COVER TO COVER

TO BUY IS TO BE: THE SELF-PORTRAIT OF MODERN EXISTENCE

MARTINA SCONTRINI

April 4, 2025

René Descartes would not survive a day in the modern world. His famous declaration—Cogito, ergo sum—simply doesn’t work in an era where thinking is no longer the primary metric of existence. Thought, after all, is passive, inert, unprofitable. It does not leave a transaction history.

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If Descartes were to be reborn into the twenty-first century, placed in a featureless room without his belongings, his phone, or his Amazon Prime account, he would immediately begin to question his own reality. Without consumption, what proof does he have that he still exists? If an identity is not constantly updated, refreshed, and algorithmically refined, does it persist at all?

I imagine him wandering, feeling completely lost, into the glowing fluorescence of a shopping mall, that great cathedral of being. He would pass through its halls of glass and steel, surrounded by mirrored reflections of possibility. Here, beneath the neon glow, he would begin his great philosophical work anew. His method, no longer confined to logic, would instead take the form of commerce. Before long, he would recognize the great modern truth: One does not think oneself into existence. One buys oneself into being.

Guy Debord, Society of the Spectacle, 1967

The modern self is shaped not by introspection, but by external accumulation. To live is to consume, and to consume is to construct identity. Every purchase is a declaration of self. We do not merely buy things; we buy an idea of who we are. From an endless menu of possibilities, we form our personas—minimalist or maximalist, tech savvy or analog purist, connoisseur or casual enjoyer. A watch is never just a watch; it is a marker of taste, aspiration, and status. The coffee one drinks, the shoes one wears, the books one collects (but never reads)—each transaction is a brushstroke in the self-portrait of modern existence.

Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulation, 1981

Governments and corporations increasingly regard people as markets rather than citizens. Economic growth takes precedence over public well-being, shaping policy in ways that encourage perpetual spending. Easy credit, planned obsolescence, and the normalization of debt ensure that the cycle continues, even at the cost of financial stability.

Descartes would marvel at how easily identity can be constructed, updated, and revised now. One need not struggle through introspection or philosophical doubt when one can simply order a new personality with express shipping. A change in wardrobe, a new subscription service, a new selection for your virtual shelf of movies—each choice an affirmation of being. The process is seamless, algorithmic, with desire pre-selected and conveniently suggested.

To reject this system, to step outside of it, is to risk erasure. The minimalist, the anti-consumerist, the would-be ascetic—they too fall into the trap of self-definition through purchase, only their purchase is the aesthetic of restraint. Their rejection of goods is still a declaration of identity, their sparse interiors just another curated storefront. And so, the notion of a post-consumerist world collapses before it can even be entertained. One cannot step beyond consumerism any more than one can step beyond language. Even as one rejects it, one finds oneself choosing how to reject it—purchasing a philosophy, subscribing to a new form of asceticism. There is no exit. The shopping cart, whether full or intentionally empty, remains a reflection of the self.

Herbert Marcuse, One-Dimensional Man, 1964

But let us entertain, for a moment, a world truly beyond consumption. A world where identity is no longer formed through what one acquires. A post-consumer society, free of the transactional necessity of being. Would such a society flourish? Or would it crumble under the weight of its own existential void?

Let us say that, through some act of collective enlightenment (or, more likely, economic collapse), humanity discards its dependence on consumption. The shopping malls close, the factories fall silent, and our phone screens flicker and die. Money, that great enabler of purchasing, becomes secondary to something more intangible: knowledge, experience, human connection.

At first, this world seems promising. Without the need to constantly buy, people find themselves with an abundance of time. Libraries are full, public parks are bustling, conversations are deep and meaningful. The soul, no longer buried beneath an avalanche of impulse buys and product recommendations, breathes freely.

But soon, a new crisis emerges: Without purchasing power, how does one distinguish oneself? If one cannot telegraph identity through brands, accessories, or curated lifestyles, how does one project status? Must one resort to personality? Original thought? The cultivation of actual skills? The very idea is exhausting.

Slavoj Žižek, First as Tragedy, Then as Farce, 2009

In the absence of consumption, alternative hierarchies form. Some become purists, measuring worth by intellectual rigor. Others retreat into nature, proving authenticity through survivalism. A new class of influencers arises, their currency not material goods but experiences, their wealth measured in remote retreats and profound, handcrafted moments.

Even in a post-consumerist world, exclusivity persists. The market does not disappear; it simply shifts. The luxury good of this era is not a handbag, but enlightenment itself. The most valuable asset becomes a life free from the concerns of survival, a life where one has the privilege of detaching from material need. And so, the contradiction reveals itself: The very act of transcending consumerism becomes another form of capital.

David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest, 1996

The truth is that consumerism is not merely an economic system; it is an existential framework. It provides rhythm, purpose, and a means of self-actualization. To reject consumption is not simply to alter spending habits, but to dismantle an entire way of being.

Consider the simple act of shopping. It is not merely about acquiring goods but about anticipation, desire, the thrill of possibility. The moment before the purchase is often more intoxicating than the item itself. A post-consumer world strips away this cycle, leaving an absence that is difficult to fill. In a reality where everything is optimized for necessity rather than want, where one cannot splurge on the unnecessary, what happens to the small joys that break up the monotony of existence?

