Opinion: The conversation around overconsumption needs to change

A pink Labubu plushie sitting at the base of philosopher Karl Marx’s grave. Text below reads “No ethical consumption under capitalism?” Art by Wes Mowry-Silverman.

American consumption has reached a new high (and for those concerned about human rights and the environment, a new low). Consumerist culture has been fundamental to the American identity for decades, and the internet has only heightened the desire for goods. The luxury that used to be only visible through movies, magazines and proximity to wealth is now available at the click of a button. Social media users are faced with a neverending barrage of clothing hauls, Stanley cup collections, and now, the infamous Labubus. 

For those lucky enough to be unaware, Labubus are collectible bag charms. They’re sold in blind boxes and some are incredibly rare, providing them with a gambling appeal and a cult fanbase. The past couple months, Labubus — and their counterfeit counterparts, Lafufus — have been everywhere. Clipped to bags, on the news, at Madonna’s birthday party, and even on Karl Marx's grave. But long after the Labubu craze has died down and the toys’ felt bodies have withered away, their plastic faces will join the ranks of millions of forgotten toys comprising 6% of global landfill plastics.

Almost as prevalent as Labubus are their detractors. One would think it was legally mandated for YouTubers to bug out their eyes, mouths agape, their captions boldly proclaiming “Labubu obsession has gone TOO FAR!” Ironically, the industry around low-effort criticisms of consumption seems to be nearly as profitable as the hyper-consumptive content itself. To a certain extent, it feels like the content serves to platform these exorbitant displays of consumerism just as much as it serves to critique it. It’s virtue signalling: it provides no recourse for the vice. 

This is one of the primary issues with the current state of overconsumption discourse, at least as it exists outside of academic spaces. It’s more focused on scolding those involved or gawking at the gaudiness of someone’s purchases rather than addressing why such behavior may be prevalent or how it could be mitigated. Many of the videos and articles on overconsumption conclude either, “It’s not wrong to want to shop or collect, just be mindful about your purchases,” or, “Resist temptation and just don’t shop.” Neither of these conclusions is enough. 

For influencers, there are algorithmic and financial incentives for such wasteful consumption. They are buying goods not just to have them but to profit from owning them. For everyday people, social pressure and the challenges of day to day life often encourage such shopping. This is “little treat” culture, the suggestion that a hard day can be improved by a tasty drink, new trinket or other minor purchase. President Trump’s tariffs and the looming fear of recession may have spiked the need for “little treats” due to what economists call the “lipstick index.” This theory posits that economic uncertainty makes relatively minor acts of consumption more frequent as a result of consumers craving some form of luxury when they cannot make larger investments. 

Lower-income consumers may be more likely to participate in this phenomenon, considering they have less financial means to make large purchases or long-term investments. While the accuracy of the lipstick index is still debated by many economists, the illusion that material wealth and goods are necessary for one’s happiness has been integral to capitalism from the beginning. This lie is especially important in relation to the working class, considering it motivates people to produce consistently and efficiently so that after they fulfill their basic needs, they must purchase goods that provide actual “happiness,” and maybe one day, be in a position of power themselves. 

The joy of commerce and the possibility of future privilege is a distraction from the reality that American capitalism fails to meet the majority of people’s basic needs. Many people's access to housing, healthcare, clean water and food are always in a state of precarity, even in one of the wealthiest countries in the world. Instead of being provided with stability or the resources necessary for a fulfilling life, people are given the “freedom” to buy little treats. The instant gratification from such purchases subdues people from resisting their own subjugation and encourages complicity in the subjugation of others. 

This power imbalance is a fundamental aspect of the capitalist system. Both land and people are only as valuable as their contributions to the acquisition of wealth for corporations. People aren’t valued for their personhood; the environment is not appreciated for its beauty or crucial role in sustaining life. Everything is seen through the lens of profit, so there will never be an equitable or environmentally-conscious world under capitalism. There’s no amount of buying from sustainable brands or chiding others for their purchases that will change that. 

To be clear, “there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism” isn’t a justification for thoughtless shopping. Choosing humanely-made and environmentally-friendly products or trying to purchase less altogether are still worthwhile pursuits. However, focusing purely on commerce just puts a bandaid on a gaping wound. 

So what now? There’s no simple solution. That’s part of what makes this conversation far more challenging than the typical overconsumption discourse. No one gets to pat themselves on the back or take the easy way out. This problem didn’t start with big eyed bag charms and it won’t end with them either. The process of deconstructing American capitalism will be complex and longlasting. It will take years of protests, boycotts and community organizing. It will take advocating for policies that protect working-class people, investing in restoring and protecting social services, holding CEOs and political figures accountable, and freeing ourselves from the individualistic prison of capitalism to prioritize the needs of society’s most vulnerable people. We must address this problem methodically and holistically, rather than falling victim to finger-pointing or punitive notions of justice. We can’t miss the forest for the trees. Or pretty soon we might not have either.