Before I started trauma therapy, I dallied in retail therapy. Years later, I went to real therapy to cure that therapy. If this cycle sounds familiar to you, you’ll be gratified to know that you are not alone.

According to one study, 69% of Americans admit to emotional shopping. If you’re thinking, “Everyone has bought a little treat as a pick me up!” then, yes, you’re not incorrect. But what can start as an innocent, once-in-a-while indulgence can easily spiral out of control. Deloitte did a survey a couple of years ago that found in over 114,000 adults across 23 countries, 80% of them splurged on something despite only 42% saying they could actually afford to. What these statistics don’t quite show is how easily retail therapy can turn into a very expensive (and failed) coping mechanism.

“What can start as an innocent, once-in-a-while indulgence can easily spiral out of control.”

Between the years of 20 and 23, I coped with hardships by turning to unnecessary consumerism. I take personal responsibility, but I can also say that we live in a culture that promotes frivolous spending. “Little treat” culture, in particular, recently emerged as a major social media trend. It’s exactly what it sounds like: spending money on coffees, smoothies, and pastries here and there as a mood booster. LTC is harmless in moderation, but left unchecked, it can distract from the issues at hand — and put a dent in your funds.

I found that the problem with bribing (or rewarding, however you want to phrase it!) myself for accomplishing small tasks was that eventually, the tab ran too high. For example, in 2020, I was averaging $300 for every story as a freelance writer. But if a story took me two weeks to write and I bought a $9 coffee every day, that amounted to $153, half of how much I would make.

“No amount of small indulgences can make up for the very real traumas that course in and out of our daily lives.”

It turns out there is very real science behind this habit of microdosing dopamine (the happy hormone) by way of treats. But against the backdrop of a mental health crisis, a global pandemic, climate crises, and another Trump presidency, I’ve found that no amount of small indulgences can make up for the very real traumas that course in and out of our daily lives.

During the lockdown, most people’s spending took a turn for the worse. Research found that consumerism skyrocketed as online purchases surged during the Covid-19 pandemic. I was among the many who alleviated the stress of the pandemic by abusing how readily retailers offered free and quick shipping. By the time my credit card statements rolled around, it was evident that emotional shopping, aka retail therapy, was causing more problems than it was fixing. 

“Setting down habits that make life sustainable and throwing money for little drops of dopamine is very much not self-care.”

In addition to the financial stress it was causing, it also became quickly obvious that I was not dealing with my mental health in a way that was actually healthy. Self care, as I frequently write about, is not something you can purchase. Setting down habits that make life sustainable and throwing money for little drops of dopamine is very much not self-care. Plus, the labor ethics around quick delivery is fairly exploitative — and changing our consumer habits can bring about much-needed change to the workforce. 

Weaning myself off emotional shopping is still very much a work in progress. But I’d like to share some strategies that I’ve found helpful, with the hope that others might also take up the challenge:

1. Have a dedicated card for non-urgent expenses. 

A useful hack that a financial advisor gave me was having a separate card (debit, not credit) for non-fixed expenses. I allocate a specific amount to that card with every paycheck and use it only for dinners, movies, shopping, etc. My primary bank account covers all of my fixed expenses such as rent, bills, work tools, and necessary spending. 

Most days, I only leave the house with the ‘fun’ card and have it attached to any car share and food delivery apps. Forcing myself to have limited access to my money trained my brain to be realistic with my spending and keeping little splurges well, actually little.

(To retrain my brain to be more fiscally responsible, I worked with the wonderful people at the Financial Gym to create a realistic budget for myself. If you’re looking for shame-free accountability and help, I would highly recommend them as a resource!) 

2. Identify the real problems. 

When I removed retail therapy as a coping mechanism, I had to get serious about what was actually bothering me. Unfortunately, doing the inner work is a lot more difficult than buying another sweatsuit. But as tedious and boring as it is (compared to the sheer joy of seeing a package arrive for you), it’ll actually pay off in the long run. 

I didn’t jump into therapy immediately, but I did do a lot of journaling, went on a lot of walks, and was just more emotionally in touch with myself so I can be honest about what habits I actually want to keep in my life.

3. Master the art of window shopping. 

Or rather, I started using my Pinterest again. Oftentimes, shopping is more about the feeling that it brings you versus the actual product. Part of why our consumer habits can feel so addicting is because it feels like we’re buying an idea of ourselves, or our lives, and not just the item itself. I realized that I could still fantasize and daydream about my most aesthetic dream life to make it pre-emptively true (without breaking the bank!).

This is the modern-day equivalent of window shopping and honestly, it does curb the urge to actually act on it. I’ve also noticed that when I revisit my board for “Dream apartment” and the like, many of them feature trends I’ll have outgrown a few months and years later. It’s a relief to know I didn’t impulsively buy something that I would have hated later. 💸

Rehabilitating bad shopping habits isn’t easy. It’s taken a lot of time — and failure — to get mine under control. But retail therapy doesn’t have to rule your life. Breaking it will feel better than any purchase you can make right now. I promise you’ll feel better if you try (and try again!).


Sara Jin Li is an essayist, playwright, and filmmaker based in Los Angeles, California. She is also the founder of Heretics Club, a literary salon for creative writers. You can find her on Instagram at @sarajinli.