#5 Decision Fatigue

'Tis the season to shop til you droop 🛍️

Dec 08, 2024

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In the words of the great Noddy Holder, “it’s Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiistmaaaaaaaaaaaaaas!!!!” which is to say, it’s December. Or perhaps November. October at a push; September if you’re deeply unfortunate. We are living in a time of exponential capitalist creep. The months are no longer differentiated by a crisp chill in the air, the deepening gradients of leaves, birds flying south. Now we have different temporal waymarkers, all of which are celebrated with the same religious fervour as their spiritual predecessors: mid-season sales, Black Friday, Cyber Monday, general chaotic panic-buying and, eventually, the great Boxing Day pilgrimage to the charity shop. Amen. In homage to this modern, but no-less noble, tradition, I bring you cautionary consumer tales that marketing teams would label as “decision fatigue”.

The Renée

Heed my warning: never buy a sofa from the internet. As soon as my arse cheeks hit the cushions, I knew I’d made a mistake. Despite its name, the Alix three-seater was hardly big enough for me to recline on, let alone Chris, who is a full head-and-shoulders taller. Plus, the cost-cutting cushions did not reach the full depth of the design, meaning we’d regularly slip into the abyss between the back and bum pillows. I tried replacing the lacklustre foam for something more (literally) fitting, but it constituted little more than polishing a turd. It was a cheap couch, and it showed.

Shortly after Alix moved in, I stumbled upon Renée while biding my time in an aspirational furniture shop – a classic meet-cute. Renée was everything I had wanted Alix to be: suave, sophisticated, generously proportioned, well-made… and clad in the exact same burnt orange corduroy that that bastard had lured me in with in the first place. I tried to put the encounter out of my mind, but every so often, when I was sitting uncomfortably at home, I’d check Renée’s listing online and fawn over it. But it was too late: I’d made my sofabed, now I had to lie in it. Or did I?

Whether it’s a job, a relationship, a haircut or a sofa, if it’s not working, it’s time to move on. After two years of putting up with Alix, I discovered that the last remaining Renées were back on the market after a long period of absence. Fuck it. I added to basket, safe in the knowledge that this model had past the Arse Test™️ with flying colours.

I ridded myself of the sub-par sofa in no time, having listed it online for a fraction of its RRP, but still far more than it was actually worth. To welcome my new cosmopolitan couch in style, I fully cosplayed as a ritzy bitch by splashing out on a monte charge – a kind of rickety external escalator that delivers bulky items directly through the window. I watched from my living room as the enormous, untethered box jittered its way up three floors, looming over the unsuspecting (read: uncaring) Parisian pedestrians below.

When we ripped the packaging open, revealing a glimpse of that much sought-after rusty cord cover, Chris burst out laughing. “You’ve bought the same sofa.” But the proof was in the padding. It was love at first flollop.

It has been two months since the upgrade, and I’ve barely given Alix a second thought. Though the imperceptible change has bemused many a visitor in the meantime, there’s no denying what a difference a Renée makes – including when I was laid low with a cold recently and spent several nights swaddled in a blanket binging Downton Abbey. I wasn’t even that ill, if anything, it was just an excuse to spend more time snuggled up on the sofa, now that I could.

🛋️🛋️🛋️🛋️🛋️🛋️🛋️🛋️🛋️

Rating: 91 sofas out of 10

Grinning Frog by Aniek Bartels

As soon as I glimpsed that big, goofy grin through the shop window, I knew I had to have it. A delightfully dumb work of art that brings a similarly idiotic smile to my face when I look at it.

🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸
Rating: 10 frogs out of 10

Bronto Mug (set of 2)

The algorithm backed me into a corner with this one. Across every platform, my feeds were dominated by arty images of chunky, cheerful crockery bathed in warm morning sunshine with the caption “sale starts soon”. It was a war of attrition. I’d already committed to the purchase before I discovered that the discount amounted to a measly 15% off – which barely covered the delivery fee – and that the mugs could only be bought as a set of two in the same colour. In for a penny, in for 67,15€ (don’t judge me). They took a record-breaking (but thankfully not mug-breaking) three weeks to arrive, and when they did, they came in an enormous box that belied their surprisingly diminutive scale.

☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️

Rating: 7 mugs out of 10

Rockrider Sunglasses Category 1 – Yellow

These wrap-around cycling glasses make me feel as cunty as I look when I wear them. They illuminate even the bleakest of afternoons with cheerful sunshine tones. Plus, they stop my eyes from weeping in the wind. An ironic item that turned out to be practical, to boot.

🕶️ 🕶️ 🕶️ 🕶️ 🕶️ 🕶️ 🕶️ 🕶️ 🕶️ 🕶️

Rating: 10 shades out of 10

Submission

The Proline HandyB4 by Will Kitson

How does anyone buy a vacuum cleaner? If you’ve dabbled in even the most amateur of research, you’ll know that the variety on offer is dizzying for prospective vendees. One can pay as little as 30 euros and as much as 800 (see the Dyson V15 Detect Cordless, also referred to in sub-Reddit feeds as the Submarine). We’re talking bag and bagless. HEPA, standard and washable filters. Handheld, stick, canister, upright. Colour? Forget about it. Black, light black, grey or even a snazzy mix of electric purple and copper orange (also see the Dyson V15 Detect Cordless). This really is the age of milk and honey for VC aficionados.

I approached the problem of overwhelming consumer choice in the same way I do most challenges in my life: with an Excel spreadsheet. I won’t list every single column and row labelling, I’ll simply say that I exceeded Excel’s A-Z horizontal format, moving into AA, BB, etc, territory. Notable highlights included ranking of ergonomic grip (out of five) and maximum noise level (in decibels). I was especially proud of a colour-based coda I created that highlighted the suction capabilities by micro irritant (including crumbs, dust, finer dust, dander and backing).

Creating the spreadsheet was the straightforward part. Next, I had to fill it. If you’re thinking you can simply skim-read the NY Times’ and Wired’s annual round-ups of best household electronics, think again. Online hoover critics are well-known for being a particularly catty and sometimes venal crowd. I learned that kickbacks, including VIP tickets to the Vacuum Cleaner Collectors Club (VCCC) annual convention in St Louis, fly around as liberally as terms such as “underwhelming”, “poor UX” and “glorified broom”. No, if I was going to get the best cleaner for me, I had to go deeper.

I scoured Amazon reviews to populate and inform my Excel sheet. Personal favourites included Tim G from Essex who described the Mielqe S4281 as “a real boy’s toy, this is the kind of hoover that the Spartans would have taken into the Battle of Thermopylae” and Cece from Jersey who cast doubt on the otherwise favourable feedback enjoyed by the Shark MV301 by succinctly writing, “Not soup friendly. Do better”.

So what did I end up choosing? Which lucky sucker did the wheel of fortune land on? Allow me to surprise you. Because of the amount of research I did, I was able to see through the shiny trinkets and marketing facades of the pricier designs and instead opted for the Proline HandyB4: a no-frills model, but one that boasted bagless technology, a modest 20 minutes of battery life and no fewer than three specialised attachments. And if, like my friend, you think that I “bottled it” by not buying a more expensive model, having realised that I didn’t have very much money and that I rarely vacuum to begin with, then think again. I did end up employing the HandyB4 two nights after having made my purchase: I tackled a puddle of stodgy vomit left by an over-indulgent house guest, which disagreed with the 34.99 euro hoover and subsequently rendered it useless against even the most amenable pockets of dust. I’m sure, however, that that would have happened regardless of my final choice, and I remain justified in my decision-making process.

📊📊📊📊📊📊📊📊📊

Spreadsheet rating: 9 cells out of 10

🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️

Vacuum rating: 8 handies out of 10

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