Grasping for Sanity in the Season of Fiscal Impairment
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Version 0 of 1. I just bought an item called “My Little Steamer.” Obviously I was fiscally impaired. Would I buy a product called “My Little Sneakers” or “My Little Automobile”? This steamer is about as effective as taking a sip of hot tea and then exhaling over a garment. Actually, exhaling would be more effective because then you might spot the garment and be forced to take it to a dry cleaner. Where does it come from, this compulsion to buy things we know we will never use, the things that, when we are sane, we can instantly spot as tomorrow’s thrift shop contributions? Is it boredom? Anxiety? The attempt to fill a hole in one’s life that one would prefer to fill with a schnauzerpoo or, failing that, a child? It’s not a new problem, that’s for sure. In fact, clinical fiscal impairment was first identified by Sigmund Freud after his own purchase of a nonrefundable flamingo-pink vest in a Viennese mini-mall in May 1879. Mental health professionals note that fiscal impairment is likely to hit when you are an emotional shambles, desperate for a quick fix. My love life is nonexistent. I will buy a set of sake cups. It will set a mood. Bonus fiscal impairment tip: If you are one of those people who cannot tell if you are fiscally imbalanced but you find yourself gravitating toward a sake set, you have your answer. Sake sets are the Breathalyzers of fiscal impairment. They are, for anyone not born in Japan, the ultimate dumb purchase. You might as well buy that sake set and take it directly over to Housing Works. You will never use it. Never. And this time of year, with the unrelenting ads and the pressure of holiday shopping, we are all at risk of fiscal impairment. At this very moment my neighborhood has been overtaken by the Union Square Holiday Market, a maze of candy-striped pop-up shops that, once you enter, takes hours to find your way out. (Every year, when it is disassembled, we find the bodies of a family from Ohio.) The stock is proof of how dark a force Etsy has become: curated handicrafts, novelty socks, soaps with essential oils, skin creams with essential oils, votive candles so you can pray to never have to hear the words “essential oils” again. There are also shops for craft pastry and exotic chocolates that are otherwise available in New York City only 365 days a year. Normally when this market appears I feel hatred and want to smash it to rubble — a healthy New York City response — because it is making the neighborhood even more crowded. That is followed by a concern that the market is a draw for terrorists, who I can only hope will stuff themselves with so much artisanal pastry that they will become so torpid with artisanal pastry that they will forget their purpose. Or maybe they will become fiscally impaired themselves. I loathe the Union Square Holiday Market. But once in a while I stroll through. Support my local baker. Snag a salted caramel sample because if you eat something while feeling guilty it doesn’t count. O.K., let’s see what they have this year: A section called Lil Brooklyn. (You’ve got your own borough, go home!) An organic, cold-pressed macadamia oil facial serum ($40), which the saleslady picks out just for me but I decline, possibly because it’s called “Mature Serum.” Pine-tar soap handmade in small batches from saponified coconut, olive, palm and almond oils with pure essential oils added for aroma. Alpaca hats. Folk-art trivets. Snow globes with pictures of dogs. Oh, the useless junk. Some of it is kind of charming, but fiscally sane as I am, I keep moving. Until I see the black and white photos at the “1980s N.Y.C. Subway T-shirt & Stuff” kiosk. The stuff includes photos on carryalls and tiles. The late ’70s are also represented. I kind of like these photos. So gritty. So urban. Nobody would have put up a curated candy-striped market in Union Square in the early ’80s; back then, the only thing they were curating in this park was crack. And yet, in a lot of ways, the city was better. More affordable, especially for writers. More authentic. I buy a ceramic tile with a photo of a cop and his dog. It will go nicely with the sake set. |