Materialism: What It Means to Me
Judging by the name of this blog, I ought to have written and published this piece first. But alas, here it is, and here it comes, I shall duly note, following my usual weekend indulgence of some wine(s) and films of a rom-com nature (exclusively). Tonight’s pick was How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and naturally any movie set in New York, as most of these are, with any sort of journalistic involvement within the plot, pokes awake my longtime and undying desire of, you guessed it, being a journalist in New York. With that being so fresh in my mind at the moment, I’m giving you fair warning that the likelihood of this post ending up sounding like a magazine column is pretty high. Saying that, I feel as though my writing voice already tends to lean in that direction anyways, or at least I think the thoughts inside my head with that tone by default (maybe it’s fate?). Bottom line is: ignore me, and just let me pretend I am living out my little dreams, which sometimes are too rowdy for even reality to keep at bay.
Materialism! Yes, that is what we are supposed to be talking about. Without even having to look up the word online (I laugh that I almost wrote “in the dictionary,” as in the physical book with all the words and corresponding definitions you used to have to leaf through . . . remember?), you already know or have a sense that the connotations associated with the word are not positive, some would even argue sinful. However, and to the contrary, the way I’ve shaped my meaning for the word is not negative. A quick search shows me that the Oxford English Dictionary uses the following definition for materialism: “a tendency to consider material possessions and physical comfort as more important than spiritual values.” I am not here intending to dispute the veracity of this sentiment, because I wholeheartedly agree that the intangible elements of life, such as love, health, and happiness, to name a few, trump (what a ruined word) in value and importance all things within the physical realm. I am here, however, to discuss why I feel like it is an incomplete picture that is too black and white. I am here to bring justice to a word, in essence (I’ve maybe had too much to drink, and it’s past midnight as it is).
When I look at furniture or clothes, for example, I don’t just see pretty shapes and fabric. I see more than just the object; I see these items as physical extensions of my personality. They are also not for status, but for personal creation of identity and comfort of space. For as long as I can remember, I have always been a person that is very impacted by their surroundings. I have always been hyperaware of the kinds of people and types of objects around me. Now, I mean for this to come across in the least bollocks-y way possible, but the best way I can describe it is through the belief that everything has a certain “energy” or “vibration,” if you will, that either matches, complements, or interacts dissonantly with other emitted energies or vibrations. I can’t tell you exactly why or how I love that chair or that lamp, but I can tell you that it is beautiful, and that its beauty speaks to me.
People bring me joy, of course they do. But so do silly little objects, and I’m not ashamed to admit that, nor do I see anything wrong with it so long as it is in a healthy balance and reasonably within one’s means. The way I see it—the way I define it—materialism does not always have to equate to shallowness, greed, and the selling of one’s soul to the capitalist system. I believe it could, and should, also be able to mean living for the little things, and seeing art, as well as stories, in everything all around us.