Getting sucked into the vortex of TJMax and others

This morning, I reflected on my spending habits. I've spent every cent I've earned. My expenditures tend to fall into several categories: childcare, home expenses, books, flowers, trees, sporting equipment, outdoor activities, and travel. However, there was a period in my life when I got caught up in the TJMaxx whirlpool.

Buying a material item that isn’t essential to your happiness or well-being may provide a brief moment of pleasure when you first own it, but that enjoyment often fades quickly. For example, clothing may give you a boost of serotonin the first time you wear it, but unless that garment becomes well-worn, soft, saggy, and eventually stained, you are unlikely to feel that same delight again after the initial purchase.

A little sales secret: if you get the customer to touch the item, they will immediately desire to own it. This is a deep-seated reaction in all of us.

When we spend our money on activities or travel, we create lasting memories. Each time those memories resurface, they bring us a burst of happiness similar to what we felt at the time of our purchase. Investing in experiences gives us more value for our money.

In 1955, my mother's closet contained about three blouses, one skirt, two or three dresses (for daytime, evening, special occasions, and church), three pairs of shoes, two coats, one pair of slacks, a few slips, and five pairs of underwear. The average price of a blouse from Sears at that time was $15.95.

My mother felt and was complimented for being well dressed; she was also the average American housewife. She was content with her wardrobe. Only wealthy women and movie stars had walk-in or large closets.

We subconsciously compare what we own to what our peers have, so it’s worth keeping that in mind.

When I was growing up, my mom and most women only shopped for clothes a few times a year—back-to-school, holidays, special occasions, and vacations. Fashion designers put out just two shows with about 30 looks each year. Then big business got involved, deciding that occasional shopping wouldn’t cut it for their profit goals. The new idea became that women should shop every week.

Let’s give shoppers something fresh every week—a new color, style, window display, anything, as long as it’s the next big thing! Companies started acquiring designers, designers began selling their names, shopping malls popped up, outlets became the norm, and then came the national chains of “good clothing at a discount” like H&M and The Gap. New style, new color, new must-have; just keep pushing the idea of “need” week after week.

Fabric, thread, and clothing production moved overseas to take advantage of cheap labor. All manufacturing shifted abroad; Armani is made right next to Fruit of the Loom, only he pays China more and personally teaches them how to sew. Now, China has become too costly for most clothing brands. Check the tags—Vietnam, India, Bangladesh—places with lax or no labor laws. Factories are crammed like something out of Player One, with trailers stacked high, and hundreds of workers lose their lives each year, a grim but verified reality.

We got drawn in, ladies—drawn into feeding wealthy men who puff cigars on yachts. We were led to believe we were scoring a deal! Everyone loves a bargain, and that idea is heavily exploited in the clothing industry. On average, when you buy a garment or anything made of fabric, only 10% of the sale price goes to the person who cut and sewed it. That $5 t-shirt gave a girl in India just 50 cents, while the remaining $4.50 went to transportation, advertising, and hefty profits for the companies running the show.

We should keep only clothing that brings us joy or serves a purpose. If schools returned to uniforms, it would take a lot of pressure off children and teens about what to wear. As for dress codes, which I support in certain situations, I appreciated being able to recognize teachers by their professional attire, looking like adults rather than young friends.

These are just scattered thoughts built on years of observation. I remember writing before about buying clothes, the rush of finding that perfect sweater in just the right color. The thrill fades in a day, and soon it’s buried under the growing pile in the closet. When I wrote those words, I realized I was filling some emptiness in my life with the buzz of shopping. I shopped just for the sake of it, as something to do. It never felt quite right, and now I’m starting to see why. The coolest red suede shoes at TJ Maxx are still just red suede shoes—and I don’t dance for a living.