Naomi Klein, No Logo, 1999

Would we not, in our desperate search for meaning, reinvent consumption in new forms? Perhaps we would barter in prestige, trade in self-improvement, measure our status through social capital rather than monetary wealth. Instead of buying designer handbags, we would curate perfect moral purity, each choice a performance of ethical superiority. A world without shopping carts would not be free of desire; it would simply repackage desire. Even if the great machine of capitalism were to grind to a halt, humanity would find ways to continue the cycle. Aesthetic non-consumption would become the new luxury. The act of rejecting brands would itself be branded. The post-consumerist utopia would, ironically, create its own economy of purity, exclusivity, and scarcity.

Thorstein Veblen, The Theory of the Leisure Class, 1899

There is no escape from consumerism because consumerism is no longer merely about buying things. It has fused with the very way we construct reality. We do not simply exist; we select our existence. Every aspect of life is a menu, a subscription, a brand identity waiting to be claimed.

And so, we return to Descartes. He is not sitting in quiet contemplation but standing in the checkout line at Target or Walmart, gazing upon the object in his hands, waiting for the machine to approve his existence.

He taps his card. It goes through. He exhales. Emendo, ergo sum.

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If consumerism is our ontology, then philosophy, too, has its product recommendations. We may reject the shopping cart, but here is the intellectual upsell: theories of spectacle, hyperreality, and the inescapable logic of capital. If you enjoyed Emendo, ergo sum, then you may also like the following existential crises, now available in convenient paperback editions:

Guy Debord, The Society of the Spectacle, 1967

Before Instagram influencers and brand-sponsored activism, Debord saw it coming. Capitalism, he argued, does not just produce goods—it produces images. The spectacle is the moment when reality is no longer experienced directly, but mediated through advertising, marketing, and commodified culture. We don’t live life; we consume its representation. If a tree falls in the forest and no one turns it into content, did it even fall? Debord would say no.

Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulation, 1981

Baudrillard takes Debord’s spectacle and cranks the dial up to oblivion. He doesn’t just argue that consumerism mediates reality—he argues that it replaces it. In a world of hyperreality, we consume not objects but signs, empty symbols of meaning floating free from reality. Your expensive organic coffee isn’t about caffeine; it’s about ethics, taste, and identity. Your eco-friendly tote bag signals moral superiority. Disneyland, Baudrillard argues, is not a break from reality but more real than real, a simulation so powerful that it convinces us the rest of the world is not also a theme park. Spoiler: It is.

Herbert Marcuse, One-Dimensional Man, 1964

Marcuse believed that consumerism is not just a system—it is a trap. We believe we are free because we have choices, but all these choices serve the same master: capitalism. The system does not suppress rebellion; it absorbs it, turns it into a product, and sells it back to us. Want to reject fast fashion? Buy from a new ethical brand. Hate corporate music? Subscribe to an indie vinyl delivery service. Escape is impossible because every avenue of resistance is prepackaged for consumption.

Slavoj Žižek, First as Tragedy, Then as Farce, 2009

Žižek is what happens when a Marxist and a stand-up comedian have a baby, who turns out to be an unshaven Eastern European man in a wrinkled T-shirt. His argument? Capitalism has gotten too good at selling us rebellion. Ethical shopping, corporate responsibility, and even anti-capitalist movements are just new marketing strategies. Buy this sustainable product, donate to this curated social cause, and consume your way into activism. The only way to break free is to refuse to play the game—but, as he gleefully reminds us, even refusal gets turned into a product.

David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest, 1996

Wallace understood that consumerism was no longer just about things—it was about entertainment. In Infinite Jest, a film is so addictively pleasurable that anyone who watches it loses the will to do anything else. The book is not a critique of consumption so much as a vision of what happens when we surrender completely to its logic. Today, we scroll, we binge watch, we consume infinite content, all carefully engineered to keep us clicking. Infinite Jest was a warning. We turned it into a lifestyle.

Naomi Klein, No Logo, 1999

Before “brand activism” became the marketing strategy du jour, Klein exposed the dark side of corporate culture. She warned that we were entering an age where brands would sell not just products but identities, where corporations would masquerade as movements, and where rebellion itself would be a marketing demographic. She was right. Today, the world’s biggest companies sell us empowerment, revolution, and social change—delivered via overnight shipping.

Thorstein Veblen, The Theory of the Leisure Class, 1899

Before anyone else, Veblen diagnosed the human urge to consume not out of necessity but for status. He coined the term “conspicuous consumption” to describe the way the wealthy purchase extravagantly useless things—luxury goods, fine china, designer clothes—not because they need them, but because they want to be seen owning them. Consumerism, he argued, was never about satisfying material needs; it was always about proving one’s place in the social hierarchy. The twenty-first century has merely democratized this principle. Now, everyone curates their identity through brands, experiences, and social media flexing. The same logic applies whether you’re buying a luxury watch or a sustainably sourced oat-milk latte—both are purchases designed to signal a message about who you are.

And so, the spectacle endures. What all these thinkers agree on is simple: You cannot escape consumerism by consuming differently. The system thrives on our attempts to resist it. The spectacle is total, the simulation complete, the shopping cart inescapable.

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Born in 1973 in Milan, Martina Scontrini is a cultural theorist and recovering marketing consultant. She studied at the Università di Bologna under Umberto Eco, where she specialized in semiotics, media theory, and the philosophy of signs. Her thesis, “The Ontology of the Shopping Mall” (1997), explored how commercial spaces construct identity and shape human behavior. Scontrini is the author of “Consumption and the Philosophy of Being” (2016) and “The Algorithmic Self: How Capitalism Curates You” (2021). She is currently researching the role of luxury minimalism in making people feel superior while owning fewer, more expensive things.

Cover image: Barbara Kruger, I Shop Therefore I Am, 1987, screenprint on vinyl, 125 x 125 cm