For the love of stuff
semi-self-aware pseudo anti-gift guide
As 2025 comes to a close and the holidays roll in, my feed is overflowing with people recommending things – declarations like, “This limited-edition Wicked x Le Creuset Dutch Oven changed me” and agonies over “What makes for a better stocking stuffer, Rhode Peptide Lip or Eadem Le Chouchou?” (The answer? Both. Rhode for beach days, Eadem for city nights). Gift guides and yearly roundups feel like a genteel form of flexing: Look at the twenty things I’ve acquired that have made life so amazing. Behold my preferences, my discretionary income, my aspirational existence. And of course, I fall for it every time: Why, by all means, walk me through every lippy you’ve ever owned and make me question reality, random writer girl!
There was a time when this kind of power was earned. “Oprah’s Favorite Things,” an annual holiday tradition for nearly three decades, worked because she was an undisputed authority, holding the keys to the kingdom of taste, with a studio audience to back it up. Now, anyone with a Notes app can publish a list of suggestions for the life you could be living.
Assigning yourself sociocultural capital and calling it service journalism has metastasized into an economy of its own. Influencers and creators make entire livings off product recommendations, with affiliate-marketing platforms like LTK driving $5B in annual retail sales. Unsustainable, compulsive consumption is the default writ large. I saw a Wall Street Journal article lately about Americans’ appetite for buying cheap stuff. In short, we have never owned more than we do now, and yet so little of it is designed to endure:
During the recent Black Friday rush, I found myself waiting on multiple inbound packages at once, which quickly turned my recycling bin into a shredded-paper mausoleum. A permanent army of online orders invading your door should not be normal. Black Friday used to demand venturing into the freezing cold and standing in a two-hour serpentine line for a single big-ticket item, so very hunter-gatherer. Purchases were made with a curatorial eye, with pause. These days, we scroll frictionless, zombie-tapping “Add to Cart” on clothing we wear an average of 7-10 times before it is unceremoniously discarded.
By 2030, Gen Z is projected to become the highest-spending generation in history, which honestly feels inevitable. Growing up online has killed the art of delayed gratification. We are wired to value immediacy, guaranteed thrill, while future planning – savings, investments – remains fragile, hypothetical. Why painstakingly penny-pinch my way toward a house when I can procure a designer sweater and feel like a competent adult for five glorious minutes? After surviving the unpredictability of global events like the 2008 financial crisis and COVID19, our long-term goals are negotiable, absurd even. We numb out and crash out. And if the tears are coming, at least let them fall over something embroidered from KHAITE.
It’s funny, none of the things we buy come preloaded with significance, and yet the powers that be have done a masterful job of making them feel otherwise. In truth, value isn’t inherent; it’s a narrative we assign. Steve Jobs engineered desire into his phones by turning them into a sensory, almost spiritual experience, making his real talent arguably seduction. Even currency itself is no exception. Paper money was once backed by gold, which had tangible weight. Today, most money is digital, with crypto extending this abstraction. What exactly backs it now – pixels? Air?
But to play Devil’s advocate (and because I am, after all, alive in a capitalist country), I’ll confess: I like shopping. Again, not because the objects themselves matter in any concrete sense, but because they symbolize the person I am, or am trying to be. Each a tactile record of selfhood. My gingham bedsheets belonged to a season of soft femininity and emotional safety; the studded boots and belt arrived when life hardened me and I rediscovered Nickelback. I project my personality onto pretty things and they project onto me. Is this floor-length, affogato-colored shearling coat my vibe, or do I just need therapy? I’ve noticed that when I’m particularly understimulated – stuck at home too long, not having written anything – I start fiddling around, which fatefully leads to buying everything under the sun. Shopping becomes a way to fill time (and the gaps in my identity, the loneliness in my chest, etc.), and I have to check myself before it gets out of hand.
And so, in classic Gen Z fashion of having sufficiently critiqued a system only to immediately participate in it, I regret to inform you that I’m adding my list to the ever-growing dogpile. My spending this year has hit an all-time high. I’ve made whimsical purchases that are only natural when you’re on the brink of a Saturn Return and trying to sidestep the 27 Club. I am no Oprah, nor am I one of those intimidating beauty/fashion/lifestyle people who do this for a living, but this is me, gravitating closer to my tried-and-trues and taking stock of the things that have stuck around.
