Sept. 2025
Phyllis Shragge

It’s in the genes.  It’s a dominant gene passed down from mother to daughter.   

Depending on your perspective, this gene which gives rise to a syndrome known as superflua emptio in Latin, may be considered normal by some or an aberration by others.  

Although the tendency to succumb to superflua emptio—translated into English as superfluous buying— may be accelerated by other influences, I suggest this gene is a major factor in its development.  Thus, for purposes of this thesis, I will refer to it as the shopping gene.

The shopping gene creates a longing for fashionable clothes that are not really needed.  It has nothing to do with buying groceries or household items or anything else necessary in our day-to-day lives.   The shopping gene, with its overarching sway, sets those who possess it on a life-long path of consumerism.  I acknowledge that I do indeed have this gene.

Shopping is a sport. Picture this scenario: You have 20 minutes set aside for perusing the aisles of that large chain store whose name begins with the letter W and is not for losers.  Is it luck or skill that enables you to find a clothing item in your size?  Certainly, the store hasn’t made it easy for you since duplicates seem to be frowned upon by the management. Fortunately, after much determination and hard work, you find a sweater you like and it’s in your size. 

You grab it quickly, knowing there is no other like it. Ah ha! You have scored a goal. Is your success based on luck or skill?  Surely, it’s a skill because after years of experience in the field, you have fine-tuned your shopping expertise.
There are shoppers who value expensive articles of clothing, especially designer items. I am not one of those shoppers. I value sales. Great sales. I love getting a good deal. When I buy a discounted item of clothing, my success is comparable to a home run or a touchdown.  I can almost hear the crowd in the stands cheering for me.

And yet, there’s a negative aspect to all of this. My pleasure derived from shopping can be sidetracked by a sense of guilt.  Should I really be spending money on clothes I don’t need?  How can I enjoy shopping for fun when I realize there are so many people who can barely pay for food or rent, or who don’t have a roof over their heads? How can I enjoy frivolous shopping given the world we live in?   How many t-shirts, how many sweaters, and how many pairs of jeans are enough?  

I will backtrack a bit, to the person responsible for my inherited gene. My mother, Brownie Freedman, loved fashion.  She was a skilled shopper most of her life and she lived to almost 100.  Shopping brightened up her days, as did her many other activities such as playing tennis, swimming and going for long, daily walks.  My mother had a positive attitude about everything, a cup-half-full perspective likely influenced by being physically active, socializing with friends, challenging herself intellectually, and yes, buying clothes that made her feel good.  

As far as shopping is concerned, I am indeed like my mother.

But back to the guilt about clothes shopping. Normally, the guilt is present as an undercurrent bubbling beneath the surface, but twice a year it transforms in intensity when I go through the ritual of sorting through my clothes.  As I try to organize my closets, it becomes blatantly obvious that I have way too much of everything.  I decide to do something positive about all of this, so I donate clothing I rarely wear to charity. Afterwards, I swear to myself that from now on, I will not buy a single item of clothing unless it’s absolutely necessary.  

My resolve, however, does not last long.   Weeks, or perhaps just days later, I find myself browsing through a clothing store.  I notice there’s a sale. Look at those cool jeans! They’re regularly $69.99, on for $19.99.  How can I pass them up?  

Is this an addiction rather than a sport?  I wonder.  But whatever, my mother is to blame.