I felt like I was walking through the innards of Amazon, surrounded on all sides by stuff. Clothing, kitchenware, bedding, shoes, electronics, cleaning supplies, pet paraphernalia…if Amazon.com could be turned into a physical place, it would be this bazaar in Almería, Spain. It’s hard not to find things you “need” in a place so chock full of useful things and other crap, especially when you can use the low price to justify your purchase. Bazaars are the go-to store for just about anything, especially since there aren’t many big-box stores like Target or Walmart.
On this particular day, my boyfriend and I decided we needed slippers, so we went into one of the larger bazaars (hesitantly on my part). We quickly found slippers and then moved on to see what else they had. And then I had a “Hotel California” moment. One minute I was browsing the flower pots and the next, I was in a demented reverie—it wasn’t until I’d woken up that I realized that I had lost all sense of place and time. I didn't know where I was; there was no context for all this stuff. I felt trapped in a void, like a “prisoner of my own device,” as the Eagles sing in “Hotel California.”
Once I snapped back to reality, I left the bazaar as quickly as I could. But over the next couple of days, I realized that reality was also filled with stuff and people constantly trying to get you to buy that stuff. It again brought me to the lyrics of "Hotel California":
You can check out any time you like
But you can never leave
I’d left the densely-packed bazaar only to be in a diluted version of it. In our world, shopping opportunities are endless, advertisements are plastered on buses, buildings, and screens, and almost everything is sponsored. Beautiful models, colorful designs, cheap prices, and catchy phrases make it easy for us to be entranced by consumerism. The thirst for money seems unquenchable, creating a constant demand for our attention. But at what cost? As the consumer (as we so often are deemed), it’s overwhelming to be inundated by so many sources so often. For many mainstream producers, there is pressure for cheap, new products, which is usually only possible through labor and environmental exploitation.
I acknowledge these truths, but it’s difficult to say that I won’t ever step foot into another bazaar or want something I see in an advertisement. And, as much as I would love to know the backstory of everything I buy, that is not realistic. Going forward, I can learn from my bazaar “Hotel California” experience. Instead of falling into the trap of consumerism and buying without thinking, I will buy with intention. Stuff, for better or worse, is here to stay. Don’t let it rule you.
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