My Evolving/Devolving/Re-evolving Story of Stuff
And How Capitalism Continues to Have a Hold on Me
Hello Friends—As I’ve concluded the first week of the No-Buy Year, so I conclude my first posts about the project and this mess of stuff we’ve found ourselves in. Here are some reflections this first week has brought me and then I’m sure I’ll check in about this as we progress through this project.
Enjoy!
In 2007, the short film, The Story of Stuff was released. Through a period of 20 minutes you learn from narrator Annie Leonard standing in the foreground of sketched black-and-white animations about how natural resources are being completely decimated in order to make products with toxic chemicals so that consumers like us can buy stuff. That stuff is purposefully made useful for a short-ish period of time so that we have to buy another thing just a few years later, requiring us to dump the old thing in the trash. It’s a clear, concise eye-opening film that not only tells a story about the endless accumulation of stuff that has nowhere but the landfill to go, but also tells the interconnected story of environmental justice issues where lower-income countries and communities are being exploited for their natural resources and factory workers and surrounding communities are disproportionately exposed to toxic chemicals used in manufacturing.
The film was released about a year or so after I returned from serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Malawi in Southeastern Africa. It encapsulated everything that had overwhelmed me in the previous year since coming back to the States after two years in a country where consumerism isn’t the norm. Not that the majority of Malawians wouldn’t have enjoyed more wealth had colonialism and imperialism not created inequity on such a massive scale. But in the absence of the in-your-face capitalism enjoyed by higher income countries, Malawi was a place where community relationships were central and using locally available resources was the modus operandi.
Coming back to a shit-ton of product choices was overwhelming to say the least. On one of my first grocery store outings with a goal to purchase shampoo and conditioner, I stood blinking numbly at the endless number of brand options for longer than I care to admit. And even as I began to become desensitized to the amount of product choices, I couldn’t help but realize how much water we used. The water for my home in Mkanda came from a borehole where I’d fill two five-gallon buckets for the day’s water needs. That would get me by for all the cooking, showering, dish-washing, and water drinking needs of the day. The toilet was a pit latrine out back, no water necessary. Back in the States, I couldn’t help but feel shocked about how one of those buckets would be literally flushed down the toilet with one poop.
For a few years, this heightened environmental consciousness was pretty consistent in my life. I became the one in my office to send around email tips on wasting less. I became a vegetarian for the better part of three years to reduce my impact on the planet. And I, along with my roommates, joined a CSA in the DC-area so that we could benefit from local produce while supporting a local organic farm. Looking back on that period, I do think I lived pretty consistently with my values. I probably had a lot less impact on the planet than I do now. Although admittedly, a lot of that more likely had to do with my circumstances–I lived in a house with many people (there were 5 of us total roommates) and I only accumulated enough stuff to fit into my one room. So I was a minimalist only in the sense that I was living within the realms of 150-square feet of possessions.
Thinking back on it, I wonder if I just took my environmental approach for granted and, as such, let the consciousness slip over time. I was still generally concerned about the planet, but I never really looked very hard at my consumption habits until they had an impact on my pocket book. But then, my square footage space for my stuff increased exponentially when I became a home owner by way of domestic partnership and cohabitation when I moved into what was then Cory’s home in Baltimore.
The accumulation didn’t happen immediately. When Cory and I moved in together, we were still learning how to live with each other and not get angry about such things as leaving too many dishes in the sink or stomping around too loudly when one has to get up before the other. But eventually, when we got into a groove of cohabitation and the house began to feel more like mine, I began, well, accumulating shit.
Even over the three moves we’ve made since leaving our house in Baltimore we didn’t take the time to assess our consumption habits. But now that we’ve started this No-Buy Year, it’s almost like the last decade of consumption is catching up in some way. I think of all the periods of times we’re made big furniture purchases but then I also see all the smaller purchases of things that we didn’t really need but cycled through our home for a short period of time. I think of all the money we could have saved had I resisted the temptation of that very enticing Instagram ad. Consumption was easy before, but it has gotten way easier and, as it turns out, our stuff is getting even crappier.
I look back on those earlier days of my heightened sense of environmentalism and wish I would’ve kept that more in my consciousness. It’s like I used those early years as an excuse for my later evolution into the capitalist machine.
It’s amazing how even just a week or so of changing our habits has created an interruption into our habits. I can’t even tell you how many times over the last week I’ve stopped myself from clicking on an Instagram ad that is so perfectly tailored to my desires. Just this morning, while my husband was at the hardware store, we had a phone conversation where I had to remind him not to buy anything beyond the “needs.” The heightened awareness has done an amazing job at helping us notice.
Listen, I don’t think I’m going to go back to those living-with-roommates days. We may or may not join a CSA (I got very tired of figuring out what to do with kohlrabi week after week). But we will most certainly do more to re-think our habits as a start. I may continue to watch the Story of Stuff Project’s newest videos more often just to continue to remind myself that “stuff” is not the answer to our happiness issue.
Have you gone through a personal environmental inventory like this? What is the evolution of your environmental habits?
Getting away from stuff is hard when so much of our world is built on instant gratification. It can feel easier sometimes to just order something on Amazon than checking around the house to see if I already have it. I have not made a commitment to a "no-buy" year, but I try to follow this little loop on purchasing decisions:
1) Do I really need it, or is it a frivolous whim? Part of this is accepting that I am not immune to advertising and the false sense of urgency it creates.
2) Do I already have something that just needs to get fixed or cleaned? Part of this has been getting back into the habit of mending, sewing, ironing and deep cleaning. It's remarkable how nice your stuff can be when you give it love.
3) Can I borrow or rent it? This has been especially true with tools. It's wonderful having nice tools, but it is almost always cheaper to rent something a few times a year than to buy and maintain it.
4) If I have to buy it, am I getting the "right" one? Well made products that can be cleaned and maintained sometimes cost more, or they might require a hunt to find something made pre-1990 to a higher quality standard. The reward for the work and effort is owning things made to last decades, not days.