Sometimes, when I start to get bored of my privileged life, I generate first world problems.

“I’m too comfortable to get up and pee…Ugh.”

“I don’t wanna shower ’cause I’ll be cold for two seconds before I can towel off. Ugh.”

“I have to press a button on the wall to cool down in summer…Ughhhh.”

“My parents care about me too much… YES, I got here safely. UGH.”

“I wasted this fantastic ensemble on a ridiculously insignificant day.. UGHGGHGHH!”

The possibilities are endless.

They’ve also all been said and done. And I’m falling asleep, bored with them already.

I’ve needed to up the ante, obviously, for some time now.

That’s why I came up with a new first world disorder the other day. And while somebody else has probably already thought of it, I refuse to confirm that possibility via web search. Partially because I live in denial. But more so because I believe that every good thought I manifest happens to me before the same ones befall anyone else – and that other people just get in a time machine, read my mind, steal it, and then plant it in the past. I’m a good sport about it, though. So I’ll just share it with you now so that you can enjoy me in this exciting new practice, knowing I innovated it deep down in your hearts.

I call it: Buy-limia

You see, shopping (science says) can release the same exciting rush of endorphins that you get whether you’re forking a hottie or shoving forkfuls of Amy’s vegan coconut ice cream into your face. Unlike the possibility of having fat or permanently implanted man DNA in you, though, the worst you get with indulging your retail therapy is a meager bank balance or maxed out credit cards.

But that can still feel pretty bad.

This is the same thing an anorexic junkie’s faced with when they get clean. You might find yourself comfort-eating because of the happy-cascade the taste sets off in your brain. But then that scale starts looking like the national debt clock. So you have to reanalyze the parameters of your coping logistics. Could you find balance, love, and connection in every day life – ultimately leading you to eat less as you fill your spiritual void? Yes.

But we’re not quite there yet.

You know where we are?

Same goes with buyer’s remorse.

The cascade of shameful thoughts after the checkout comedown has subsided are endless:

“I know I’m not going to wear this scarf. Not this season – and certainly not next season when it’s out of style.”

Or

“I know I won’t wear this dress to the company Christmas party like I told the clerk. Mostly because I’m unemployed.”

Or

“Ugh… I don’t even OWN a baby”(*Throws romper in cart*)

Still, it’s undeniable. We still want what we want. So how can we have our metaphorical cake and eat it too? I was once that chick who entered Nordies with the same stars in her eyes that Belle gets at the bookshop. So, I can empathize. My former way of hacking this had been to throw everything my heart desired in a cart and then abandon the whole thing and head back to my spaceship like a celestial mission gone awry. (Bonus points if someone’s near and you fake a phone call emergency. Superbonus points if someone f’real calls during your fake one and you still carry on the fake convo and leave anyway). But that wasn’t enough. It was equal to pouring a tall glass of wine for myself in the old days – and then throwing it down the drain (before it’d made a few rounds in my body). I needed more. And I sense you do too.

Hence everyone’s need for my newfound Buylimia disorder.

What you do is take that trolley full’a goodies next Bloomingdale’s trip, head to the register, and buy it. Drive home in that same manic state you always do – trying to decide if there’s any room left in your closet to hide the evidence from hubby and your own guilty conscience alike.


“Yep! Just enough – right next to the last person who tried to hold an intervention for me!”

But then, as your “why did I buy this?” sets in, you put on each outfit at home (for one last Instagrammable photo-session in better lighting with superior shoes). And then take your binged buys back to wherever they came from yesterday. And then you vomit the lot of them all back onto the counter, like a sinner purging the dark seeds of their soul. Or Karen Carpenter dumping her lunch into a watery grave in the loo. You’ve already shame-convinced yourself you won’t wear any of these. Now you don’t have to add to that shame by going against logic and keeping them around. Besides, all you were gonna do was wear them long enough to take pretty selfies anyway, and you’ve already done that.

Now, go enjoy the feeling of your newly cleaned soul.

And when the sickness rises in you again, go ravage another store with your raging credit card hardon.

Just be safe during your fun. And by “safe” I mean: make sure they’ve got a return policy.