525,600 minutes: Thoughts on Confessions of a Shopaholic
“Nothing defines me…”
-John Goodman as Graham Bloomwood
Often times, it is the shallowest of things that lead to the most potent epiphanies. Such was the case with watching the Isla Fisher-starrer, “Confessions of a Shopaholic”.
To be sure, it maybe thrown into the Chick Flick box without batting a mascara laden eyelash. It is predictable to the point of indulgence and shamelessly plays on the everywoman’s fantasy of the serendipitous romance with a knight-and-shining armor with a British accent to boot. Yet for all its shortcomings, it did stimulate some introspection, leading to questions of self-definition, which in itself is a success.
Although Rebecca Bloomwood’s (Fisher) addiction is specific to designer clothing, her predicament is universal. For what is the human condition but a relentless pursuit of More? Be it power, success, beauty, pleasure, or fame, we can (and should) all confess to our own “holic”-isms. In fact, many a philosopher (or even prophet) has tried to address this basic human dilemma. Buddhism tells us to seek the eradication of desire, nirvana, by denying ourselves of worldly pleasures. Hinduism on the other hand talks of seeking, alongside righteousness, wealth and even sensual pleasure to reach moksa, a liberation from worldly chains.
I for one, have always wondered about the root of such desires in the first place. I’ve come to think that it has a lot to do with our inherent need for self-definition, or perhaps as Maslow psychology would put it, self-actualization. We find ways to create a sense of self, and often times look to external, physical things for such a validation. For Rebecca and for some women (and men) I know, it comes in the form of beautiful things. For myself, I think it has mostly been titles of achievement and the image of success. Yet even as some us actually do acquire such labels, images and objects, I cannot help but feel a pervading sense of poverty in such a state of affairs. A poverty that speaks not of a lack of material wealth but a lack of purpose, the lack the Self, which leads most people to fill the void with the aforementioned frivolities. This then leads one to ask: how then should one measure oneself?
Just like the ending of “Confessions”, the answer, by this time, should be obvious. And although painfully predictable, its truth is not diminished in the least.
“…except you and your mother.”
-John Goodman as Graham Bloomwood
