Americans Are Burying Themselves Alive With Cheap Stuff
From dollar deals to endless clutter, our obsession with acquiring things is suffocating us.
kali9 | Canva Editor's Note: This is a part of YourTango's Opinion section where individual authors can provide varying perspectives for wide-ranging political, social, and personal commentary on issues.
I recently quit my corporate job for a variety of reasons. Before my premature mid-life crisis, I managed the global sourcing and procurement team for a home decor company importing goods from China, among other Asian countries — items I routinely refer to as “junk”.
My former company buys cheap picture frames, mirrors, and other miscellaneous home decor items to sell to big box stores.
Often, my team would joke about the rate of sale on some items. Day after day, week after week, we watched thousands of frames and mirrors go through the registers at these stores and wondered where it was all going. A landfill, most likely.
One big-box store, in particular, is notorious for discontinuing items without giving suppliers any notice. Since the items were coming from China, between inventory in the warehouse, in transit from China, and in production at the factories, my company had enough inventory in our pipeline to last about six months at any given moment.
Most of that inventory could be rendered obsolete instantaneously, and since the items were specifically branded for that particular store, we had no choice but to destroy the product. That’s right — my company would routinely be forced to pay to destroy millions of dollars of inventory due to the store's carelessness and lack of communication. These all-too-common occurrences fostered within me a fundamental detestation of things.
In childhood, my friends identified me as a “stress cleaner.” Once, after a physical altercation broke out at a party I attended in my 20s, I found myself washing glasses and tidying up to help myself cope. There are worse compulsions, I suppose.
Naturally, with my newly realized free time and lack of purposeful direction, I have recently taken to decluttering my home. The things that I unearth disgust me: untouched boxes packed when moving into this house eight years ago, Christmas gifts from 2023 still residing in holiday bags at the bottom of my closet, no fewer than 100 T-shirts obtained for free, one boasting the message “Rocking into the Millennium”.
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My parents often gloat about the unbelievable deals they enjoy, arms full of dollar store merchandise, while simultaneously declaring that manufacturing should be returned to the US.
“They were only $20!” my mother proudly announces, as she presents me with two sweaters that will sit on my bedroom floor until I take them to the Goodwill down the street, tags still intact.
When I see my mother ambling up my driveway with bags of items she purchased, I recoil. I see these things covered in seagull guano next to old coffee grounds and soiled diapers on a barge in the Atlantic Ocean. I am sickened.
My aversion to things is so strong that holidays have largely lost their appeal. The avalanche of pre-garbage that comes along with hosting even a modestly sized birthday party for my young daughter results in a guest list featuring only immediate family. Something’s got to give.
As a proud zero-time Trump voter, some of my recent stress cleaning is, in no doubt, also an involuntary reaction to current events. However, as much as it pains me to say, I do believe some good may come from some of Trump’s actions, namely his holding America hostage with punitive tariffs. At the same time, I don’t think Americans are going to like taking their medicine.
Economists disagree about whether manufacturing can truly return to the US. The rise of artificial intelligence (AI) and automation serves as both a help and a hindrance to the cause.
Although companies such as Nvidia, Apple, and Stellantis have recently announced plans for expansion to their US production, the manufacture of high-volume, low-quality goods that China has been successfully pumping out for the last 40 years (“junk”) is likely not a good fit for the United States. The infrastructure commitment may prove too risky for American firms, considering the relatively high cost of labor and production, supply chain complexities, and shortage of skilled labor.
The economics simply do not “math out” for many goods currently being produced in China. Personally, there were times when I purchased items from Chinese factories for less than what I knew the raw materials alone should cost.
Factories with familial ties to the Chinese government could keep costs artificially low with state support to win and maintain business. To effectively “reshore” the manufacture of these goods, the US government would similarly have to appropriately incentivize US companies.
Regardless, the all but certain outcome of this explosion of tariffs is for the cost of consumer goods to increase, which should drive consumer spending habits to recede. Many Americans will simply have to do without.
As I struggle to heave my dresser drawers closed against the stress of no fewer than 50 sweaters, my heart is sure we need less.
I do not mean we can survive with fewer things. I mean, we cannot live because our things are burying us alive.
As painful as “eggflation” feels, things are, generally, far too inexpensive, and it is creating serious problems for families. The Wall Street Journal reported on the insurmountable level of clutter that fills our homes and the burden it is placing on our descendants once we die.
Americans are purchasing over 2x more clothing, 3x more furniture, and nearly 6x more flatware and dishes than we were 30 years ago. After death, it’s taking twice as long to clean out homes as it did even a decade ago.
It all makes perfect sense. For decades, acceptable quality levels of consumer goods declined and cost targets shrank, thanks primarily to fast fashion brands. Americans continue to show a strong preference for quantity over quality, myself included.
Toward the end of my tenure as a supply chain manager, Temu and similar companies were further challenging the level of quality that consumers were willing to accept. Seemingly impossibly low prices are, in fact, just that.
There are endless expectations versus reality of poor-quality Temu purchases, and yet sales continue to grow at an explosive rate.
Americans are full-on addicted to the dopamine hit of buying things, even when they are objectively complete junk.
I hate to give President Trump any credit, but I fear in this case it may be due. Perhaps his antics will land him backward on a remedy to the asphyxiation of our society.
That is, if any discernible society remains in his wake. I was recently venting my frustrations to someone I had just met at a networking event (I am a lot of fun to be around right now).
Her feedback refreshed me. She said beautifully decorating one’s home should not be reserved for wealthy people, and my work at my former company provides the opportunity for people of limited means to express creativity in their space.
I appreciate her comment and wash some of the blood off my hands as I continue to challenge myself to do more with less. I seek to shop more mindfully and to educate myself about the quality of clothing and other items (Laura vonV and itsolgavi have been helpful resources for me). I vow to consult Facebook Marketplace and thrift stores and give a second life to items instead of relying on Amazon for everything.
My efforts will undoubtedly be flawed, but I will not let perfect be the enemy of good. I will try to be just a little bit better every day. That is all any of us can fairly ask of ourselves.
Tiffany Judge is a writer and essayist whose contributions can be found on Medium and YourTango. After spending 15 years in the corporate world, she has recently turned her focus to writing. She is a lifelong learner and brings a sharp analytical eye and deep personal insight to her work.
