It Does Matter
I have once again emerged from the abyss that regularly and
mercilessly swallows unsuspecting women like me, draining them of energy,
judgment and money before spitting them back out as heavy-laden shells of their
former selves. I’m talking about
Target. What is it about that
place? Is there a spell cast upon me as
I pass through those red, electronic sliding doors? (‘Mich-shhhh-ele,’ they sweetly whisper as
they open, and again, Mich-shhhh-ele, as they close.) I swear on the life of my children and unborn
grandchildren that I dutifully compose a shopping list in the Target parking
lot, on the back of what is probably a very important receipt (which I found
crumpled beneath my brake pedal), and promise myself that I will adhere to it
absolutely: english breakfast tea, brown paper bags and cotton swabs.
I clutch the list tightly and keep it within eyesight as I
grab my crimson cart. But as God is my
witness, once inside the vastness that is Target, with its endless aisles
stocked with every consumer good that any consumer in the history of
consumerism has ever consumed, I am powerless to resist. My otherwise discerning mind begins to utter
these words the moment I breathe the rarified air of the Target vestibule, with
its giant red bulls-eye that should more aptly be painted on my back than on
their wall: I need, I want, I must have…
I need the
twelve-ply, double-roll, twenty-four pack of toilet paper…I need that
thirty-seven liter jug of laundry detergent…I must have that cleverly antiqued garden sign and matching garden
hose spigot…I want to see all my
clothes hanging on those faux velvet hangers…my kids need two electric toothbrushes…my husband needs those seer sucker Bermuda shorts…I
must have those three chick flicks
(because what woman doesn’t need a
chick flick library and since I can’t decide between Julia, Drew and Meg, why
not get all three since they’re only $5 each?)
A talking cookie jar, a case of cinnamon toaster strudel, four pair of
new summer flip-flops…because last years flip-flops are just so ‘last
year’…even though it’s only February.
Before I know it the original list
with the english breakfast tea, brown paper bags and cotton swabs has gotten buried
beneath two new doormats for Halloween (again, it’s February), a carwash kit
for my Father’s birthday (November), a lifetime supply of toothpicks (because
we used up our last lifetime supply), a new laundry hamper, and a couple of
bottles of my favorite chardonnay…because who doesn’t need a drink after such
an exhausting day?
I might be exaggerating ever so
slightly, but honestly, I’ve long been embarrassed by my chronic lack of
self-control in that place. Lately,
however, the real source of my shopping angst has changed. For lack of a better way of putting it, I’ve
grown a shopping conscience. Part of it
comes from simply wanting my kids to learn how to appreciate what they do have
rather than whine about what they don’t.
And as much as I hate to admit it, contentment is a trickle-down attitude. They need to see me asking myself, “Do I
really need…the cookie jar, the door mat, the flip-flops…?” Recently I taped a note to my bathroom mirror
that reads ‘Be a consumer of only what you need today.’ It helps.
But in addition to my parenting
concerns, over the past several years I’ve had the chance to travel to a number
of places in East Africa and Southeast Asia. I got to know
people who live on less than $2 a day. I
walked beside women who travel miles morning and evening to get water for their
families. And I learned that a
significant percentage of people in our world live this way. Talk about a ‘reality check.’
For most of human history the majority of
things people used or consumed were grown or built or created by themselves or
someone they knew. We had ‘direct
relationship’ societies. But in today’s
post-industrialized society, few of us have any idea who made what we use, or
where it really came from. We don’t know
who picked our strawberries or sewed the buttons on our blouses or bottled our
milk or assembled our cell phones. And
because we don’t know, we often don’t care.
But what if ‘readily available
goods’ at ‘rock bottom prices’ means that someone somewhere is being
exploited? Does it matter? I think it does. It matters who made my kids shoes. Was she paid a decent wage? It matters where my coffee beans were
picked. Are growers there treated
fairly? It matters how the cotton for my
pillowcases was harvested. Are the
working conditions humane? I’ve come to
understand that I really do have a relationship with the person who produces my
goods. And even though that relationship
is indirect, the fact is that if I’m drinking coffee harvested by someone who
was exploited, in a way I’m participating in that exploitation.
As an American woman I have a lot of influence over the ways
in which our family’s money is spent. I’ve
begun carrying a handy little shopping guide (
Better World Shopping Guide by
Ellis Jones) in my purse that gives ratings to products based on the way the
company or corporation treats its employees and the surrounding environment. I’ve stopped buying one kind of gum in favor of Trident (who gives a percentage of its
profits to Save the Children). For
similar reasons we’ve switched from a particular toilet tissue brand to
Cottonelle or Seventh Generation.
Sometimes it means going without a product that I didn’t
really need anyway. Sometimes it means
sending an email to a company and asking them to pay their employees a fair
wage or make better environmental policies.
A lot of the time it simply means shopping locally and knowing the
people who make or grow the things you want.
I’m grateful that my shopping conscience is leading me to become a more
compassionate consumer. And I look
forward to the day when I’ll drive out of the Target parking lot with nothing
in the trunk but english breakfast tea, brown paper bags and cotton swabs..