Clothing
Jackets: Jackets are my favorite thing to buy. You can wear the most drab, laundry-avoidant outfit underneath and a nice jacket will lie on your behalf. I like to own things that imply I’ve stepped foot outside my apartment. Favorites include a Ramy Brook denim jacket picked up on a trip to L.A., a faux fur coat from The RealReal, acquired during fur’s 2025 comeback, and a jacket I bought in Hangzhou, the silk capital of China (It feels important that people know it came from the source). None of these jackets are for warmth. They exist purely for signaling.
Vince Fluid Satin Bias Pants: I have to shout these out because I’ve spent about half the year in them. They’re appropriate for any function – the office, a night out, a movie theater where I plan to fully recline, you name it. The issue with most pants in this material is that they wrinkle instantly, but the Vince ones never do. I got the Espresso pair as a birthday present, bought them again in Black, and am actively resisting the urge to own them in every color.
Roller Rabbit PJs: Going to bed is way more fun in these – I feel like a five-year-old. They are covered in mischievous monkeys that probably judge my midnight snack choices.
Madhappy Hoodie: Say what you will about the price, but this hoodie fits. It’s not frumpy, not weirdly cropped, doesn’t have tight armpits, the hood doesn’t look like a tent, etc. I wear it to the airport. I throw it on for errands. I live in it on long days on set.
Nike Shox: These babies lift my flat feet off the floor and have enough springy cushioning to make slogging through NYC sidewalk grime manageable. Plus, they’re hot.
Beauty and Accessories
To Summer: I discovered this perfume brand in Shanghai, and everything smells phenomenal. So fresh and earthy, like they bottled spa days and forest hikes together. The packaging is an art form in and of itself. My favorite scents are Cedarwood, Triple Tea, and Osmanthus. If they aren’t massive worldwide soon, I will personally petition.
Officine Universelle Buly: I waited in an obscene line in Paris for their flagship store. Their engraved combs make the ideal gift – I got one for my best friend, and it did not disappoint. They have hand cream caps shaped like faucets, so every time you moisturize, you’re giving your hands a little drink. Genius.
Maison Magdalena Brisa Scarf: I got this scarf after seeing an interior designer raving about it (and if you can make a kitchen look chic, you’ve earned my trust with textiles). It’s crafted from superfine wool, and you can wear it as a top, tie it around your waist, or invent a new clothing category.
Brooklyn Charm: This place went viral on social media, and I gave into the hype. My friend Jordyn and I spent two hours scavenging for charms that embody us, elite adult arts-and-crafts. I loved peeking into her right brain, trying to decode why she picked each charm, and note her love for tiny donuts and houseplants. It was cute, it bonded us, and yes, I may have silently judged a charm or two.
Laneige Lip Glowy Balm: The gold standard. End of story. They had a lot of flavors (matcha bubble tea, mango, peach iced tea) come out this year. It’s basically a snack you can wear.
Fancy face towels: These velour ones with tassels make slapping on serums feel stylish. I get compliments every time someone steps into my bathroom. Zara Home has a solid line up if you are looking for other chic options.
Furniture
CB2 Corroy Sofa: I’m in my white couch era. TikTok says it’s what you do in your 20s when you don’t have kids or pets, because this is the only time you can justify a high-maintenance couch before life makes it impractical. The CB2 Corroy is perfect for naps, like being swaddled in a baby crib. I scored it on Facebook Marketplace in mint condition for a fraction of the price, from a mom of messy teens who was trying to offload it (LOVE TO KIRA!!! The unsung hero of my living room).
Coromandel screen: I bought a coromandel screen intending for it to be a room divider, but it’s now my headboard. Each panel is hand-painted. I’ll quite possibly have it forever. It’s covered in cranes, representing longevity, peace, hope, and fortune, which seems like divine energy to have hovering over me. It’s so tall that my head never slips off. The Chinese furniture shop called me three times to confirm I actually wanted it and to answer questions I didn’t even know I had, and that, my friends, is how you conduct business.
