No rest for the wicked

There is no ethical consumption under capitalism. I wonder how many times I’ve told this to myself before I clicked the order button or tapped my credit card against the payment pad. I wonder how many times my friends and I have exchanged this phrase with each other, like we’re swapping clothes or lip glosses with one another, as a means to justify another purchase. I wonder if there is an invisible counter somewhere, slowly ticking up, a number that resembles the number of times I’ve used this expression as an excuse for my reckless materialism, for the excessive amount of content I’ve consumed, for the books I’ve read and the movies I’ve watched. The conversation of consumption under capitalism is a beast in itself, and every time I think we’ve exhausted a talking point, another interesting point or perspective arises, and I’m back to square one, re-evaluating my behavior and my opinions. Something interesting has proliferated our consumption habits, and it’s rapidly spreading across the Internet. I have found myself, and have seen many others online, use consumption as a moral litmus test. 

Of course, there has always been the question of whether or not a physical purchase we make has such an impact on the environment, especially with retail shopping. The rampant rise of materialism since COVID-19 is due, in fact, to the acceleration of microtrends online. With much help from TikTok, microtrends in fashion have driven users to follow trend after trend. At first, each cycle lasted maybe a couple of months, tops, and as we continued to cycle through fads, the timeline of what kind of clothing and patterns were considered “cool” and “in” soon dwindled down to weeks. Adding insult to injury, the average consumer most likely didn’t have enough disposable income to purchase new clothes every single week, so they turned to fast fashion options. Clothing from Shein and Amazon grew in popularity, and soon, so did the waste in landfills. Though the issues of fast fashion and overconsumption are definitely still active today, there has been more of a movement to purchase sustainably, whether it be secondhand or not at all. People are making more of a conscious effort to buy higher-quality goods at a lower frequency, to support brands that ethically source their materials and products. 

However, this now leads us into the bigger conversation of consumption as a litmus test for where a consumer’s morals and ethics may lie. I touched on this a little in my essay on consumerism and cultural identity, but I want to dig a little deeper. People now have fallen into the belief that what you buy can support or oppose social, political, and environmental standards, and by doing so, they make consumption a way to “talk” through ethical choices. Preferences about what you buy can reflect your values and sense of duty to not only your sense of self, but to the world around you. Examining consumption can prompt moral introspection and force you to re-evaluate your role in society. I think that there is definitely truth to this sentiment, but not only because what you buy and who you buy from makes you feel better about your personal decisions and opinions. There is a fear of perception from not only strangers, but also people you know in real life, passing judgment on how you choose to consume and what you choose to consume. This fear is not unfounded; keyboard warriors are always on the hunt for fresh blood. They are quick to criticize, to cause mutiny in the comment sections. They will attack a stranger online for wearing fast fashion, unknowingly that this may be the only brand they can afford. Soon, it’s a dogpile that tarnishes a digital reputation. One rogue comment can lead to you deleting social media forever. 

This dilemma exists beyond physical possessions. Our consumption of media also no longer falls into the morally neutral category; what we read, what we watch, and how we view media has now become more black and white. Take J.K. Rowling, for example. Because of what I support and believe in, I never want to engage with a terf online, but does that also bleed into my consumption off the screen? Does buying a book from the Harry Potter series from an independent bookstore mean that I’m somehow supporting her financially? Where do we draw the line? Socially active members of BookTok are bringing awareness to authors who identify as Zionist or those who use AI to write their novels, so others know who to avoid when reading. But at what point are we allowed to separate the art from the artist? What if I find a book from a problematic author in a secondhand store? What happens when a video from a cancelled creator pops up on my feed, and unbeknownst to me, my watching of it boosts and supports their platform? At what point does watching a movie directed by a social activist, an ally, no longer become a fun way to pass time, but rather a way to prove our ethical stance on certain issues? How do we detach ourselves from the pressure of what is morally good from the existence of the art? But more importantly, are we supposed to?  

Honestly, I have no clue. I am also to blame for giving in to the social pressures of boycotting a specific store or book or person. More often than not, I am motivated to do so and encourage others to do the same because of where I stand on certain issues. However, I do think that focusing on physical consumption can lead to a focus on shallow desires, a constant need for more, and a constant need to prove yourself time and time again. The act of consuming to display status is driven by a desire for social superiority, rather than a genuine need for self-expression. On the other hand, an extreme focus on morality and ethics can lead to underconsumption, which, though not necessarily a bad thing at all, can also result in alienation and a lack of participation in social and community life. I’m not sure there is one right solution. I’m not sure there is even a “right” outcome to all of this. The only way to a less burdensome means of consumption is a balanced approach: avoiding both excessive, wasteful consumption and extreme, isolating underconsumption. Nuance matters, and context matters. The moral weight of consumption depends on individual circumstances, cultural context, and the specific moral framework being used.  

I’m not sure if I will ever be able to fully detach my decisions from my moral guidepost, but I’m not sure if I ever should fully separate the two. It is a habit ingrained into the roots of my pre-frontal cortex. There will always be a part of me striving to pass the test.