Retail Therapy
Of all the joys of life I cherish most, purchasing useless items tops the list. The rush I get from buying things that neither I, nor any other person on this planet, really need makes me wonder why people use drugs—a tiny bag of cocaine can break the bank; a delightfully enormous novelty red Solo cup is far more cost-effective. I have bought so many such items on Amazon this past year that I expect a personal, handwritten thank-you note from Jeff Bezos to arrive any day now.
In case my readers are interested in sharing in this exhilarating pastime with me, I have compiled a list of the very best items I have purchased in 2021:
Triceratops bottle opener: This is a fun bottle opener that is shaped like a triceratops and, conveniently, attaches to a keychain for all of your drinking-in-public needs. It only has one minor flaw—surprisingly, it is not in fact capable of opening bottles.
$70 worth of stickers: My favorite new additions to my sticker collection include Stanley from The Office playing basketball, an amusing twist on the famous Japanese woodblock print “The Great Wave off Kanagawa” featuring a rare red Gyrados and several Magikarp, a Renaissance-style portrait of Danny Devito and his beloved ham, and a calculator cheekily displaying the number 5318008, which, when viewed upside-down, looks very much like “BOOBIES.”
Baby Foot: I, personally, have been known to have feet that are “really gross.” This is due to my penchant for being barefoot in all sorts of places where people are not normally barefoot. So, I bought Baby Foot, an exfoliating foot mask treatment that comes in the form of a pair of plastic booties filled with goop, which are not designed in a particularly user-friendly way and helpfully include instructions written in Korean. After donning the booties for around an hour, during which any attempt at walking will cause a disconcerting squelching sound, the user’s feet will shed excess layers of hardened skin in a most horrifying manner, leaving her with “practically new feet” (according to a verbal review that I forcibly solicited from my boyfriend by placing my new feet within close proximity to his face.)
Cheetos Flamin’ Hot Mac n’ Cheese: Much like the classic Annie’s version, this is a boxed mac n’ cheese containing dried pasta and a packet of cheese powder. The difference is that this one tastes exactly like Flamin’ Hot Cheetos—a true delicacy, I cannot recommend it highly enough.
200 caramel apple lollipops: After making this purchase earlier this spring, I developed a habit of binge-eating lollipops whilst in Zoom class, causing at least two of my fellow classmates to message me privately to inquire about my well-being.
Racist tank top: This is a graphic tank top made from some sort of incredibly cheap material, featuring an image usually seen on Chinese take-out boxes (“Thank You, Enjoy”). I bought it to wear to social events hosted by the Asian Pacific Islander Law Students Association, of which I am a board member, in order to subvert racism with the power of subtle irony.
$10 soccer ball: This was a steal. It looks very much like the regulation size 5 soccer ball I believed it to be, but the twist is that it is very small and made out of foam.
No-Face piggy bank: This is a piggy bank that looks like the character No-Face from the famous Miyazaki movie, Spirited Away. When you deposit a coin onto the platter that No-Face is holding, he opens his mouth and devours the coin in a way that is reminiscent of his gluttonous behavior in the movie.
Fruit picker: This is a telescoping stick that, when fully extended, is just a bit longer than an average NBA player is tall. It features a claw on one end, under which a basket is attached. It is for picking fruits that are too high to reach for non-NBA players. There are many fruit trees on Stanford’s campus, and this tool is perfect for reaping their bounty—with this simple contraption, one can simultaneously secure both an obscene number of lemons and the utter bewilderment of passersby.
Two used cats: These wonderful buddies are named Miso and Mochi. They are very soft and sweet, and they have only on one isolated occasion become afflicted with explosive diarrhea.
In closing, I want to acknowledge that those of you who subscribe to the minimalist cult of Marie Kondo are likely horrified by the sheer number of stupid things I have amassed. But I will remind you that, per Kondo’s philosophy, the only relevant question is whether my purchases spark joy. And the answer is, emphatically, yes.
