I really wish I wasn’t all about buying into what society tells me.
There is this blue Coach purse at the mall I’ve been eyeing for a few months. It was 25% off, now its 50% off and I really wish someone would just go ahead and buy it all already. I love it. Why? I tell myself it’s because it’s blue and its shiny, but I probably love it at least a little because it is Coach.
And then? Sitting at my desk Friday, I realized I am a total brand whore. Why?
Starbucks anyone? Let’s go left to right: stuffed hippo in a disposible Starbucks cup. (I keep loose change in there.) Then there’s my coffee mug from the morning. Next is the cup I drink water from. I love that the straw stays in the cup and that it doesn’t sweat. Finally we come to my water bottle that I use to measure how much water I drink. And where did it come from? Can you read the text on the bottom? You guessed it! Starbucks. (In Williamsburg, Virginia actually…around 2004, I believe.)
The jeans I’m wearing are from Gap. I have an iPhone. I’m a brand slut.
How does this interfere with me? I mean, financially, it’s stupid, right? That I’m pining after a purse? That I am a coffee snob? I mean, I’ve added Nathan’s lattes into what is acceptable, but I won’t drink anything out of a pot.
I like what looks good. What tastes good. What feels good.
And that helped me get fat. I like creamy, warm, feeling the “mmmmm” on the inside after a big bite of a cupcake.
And that also keeps me down on myself. I’m not what society says looks good. I don’t fit into the same box as all of my stuff. I am not as attractive as my husband. And that keeps me doubting myself, feeling not worthy, feeling like I’m somehow “less.”
I’m going to try to be better. To drink from the pot. To be satisfied with my beautiful purse that was handmade by some person in the Netherlands. (Although wanting an additional purse doesn’t make me love it any less!) To love me for who I am today, not for how I look or what I have or what I’m wearing.
Is there an app in my iPhone to help with that?
There’s a book I’m dying to read – The Pleasure Trap. It deals with this whole issue and how it ties in with our way of eating and therefore our weight and health. You may find it very helpful!
Happy Belated Valentines day :)
Yeah I totally get where you are coming from with the brand named stuff. I get too annoyingly high horsed about this, more so with logos on clothing (not your starbucks, every time i go there i want one of their mugs and totally appreciate things that are designed nicely and visually pleasing.) I cannot stand logos, mostly because I feel like that is a stage to grow out of.
Sometimes I feel like the best dressed people are the ones with real style that know how to mix clothing to fit their bodies and show personal style, not those that are wearing a name or a head to toe look produced from a store.
I love that you bought a hand made purse! I totally get the coach thing and the other expensive purses, but sometimes it makes me sad that they are just mass produced (and not very special) in third world countries and we are just paying for the name, even if we do like the style.
Wow, see?
I, too, am a brand snob. I do pay inflated prices for coffees, jeans, shoes, purses… and I feel the same as you with how I look. Actually, now that I think of it, I haven’t spent any good money on clothes. I’ve been satisfied with cheapies lately and gorged on purses, shoes and coffee mainly. I am stocking up for when I AM that beautiful package with all kinds of beautiful accessories. The only thing that bothers me about this whole picture is Why do I care? Being a brand snob makes me wonder if instead of looking fashionable or trendy or stylish, I look irresponsible, pretentious and stupid. At this point, I’m ok with either.
P.S. There’s like 500 holds on 20 copies of that Wally Lamb book you wrote a review about that I’ve been trying to get. (Another thing I’m generally snobby about but have been trying to let go due to the economy and me losing my job – generally I like to buy the hardcovered books rather that “borrowing” them from the library.) So, at this rate, I’ll be reading it in 7.3 years from now. Wahoo.