Why I Buy Things I Do Not Need When My Mood Drops

The moon-shaped night lamp is still in its box, under my bed. The tape has not even been peeled.

I ordered it on a Thursday night, after a meeting where my boss said my campaign "didn't land with viewers". Ninety-nine thousand dong, cheap enough not to think about. I did not think about it. Two days later the delivery guy called, I took the box, looked at it for a while, and pushed it under the bed.

If you have a box like that too, or a shirt with the tag still on in the wardrobe, it does not mean you lack discipline. It does not mean you spend carelessly. It is just something many people do and few talk about, because talking about it sounds like confessing to a crime.

This article takes a look at what I am actually needing at the moment I tap "order". Not so you buy less. Only so you know what you are buying.

Buying things you do not need when your mood drops is not a bad thing, and shopping is not something to avoid. Nor is everything bought in a low moment useless: I know of a lamp bought in sadness that got used every night for three years. This article does not tell anyone what to buy, whether to buy more or less, and it offers no number to measure yourself against.

At the moment I tap "order", what do I actually need?

Ten forty at night. I am lying on my side, the phone a hand's width from my face, half a cup of ginger tea gone cold on the bedside table. This afternoon my boss said the campaign did not land. I nodded, took notes, and kept working until evening as if nothing happened. I open the shopping app just to look for a minute. The screen suggests a moon-shaped lamp, warm golden glow, set beside a neat white bed.

Treat yourself, why not.

My thumb taps. The phone goes "ping": order confirmed. And right then, somewhere in my chest, a spot loosens.

The next day Phương, the colleague at the next desk, sees the courier's message pop up:

"What's that?"

"A night lamp."

"Don't you already have a night lamp?"

"This one is shaped like a moon."

We both laugh. But I said that last answer a little too fast.

The familiar explanation goes: I like pretty things, or I am weak against a low price. Maybe so. But if you stop there you are left with two roads, blame yourself or promise it will not happen again, and I have walked both many times and the next night I tap anyway.

Look at the moment that spot in my chest loosened. It did not happen when I held the lamp, because the lamp had not arrived. It happened right after the "ping". Which means what I received was not the item. It was three minutes in which I had just done something kind for myself, and tomorrow there would be a box to wait for.

At the end of a day of being criticised, that is often exactly what is missing: a sense that I did something for myself, and one small thing ahead. The item is just the fastest way to get that feeling, because it comes with a button already built in. It is also why the object rarely matters, and why the lamp sits under the bed: what it had to do was finished at the "ping".

Seeing this does not mean you stop buying. But it changes the question. Instead of "why did I buy this", the question becomes "what am I hoping for right now". The second one can be answered.

You know you did it right not when you tap less, but when you can name the feeling in one word before you tap. The first time, most people still tap, and some feel irritated at being interrupted in the middle of the excitement. After about a week, reading back over the notes, a few words usually repeat: tired, hurt, bored. The second line tends to hold things much smaller than the item: an evening with no message from anyone, a "you did well" that nobody said. On a packed day, cut it down to one word.

Where this goes wrong is turning those two lines into a courtroom: if I write it down and still buy, I lose, and then I use the notes as proof that I have no self-control. It is tempting because it sounds disciplined, and discipline is what people praise. But then you have only added one more bad feeling to cover, and the quickest way to cover it is still that button. Instead, just write. No scoring, no counting.

The box that arrived two days later

"Hey, delivery. Do you want to come down, or should I come up?"

I go down. Saturday afternoon, the sun already slanting, and in the courier's hand a box smaller than I imagined. Upstairs I tear off the tape, a long rip, the smell of damp cardboard. The round cream lamp lies snug in its foam. I plug it in. It glows just like the photo.

And I feel nothing. Not sad, not disappointed, just nothing there. I set it on my desk, two days later I put it back in the box, and under the bed it goes.

The first explanation sounds very familiar: I bought a useless thing again, I am wasteful. I have said that to myself plenty of times. It is not entirely wrong, but it is only a label. And a label cannot explain why the next Thursday night comes around.

That emptiness is not disappointment with the item. It is the lightness at the moment of tapping, already used up before the box arrives, so what comes is just the shell. And that gap is what makes it circle back: the lightness lasts a few minutes, then fades, then I want it again, and the most familiar way to get it again is one more order. What I am chasing is not the object. It is those three minutes.

This does not mean buying is wrong. There have been times I bought something in a low mood and it was exactly what I needed. It only means that if one day you want that lightness to last longer than three minutes, you might look for another place for it, beside the button.

You know it is working when that lightness in your chest shows up, even fainter, somewhere without a "ping". The first time it usually feels thin, and some people find the substitute a bit forced. That is normal: the button gives a feeling very fast, and small things are slower. After about a week, some people settle on one that suits them, like a walk around the neighbourhood or a line to an older sister, and returning to it gets easier. A short version: stand up, drink a glass of water, then go back to the phone.

Where this goes wrong is forcing every urge to buy into a "healthy activity". It is tempting because it looks like self-care, and it sounds right. But that just adds another list to complete, and it is easy to drop both by the second week. Instead, do it only when you remember. If you do not remember, that is fine.

If you tried it and nothing has changed

This happens a lot, so let me say it plainly.

The first common reason: you wrote it down and tapped anyway, and quite often. That is not failure. The two lines are not meant to make you buy less. They are only so you know what you are buying, and knowing does not oblige you to do anything else. Buying is still your right.

The second reason: you are truly tired, so tired that even two lines of notes are too much. Then drop the exercise. Go to sleep first. What you need then is rest, and on some nights that matters more than any exercise.

One more thing needs to be said clearly. I give no advice about money in this article, and I am not qualified to. But if money starts to become a worry that lasts several weeks, if debt keeps growing heavier, or if the worry is disturbing your sleep and eating, then it is time to speak with a professional: someone in financial counselling for the numbers, and someone who works with the mind for the weight you carry inside. You do not have to wait until things are "serious enough" to ask.

That weekend I dragged the lamp out from under the bed. I tore off the last strip of tape, plugged it in, and switched off the room light.

It glowed just enough. No more than a lamp, and no less.