Designer Drugs

I’m addicted to buying designer.

I’m sure this sounds dramatic to you, especially to people who have struggled with substance abuse. If it makes you angry, just go ahead and stop reading, but I promised to be transparent – and this is a true struggle I’m currently working through.

I know this stems from my inner insecurities, which I’ve struggled to overcome for years. I also know that those insecurities were at an all-time high during my college years at Miami University, where I craved acceptance from my fellow students. It sounds insane to admit that out loud now, but for some reason I felt like having Louis Vuitton bags and Burberry scarves would make those people see me as an equal.

Even after I left Oxford, I would find myself craving the high of walking into a designer store and buying something pretty. Looking back, I now realize my reaction is all due to an illusion the employees create. They make you feel special, like you’re part of the club, that you’re elite – and in return you drop serious cash on another materialistic purchase. Then, just like any other high, that euphoria quickly fades after the reality of your spending sets in.

You know what?

NONE of my friends from Miami love me because of my designer bags. They love me because I am a good human, despite my flaws. They love me because I’m a good friend. They love me for my spirit and my humor and my heart.

And those sales associates at Chanel, they will forget my face the minute I walk out of their boutique. I’ve been seeking approval from complete strangers that will probably never cross my path again, and that’s really sad.

I’m ashamed of those feelings and the fact that I bought into such delusions. I’m ashamed that when I look at this collection of “pretty” purchases, I am struck with the realization of all the good I could have done with the money I spent. I could have dug a well in a third world country, or helped build a school. I could have sponsored multiple children. I could have saved the lives of many abused animals.

Most of my shame stems from still wanting these things, though. I don’t want to give up my bags, shoes and coats. That’s the ugly truth about this addiction; I’m still struggling with it. This admission forces me to own my faults and hopefully remind anyone who’s still reading that no amount of material purchases will bring you true happiness.

You can’t buy your way out of your insecurities. You have to face them and work through them, which is a hard pill to swallow.