This blog post might rub you the wrong way if you’re part of the 2.7 billion dollar Halloween decorating juggernaut tracked by the National Retail Federation. But I’ll take that risk. Because I think we all need to stop buying fall decorations. Or at least slow waaaay down.
In late August, I walked into the ubiquitous big box discounter and saw an entire aisle stuffed full with made-in-China scarecrows, each with an insipid smile on its face. I got that familiar “I’ve gotta get out of here” feeling. Or at least out of that department. They were everywhere, jammed onto the display next to bales of fake straw—also from China. It was an entire container load of fake fall.
Who buys this crap? Well, plenty of people do. Because three weeks later, this was all that was left of the friendly frozen-faced scarecrows, and the price had been rolled back by 50%.
At $6.84, the rest surely flew outta there.
It made me ask, what are we trying to accomplish by spending all this money on cheap and not so cheap fall decorations?
Maybe it just makes us feel good. That’s okay. My gut says we’re trying to decorate our way to happiness. And somehow the result is a kind of mindless consumption by the container load.
Take plastic pumpkins, for example. In this country, you can decorate your front porch with plastic pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns in colors ranging from traditional orange to white to purple with glitter. When did we become so fixated with plastic pumpkins? Rather, when did one real pumpkin from the grocery store or a farm become not enough? Those plastic pumpkins take up so much space in the closet, the garage or the attic. Do they make us happier? More fulfilled? Do we look friendlier, more welcoming or more fun on Halloween? Is packing up all those plastic pumpkins afterward worth it?
Now that companies know we have an insatiable appetite for all plastic things ghoulish for Halloween and gilded for Thanksgiving, they dump them on us as fast as they can. And we consume them at the same pace.
America. Where you can pick up your osteoporosis medication at the pharmacy and grab a 12-piece bag of plastic bones (made in China) on the way out--reduced from $15 to $6.49.
I guarantee in a week’s time you’ll be tripping over them in bare feet and cussing these stupid effin’ bones.
If you’re not the skeleton type, you might like this plastic bust of Frankenstein with glowing eyes.
It looked like a $10 item at most to me. But I was wrong. It’s $24.98 if you absolutely need it to make your front porch look perfect for trick or treaters (News flash: They won’t even see it. They just want your Sour Patch Kids and Reese’s Pieces. And be quick about it).
If you’re into making a really BIG front porch statement on Halloween, how about this $200 skeleton bride and groom?
Two. Hundred. Dollars. I’ll just leave that right there.
The more upscale local store features autumn home decor items that aren’t made in China. They’re handcrafted in China. Let’s cut to the chase. Home decor is a euphemism for overpriced stuff that collects dust, then gets packed away in Sterilite boxes on a weekend when you’d rather be doing just about anything else.
Like this $36 pillow that will be on display in your home for one, maybe two months, then packed away to make room for a $50 holiday pillow.
Or these oh-so-cute-and-cheeky wooden plaques nestled onto a shelf with little scarecrows and...of course...plastic pumpkins.
And this table overflowing with Thanksgiving “home decor.”
It all just seems like it’s trying too hard, you know? My eye doesn’t know where to look. I don’t want to buy it. I just want to declutter the table.
And therein lies my point in this rather grouchy blog post about fall decorating. I think we just need to stop and think in the midst of this retail vomitorium. Stop buying, especially if we feel ourselves buying mindlessly. Start thinking about what we’re buying and why. Before you take it off the rack and put it in your cart, ask yourself:
Why do I want this? What am I trying to accomplish? Taking 15 seconds to answer these questions might reveal something you haven’t thought about before. An emotional pattern. A need. A desire to own that flames out in an instant.
Where will I store this once the season is over? Thinking through the placing, re-placing, dusting and storing process this thing will demand might help you to decide if it’s really worth the time and money.
What could I do with this money instead of buy with this money? Will $20 worth of plastic pumpkins make you or your family happier? Will they even be noticed? Maybe that $20 would be better spent on half a bushel of new crop apples at an orchard and trying your hand at making apple butter with your kids. Or topping off the tank and driving to a state park some evening to just listen to the wind and the birds, breathe, and notice how different the air feels from just a month ago. To just be and not buy.