Sometimes I feel like I want to write a book called: I LOVE ALL MY STUFF.
It will be a tribute to all the things I own: my clothes, my shoes, my toiletries, my scented candles, my bottles of shampoo and conditioner, my sparkly jewellery, my rechargers, that cream I put on my feet so my heels don’t get scaly, my books – even the ones I know I’ll never read but that make me feel smarter just for having them in my house, my giant tea mugs, my many many lipsticks and glosses, the decorative cushions I keep on my bed except, perversely, for when I sleep, my coathangers and my bedside lamps that look like pineapples, all my various storage containers… all of it.
I love stuff. I love buying it and looking at it and rearranging it and then giving it to charity or friends and collecting more stuff. You may call it consumerism and I agree with you totally because without consumers our economy would grind to a halt and we would have to start printing money and I think we all know that never ends well. I buy stuff so you don’t have to pay higher taxes, OK? It’s a SELFLESS ACT. I feel very much alone on this one.
