Shopping Complex by August Smith
America has a complex relationship with shopping. Most American economic activity revolves around it, like a capitalistic universe, with credit at its center. Nobody worships the dollar anymore; in fact, nobody has been able to afford it in a long time. Right here and right now, there is a desire for more than any realistic salary could provide. So people take out lines of credit, snorting up the good shit like it was going out of style. Mirror sales are through the roof as people want to see their reflections; done with selfie posting, ready for the next level of arrogant narcissism that makes the entire thing possible.
Shopping is a passive sport that requires passive income streams. Few have these, so credit cards will have to do. Consider all the financing opportunities available with a credit card; the installment payments seem endless. You will be paying off your purchases well after you are dead, with your children paying off your debt to society. Hence, why fertility rates have plummeted – nobody wants to be responsible for perpetuating this system of abuse, the financial vampires that are lingering at the door, wanting to be let into the home, the home they own, and you have been paying off for decades.
Romance used to live in malls; every single store had its own story of woe, or whoa, depending on how that narrative goes. The lust is real when surrounded by so many items, so many things to possibly enjoy. Enforced scarcity: the idea of limited-edition items is enough to get people to purchase them out of fear of missing out. Investing works in a similar fashion; you cannot and should not be the last one to the event. It would be tragic if you were. The greatest proselytizers are the first ones at the party, telling you how great it is, how you should be there, why you should come.
Income streams in America often leave people drowning in debt. They can barely keep their heads above water, yet the desire to show off overtakes any rational thought. A need for more, an unquenchable thirst to line the pockets of people never met and never to be met, is distinctly modern. Creating on the lonesome, by oneself, making clothing, making food, that’s insane, that’s some antiquated nonsense. The reaction to not purchasing things, of making them instead, feels akin to some mental illness, as if people will never harness the means of production, yet they’ve been holding the reins the whole time.
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