Ever been disgusted by cyclical materialism?

Calendar-days, like Black Friday, expose our insatiable nature. Through infamous shopping sprees, we collect till our closets’ are bloated and our cards are hot from swiping.

Imagine yourself where I am, inside a thrift store warehouse.

Volunteers rip open donation bags fingers’ crossed, hoping for a bag without Grandpa’s used underwear or the smell of tobacco.

Occasionally, you hit the jack pot, a garbage bag with barely-used, big brands.

A monotonous pattern is established- open, sort, open, sort...

The unusable is sent to a wholesaler and the usable is hung on the racks.

After a team works for five hours, the donation bins are empty. However, any satisfaction is short-lived because tomorrow, trucks full of donations await.

Feeling akin to a mindless machine, you are lost in rows of clothes racks. As your mind wanders, each shirt, jean, pant, and dress conjure their ex-owner.

What were their jobs? Where do they live? Do they have a family of their own? Do they snort when they laugh?

Humanizing the garments entertains you, but only temporarily.

Suddenly, each garment seems homeless.

Years of faithful service failed to prevent displacement. Now, here they sit. On these racks, their all yearning for someone to ascribe them value.

They are victims, sometimes even casualties, of the rhythm of materialism. Materialism’s mantra being more is more.

No debate, we are a consumerist culture. Thrown into a frenzy of acquisition, we transpose wants into needs.

Recently, I moved out of my apartment. Four suitcases later, I was nauseated by how many clothes I own and how many times I say that I have nothing to wear.

Yet, the thrift shop has not only been paid my labor, but my dollar. Case in point, I am not immune to the greedy current.

Although a fondness for shopping is not technically immoral, I think we could all use a dose of perspective.

Be wary of fixating on the racks and missing the people.