind of love isn’t going anywhere. That kind of love cannot be bought from a store.