The Stories Our Amazon Carts Tell
I asked readers to share their past purchases with me. This is what I learned.
Earlier this year, I set out to write a newsletter about how to cut back on shopping on Amazon (a topic that many readers had expressed an interest in). So I asked readers to share their Amazon carts with me anonymously. I figured I’d review people's receipts, brainstorm ways they could have avoided the purchase or at least avoided making it on Amazon (or another big-box online retailer), and then extrapolate out to make some broader recommendations. I pictured a newsletter packed with quick, actionable tips. Dozens of readers heeded the call and shared what was in their carts. But something happened when I opened up that folder where readers had shared their Amazon orders.
I began telling myself stories about those purchases.
It was so easy to imagine why someone had bought these things. A cart full of children's Tylenol, kid-sized masks, and cough syrup? I was immediately taken back to a time when my own child was sick while my spouse was out of town and I placed a next-day, early-morning Amazon delivery—even though I live two blocks from a 24-hour pharmacy. In another cart, I spied a novelty page-a-day calendar. I imagined that it was a little treat for someone who hated their corporate desk job, or maybe it was bought as a gentle reminder of what day it is for an elderly relative for whom time is getting slippery. The many carts filled with baby gear? I knew all too well from personal experience what it was like to be a new parent finding your feet, thinking that one magic thing will mean more sleep or a less colic-y child. (Oh, the things I bought in the infant and toddler years!)
I realized that so many of the purchases I saw were stand-ins for care. A special ice pack for someone who has had their wisdom teeth removed, a jar of melatonin and supplements promising “energy” in lieu of true rest, a cartful of cushions that were designed to make a long day a desk more endurable—all were people seeking care in an increasingly care-less world. Without strong communities, adequate sick days, or reasonable work hours, we’re left to try to buy solutions to what ails us.
I was also heartbroken to see readers’ fears writ large in their Amazon carts–—items ordered in anticipation of some future disaster. (I opened submissions in February while the Los Angeles wildfires were sharp in our minds, so that may have skewed the scales.) In the pile of digital receipts, I saw air purifier filters, an emergency radio, fireproof binders, and a pre-packed survival backpack. I also saw lead test swabs and water filters, indicators of other threats from the world around us.
My plan for a neat list of tips for avoiding Amazon hadn’t taken into account questions of people stretched thin, our fraying social safety nets, and climate disasters. I didn’t realize Amazon was acting as a Band-Aid for the lack of time and security in most of our lives. And I didn’t have quick alternative answers for these purchases: There aren’t any fireproof binders and emergency radios for sale at local stores, nor do I begrudge a parent wanting medicine delivered directly to their doorstep.
This is not to excuse all shopping on Amazon (or similar sites). There were also many purchases that could have been avoided – ones that spoke to our insidious culture of consumption: Party favors, holiday-specific junky toys, tech accessories, and an extraordinary number of pet-related toys, treats, and accessories. For these, you probably know what I’d say: Just don’t buy them in the first place. Amazon is not the problem: The culture that tells us to buy these things is.
I could also see that some people were trying to make their (possibly small) homes work better through their shopping. There were several drawer organizers, bins, and baskets that I hate to say probably won’t fix the underlying problem of too much stuff in too little space.
Haunting every cart was also the question of time. I am sure many of the orders I saw were someone who felt like they didn’t have time to go buy that item in person. People work such long hours, commutes gobble up our free time, parents spend hours taking kids to and from activities—I get it. But if you are someone who wants to cut back on your online shopping. You might have to figure out how to make time to visit the local businesses you would prefer to support instead.
The gray areas were the orders that I lacked information to analyze. Were items like a child’s leotard or knitting needles bought on Amazon because those shoppers had no local place to buy such things–or was it because it was just easier and maybe cheaper to buy them on Amazon? Was the person buying basic household items like trash bags and paper towels on Amazon disabled or elderly and this helped them be independent–or was it just quicker and more convenient to add it to their cart whenever they ran out, since they were already paying for Prime anyway? I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter.
There isn’t a list of quick tips to replace all these Amazon orders. There’s no ethical consumption alterna ive that will fill all the holes in our society that we’re trying to shop our way out of.
But I do think we could avoid many of these purchases.If you’re trying to break up with Amazon, it might be helpful to ask yourself: What is the real story behind your desire to buy something? Pause, take a breath. Ask yourself if you can make it, borrow it, or simply do without it, before adding it to cart.
Want more ideas to cut back on your online shopping? Next week, I have an interview with
about her excellent new book, No New Things: A Radically Simple 30-Day Guide to Saving Money, the Planet, and Your Sanity that I think you’ll love–and I’ve got a collaboration with about online shopping coming up later in April. If you have follow-up questions, drop them in the comments and I’ll try to cover them in one of those future newsletters.In the meantime: a few posts from the archive for you:
4 More Things
The best small space I saw last week was this dressing room that moonlights as a guest bedroom courtesy of a murphy bed and an island built on casters (from Domino). Such a good use of space.
Reading:
’s new book Money and Love is on my to-read list (in particular the chapter that discusses how to make decisions about where to live); you can read more about the book here. I know a lot of us have been thinking about money lately with everything that’s going on in the world. Would you be interested to read about personal finance as it relates to living small? Tell me in the comments.Welcoming: I was thrilled to find
here on Substack. Her new newsletter Homeward is just the latest installation of her writing that I have loved. I read her early New York Times columns in the actual newspaper when I first moved to New York, imagining her just a few steps ahead of me in her career. Later, I was always excited to see her byline on Food52, the site she founded, which I also had the chance to write for (although we didn’t work together directly). Now I can’t wait to read about Amanda’s next home and chapter of life.One last thing: Buried in this article about D.I.Y. influencers (gift link) there was a casual mention that brands are now adding de-influencing clauses to their contracts that “that prohibit creators from talking about decluttering, repurposing old items or shopping less.” Interesting, no?
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I’ve truly never thought of it like this but you’re so right. Just another example of how we’re expected to try to solve massive societal problems on an individual level (and we can definitely buy less) when the real change needs to happen from the top.
I've been shifting away from Amazon, and like Megan in another comment, at least waiting until I have a cart of things that have simmered for awhile and reach the free shipping limit.
But I was in a rural area last week for a writing retreat and realized I left an important toiletry item out when I packed. I looked through the two grocery-store pharmacies in the town where I was to no avail. I even bought a product there that I knew wouldn't be as good.
I knew where I would buy them if I was at home, but those stores were two hours away. I was confronted with the reality that to not buy from Amazon might be the privilege of where I live, rather than a blanket statement for the country, and I'm glad I learned that lesson. I heard it too, in this writing as you analyzed the grey-zone carts. It helps build empathy for other realities than my own.