My purchase history during a pandemic.
I meditated on whether to post the ‘fun’ or the ‘serious’ coronavirus blog first. Evidently I chose the fun kind because I love a good build-you-up-then-tear-you-down chronology, or turn of events. I also enjoy the song of the same title by Smokey Robinson.
I’m just going to come right out and say it: I’m not very good with money.
I work for a personal finance app that automatically saves money for you, this is true, but when it comes to my own responsible decision making re:purchases, it’s a hard no.
It wasn’t always this way; I was a savvy saver in my youth and late teens, but somehow, somewhere, I was corrupted.
It seems in recent years I have fallen into the spending behaviour not dissimilar to a footballer’s wife, detailed by reformer pilates, exuberantly green smoothies, and PE Nation leggings.
I unashamedly, and quite literally, buy into the pseudo science that is 21st century holistic living culture, and while it’s bloody expensive, I would sooner pierce my own rectum than sacrifice my $15 acai bowl.
So, when we were extradited to our homes, and I became socially distanced from the gym, the train and the bar, my first thought was: ‘now I can finally afford to buy all the exotic superfood powders I want.’
In the same week I spent $85 at Whole Foods (without actually buying 70% of items I had on my groceries list), I was titled a Money Expert in Glamour magazine for offering advice on how to make your money stretch during COVID-19. The irony is that this article was published on April Fools day.
This expensive haul wasn’t motivated by a pay rise from the surge in demand to write ‘unprecedented, uncertain and turbulent times’ content – it’s because I have a contorted attitude towards how much I should be spending on medicinal mushrooms.
My relationship with Whole Foods is platonic. Scratch that, my relationship with any health food store is platonic. Actually look, it could be anywhere that sells food – platonic.
Don’t ask me to pick between going to the Grammys and going to Planet Organic, because I will sacrifice my chance to meet Timothee Chamelet for GF VG banana bread. I genuinely love food shopping.
However, to the dismay (and disgust) of my bank balance, my common sense dissolves at the touch of a food basket. I’m sure there is some psychoanalytic explanation to rationalise my impulse to dedicate an embarrassing amount of my pay on adaptogens latte mix, but I don’t have it.
Now, my guilty pleasure doesn’t foster as much guilt, for I have the money to spare, and the immune boosting properties as justification.
While the spending doesn’t just go to pretentious health foods, I thought I would deliberate on the amusement that comes from reading my transaction history since lockdown.
So please, perch up with some organically sourced fibre-crackers and a tub of CBD oil hummus, and enjoy.
Sheridan’s bank statement highlight reel circa isolation:
The 15 ingredients that constitute my morning smoothie (note to dedicate an entire blog to the intricacies of my breakfast choices). Teaser: ashwagandha.
A star encrusted incense holder. My room now smells like a 4 star Indonesian day spa.
A bookshelf NOT from Ikea – the first bit of furniture I have ever bought.
A Himalayan rock salt lamp bought to tentatively eradicate any COVID-19 particles from my room and neutralize the overall energy.
Alcoholic kombucha. Heal the microbiome, destroy the liver is what I’ll have engraved on my tombstone.
Some black cycling shorts to wear while not actually cycling, but to the shops, around the house, maybe when I actually do some squats out the back. Primary reason behind the purchases was to look life off-duty Kendall Jenner snapped by the paparazzi at Starbucks.
A selection of exotic asian cooking oils/sauces to make a small jar of dipping sauce to go with homemade rice paper rolls (which just ended up looking like condoms filled with tofu and carrot). I collectively spent around $19 on these oriental liquids for five-fucking-milileters.
Varying facial serums, vital for the ‘iso-glow up’. Mostly The Ordinary because they’re cheap and Instagram love them.
A crystal jade face roller (google it) with vague benefits like: promotes lymphatic drainage, reduces fine lines and wrinkles.
Amazon prime membership to keep up with my rampant orders.
Home gym equipment to support the aforementioned iso-glow up.
Ingredients to make espresso martinis. Can confirm I will not be pursuing hospitality.
A bullet vibrator. I probably won’t elaborate here.
Books of diverse genres: a book of personal essays on love; a book of poetry; a guide to the universe. Goal is to emerge from isolation both woke and educated.
Three bottles of tequila, a bottle of vodka, four bottles of red wine, several ciders, I vaguely remember buying prosecco, and there was definitely gin, too. The juxtaposition between my untoward affliction for roasted kale and my ability to drink a bottle of tequila, two bottles of red and stay up to 6am on weekends deserves its own blog. Possibly, a chapter in my memoir. Camu Camu powder only goes so far when you haven’t seen your friends in four weeks.