Retail Therapy

“Babe, I’m worried about you,” I say to Alison.

“I know” she replies with a whiny tone in her voice. “But I’ve got it under control now.”

I’m more than a bit skeptical as I glance around the room. I know the difference between “under control” and “out of control,” and this seems a bit on the out side. The four walls of her room are piled feet high with…stuff. Indian stuff. In one corner, her desk chair is stocked up with folded textiles – everything from silk scarves and wall hangings to bedspreads and even a large comforter. Her many closet shelves are stocked with books, new clothes, new shoes, at least ten folded silk sarees. She got paintings from local artists on her walls, a new Ipod hooked up to her computer, boxes and boxes of Ayurvedic foods, medicines and skin care products. All the signs are pointing in the same direction.

As if all these classic symptoms of shopaholism aren’t enough, she pulls out from under her bed a couple bags…filled with a couple boxes…filled with all kinds of jewelry.

"You know those earrings with the faces on them? I went back and got them!"She says as she shows me the elaborate gold, emerald and coral set, then her matching gold and diamond earrings and ring, her many new jeweled nose rings, gold and silver pendants galore.

“I know,” I need to stop. She says. “I’ve gotten to the point where I actually feel guilty about spending money. But, like, I know my parents wouldn’t care.” Alison comes from a family that seems to endorse such risky and addictive practices, and they have the financial means to support the disease.

Wide-eyed, all I can say is, “I don’t know how you’re going to get all this stuff home.” She explains that problem was figured out weeks ago when her dad suggested she just start mailing things home in packages.

Part of me envies Alison’s extreme sessions of retail therapy. I’ve definitely been better than Alison, up until this point. I haven’t gone wild buying Salwar Kameez outfits and I’m pretty sure I’m the only female in the group who hasn’t thrown down the rupees for silk sarees, which probably won’t get any use back in the United States. I’ve held out on pricey items like gold and jewels. I’ve definitely done a bit of retail therapy myself, but haven’t made regular appointments with this pricey shrink…

But as the end approaches, I see Alison’s beautiful embroidered bed spread or Marie’s shiny silver anklets - all the cool stuff other people have bought – I begin to wonder if retail therapy is a good idea after all. I begin to wonder if being in India isn’t the perfect excuse to be a little shopaholicy. I mean, I can quit anytime, right?

The more I think about it, the more reasons I find to support these thoughts (Freud might list this as the “rationalization” coping mechanism. But what does a horny, sexist, self-obsessed genius know anyways?):

1) To beat the foreign-girl blues - Wikipedia describes retail therapy as “shopping with the primary purpose of improving the buyer's mood or disposition. Often seen in people during periods of depression or transition, it is normally a short-lived habit.” This pretty much hits the nail smack-dab on the head. Pick any random handful of my past India blog posts and you’d have to be slightly moronic not to pick up on how frustrating it’s been at times. The constant “eve teasing” and inappropriate gestures, merchants and rickshaw drivers constantly trying to rip us off, completely ambiguous guidance on our academic work, the constant smell of burning trash, the lack of Mexican food, to name just a couple. (cut to image of me three weeks ago, walking two hours to Chamundi Hill to let off some steam - thankful my sunglasses are bug-eyed enough to hide the tears of sheer frustration) Situational depression and transition? Check and check!

2) I’m a serious gifter - Alison and I find our way into a fabric store. The salesman sits us down at the counter and within seconds he’s ripping scarves and sarees off the shelves to show us, telling us all about the fine quality of each product. It’s not long before phrases like, “Mom would love that,” “I still need to find something cool for Vaughn,” and “well, I bought so-and-so something, so I have to buy so-and-so number two a gift as well.” In fact, it is ridiculously hard for me to buy something for myself without thinking about who else might also love it; usually it’s my mom. I mean, what’s so wrong with over-buying for other people? Back me up on this one.

3) I buy “healthy” things in a “healthy” manner - Sure, maybe it’d be a problem if I was blowing money on stupid things like massed-produced “authentic” knick-knacks, buttloads of Indian style clothes that would attract suspicious glances if worn by a white girl in the states, or heaps of gold jewelry that would just sit in boxes in my dresser drawer. I’ve tried hard until now not to spend my money on the “junk food” of items. Instead, I opt for healthy choices like books, music, artistic and creative home décor. I have scrutinized over options and picked only the most interesting and unique items –with the exception of a couple inexpensive impulse buys when the craving was so bad it just had to be satisfied.

4) I’m in India – Seriously, how can I not want to bring stuff back?? Since I got here I’ve been bombarded with everything new and different. Down every street there’s more stores selling colorful ethnic items and interesting handicrafts. Not buying would be like finding that cave with rolling hills of gold and jewels, and not taking the magic genie lamp. Or like going to the zoo and only looking as the squirrel exhibit.

Everything is so damned cheap – I’ve mentioned it before and it still holds true. It feels so much better buying stuff when you know it’d cost 400 percent as much in the states.

Now I’m walking through the busy streets of KR circle, during my last couple days in India. Heavy traffic of motorbikes and rickshaws honk by. On one corner, venders sell fresh fruits and veggies out of two-wheeled carts. A cow or two walks by. Shopkeepers selling everything from coffee to diamonds in stores that line the streets say, “Yes miss, come have a look” as I pass.

It’s all the same as it has been the dozens of times I’ve walked down these streets. Same stores, same items, same eager salesmen. But this time, something’s different: there’s no time left to “think about it and come back.” There’s no more coming back at all. All the while, I have images of Alison’s cool stuff and my list of justifications swirling through my head.

Just as I'm wondering "how much damage can I really cause in less than four days?" I notice a little monkey climbing onto my back, whispering, “feed me, feed me, feed me…”

And you know as well as I do that “just say no” isn't as easy as it sounds.