My precocious pandemic baby was born in May of last year. Cue the sleepless nights– first, from the constant wakings of a newborn, then, from the constant running of my mind. I found myself staying awake well into the night to save myself the frustration of waking again when I was inevitably needed 20 minutes later, and to constantly reassure myself that my baby was still breathing. 

And to help me stay awake? There’s a shiny blue light with internet access and infinite scrolling available for that. Although I’m a long-time minimalist who has generally been careful about my social media usage, Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest became my midnight-BFFs. 

Sure, I did other things. I read ebooks, placed online grocery orders, started a local Buy Nothing group and a blog. But really, I scrolled. 

The scrolling haze lasted only a few months. But as I recently found myself inclined to scroll again (no doubt because of the return of brain fog and exhaustion with my second pregnancy), I instead took the opportunity to reflect on what I noticed about our consumer culture the first time around:

Information Overload keeps you consuming rather than creating 

The constant presence of new headlines, innovative products, a friend’s latest social media update, the e-mail marketing from companies you don’t even remember signing up for… it’s relentless. The average person sees somewhere around 5,000 ads a day (up from around 500 in the 1970s). But even that number doesn’t take into consideration the sheer quantity of non-advertising information we are exposed to. The New York Times alone, for example, publishes more than 150 articles a day. Alternatively, you could peruse content from the estimated five million new blog posts daily, or from 850,000 active podcasts. 

I once heard that we are all born with a list of books we will never get around to. Now, though, we wake up every day to a news and social media feed with new content every time we hit the refresh button, ensuring we can never reach the end. The constant stream of new information to read and products to browse can persuade us that we are being productive just by scrolling. It can lull us into believing that we don’t have enough information yet to make a reliable decision (even if we’re just deciding on the best throw pillow for our couch). And ultimately, it steals time and energy from pursuits that can add real value to our lives. 

The constant stream of new information to read and products to browse can persuade us that we are being productive just by scrolling… and ultimately, it steals time and energy from pursuits that can add real value to our lives.

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The consumption mindset can foster anxiety and social comparison.  On the other hand, creative pursuits such as journaling or making art– even if your skill level is more paint-by-numbers than Picasso– can lower stress levels, encourage self-esteem, and even boost “feel-good” hormones like dopamine. When we set aside time to create– instead of just consuming content others have created– we are making an investment in our own well-being and happiness. 

There’s a product meant to ‘fix” everything. 

Got a baby who won’t sleep? There’s a Mamaroo for that. Overwhelmed by the mess? Try the Eufy Robovac. Tired from your hours of scrolling? Here’s some specialty cold-brew coffee. 

It’s not that any of these products are “bad.” In fact, I own all of them– and, my child’s love-hate relationship with her Mamaroo as an infant aside, I’d generally even recommend them if a friend asked. 

But the idea that we “need” any of these products is misguided. I promise you that your child will eventually sleep, even without a fancy baby swing. Your house will be clean again, whether it’s from a $2 push broom or a $220 robot vacuum. You will burst out of bed bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to sing musical soundtracks and dance down your hallway if you give up caffeine. Okay, just kidding on that one. 

Urgency and Comparison Sell 

“For a limited time only”… “This sale only happens twice a year”… “The internet is going crazy for these bras”… “Cookware that keeps selling out!”… These were only a few of the messages I was besieged by in less than 90 seconds of scrolling my Facebook. And this frantic marketing sells. If you’re like me (and the research indicates you are), your heart starts beating just a little faster and your mind starts racing. 

What will I do if I miss the big sale? If everyone is wearing those bras, will my partner still love me if I don’t? In fact, how will I ever eat again if this cookware sells out?! (Side note: That sounds more like a supply issue than the consumer’s problem). 

These messages touch on primal responses that urge us to secure our spot in the community. Much like ancient hunter-gatherers, we don’t want to be booted from our tribe for wearing the “wrong” shoes. 

Researchers have found that a number of personal factors shape our resiliency in the face of advertisements. For example, individuals who experienced scarcity (such as food insecurity) in childhood are more likely to respond to aggressive marketing messages. Similarly, individuals with social anxiety may be more susceptible to materialism, while those with what researchers call a “high self-concept” (which includes a strong understanding of your core values) may be less likely to click “add to cart” at the first sign of comparison. 

But here’s the catch: The constant bombardment of advertising can encourage competitive thinking as well as increase social comparison and anxiety– the very things that increase materialism and convince people to buy. 

Constant exposure to advertising also carries longer-term implications for our happiness. In fact, researchers examining nearly one million individuals across 27 countries over thirty years found this: The more advertising dollars spent in a country in a given year, the less happy its citizens were only a year or two later. But hey, at least these unhappy citizens were shopping for luxury watches and expensive cookware, right? 

Researchers examining nearly one million individuals across 27 countries over thirty years found this: The more advertising dollars spent in a country in a given year, the less happy its citizens were only a year or two later.

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Social Media Sells a Facade 

Even when I was struggling through sleepless days, my social media offered only (admittedly just a few) pictures of my smiling little family.  It’s not that social media is intentionally deceptive, although it can be.  It’s just that none of us are going to post about the fight with our partner, the night our baby screamed for three hours straight, or the promotion we didn’t get. 

With the rise of social media influencers, there’s added pressure: The fictional “Joneses” no longer exist behind closed doors a block away. Now, they are half-way across the country, throwing open their windows (for better picture lighting, obviously) and sharing the products you “have” to have. 

The expansion of our reference point for the “Joneses” fuels comparisons that aren’t even rooted in our lived experience: She has an immaculate house with a toddler (never mind that the toys were pushed out of the photo frame). He’s wearing an expensive jacket, so he must be successful (never mind that he bought it on credit). They just went on an extravagant vacation (never mind that they fought the entire time). But seeing just a tiny glimpse into someone’s life can lead you to imagine that having those products or taking that trip will create a more fulfilling life.  

Fewer decisions can be better. 

Perhaps remarkably, I bought very little during my scrolling blur. I’d like to think that this was because of my long-standing commitment to minimalism, but in reality it was probably every bit as much a sense of overwhelm at the sheer number of options available.  

Already sleepless and overwhelmed by social isolation (thanks, 2020) and caring for a tiny human, the idea of choosing between 6,033 search results for “throw pillow” at one retailer alone was simply too much to handle. I found myself craving the simplicity of having only one or two options– so I finally opted out of purchases I had considered making. When something was really necessary, I even occasionally asked my husband to choose for me (I’ve since decided that to love me is to not ask me to make inconsequential decisions). 

The reason that concepts like Project 333 for your closet or toy minimalism are effective is because they reduce the number of decisions we have to make in a given day.  If the only fashion decision I have to make is whether to wear my otherwise-identical blue or purple shirt with my jeans, well, that feels pretty manageable. And without decision fatigue from mundane choices, there’s more time to tackle global problems, give back to the community, or just relax on the back porch.