You don't hear the 1980s meme "Whoever dies with the most toys wins" much anymore, but the acquisition mindset is as strong as ever. Just look at how many packages show up on doorsteps each week. So it's worth asking an uncomfortable question: why do we want all this stuff in the first place?
We tell ourselves we buy things because we need them.
Sometimes that's true. But often "need" quietly slides into
"want," then "I deserve this," then "I won't be
satisfied until I have it."
There's a psychological arc here. Desiring something is
pleasurable even before we own it — we imagine how the new car will feel, how
much easier life will be with that appliance. The object becomes a small
promise about the future. Then we acquire it, feel a brief surge of
satisfaction, and eventually it just becomes part of the background. What was
new becomes normal.
This is why chasing possessions can feel like running on a treadmill.
Research on materialism consistently links placing high value on possessions
with lower well-being — though the picture is nuanced; motives,
circumstances, and having enough resources all matter. Still, making
acquisition a central measure of a successful life isn't a reliable path to
happiness.
A Sampling Period for Stuff
David Epstein's Range argues against specializing too
early. He describes a "sampling period" where people try different
things before committing to one path. What if we applied that to possessions?
Instead of deciding we need to own something, we could
experiment with the activity first. Rent or borrow the bike before buying an
expensive one. Cook with what you have before filling the kitchen with gadgets.
Ask whether you actually live the lifestyle you're buying for. Explore before
you acquire.
That runs against consumer culture, which pushes us to buy
first and discover later. Epstein also borrows a distinction from psychologist
Robin Hogarth: "kind" learning environments have stable patterns and
fast, accurate feedback; "wicked" ones don't. Our relationship with
possessions is a wicked environment — we're bad at predicting what will make us
happy, how long we'll enjoy something, or whether it'll solve the problem we
thought it would. Our preferences, bodies, and lives keep changing, yet we
treat purchases like permanent solutions to temporary problems.
The Weight of Keeping
Keeping isn't just the opposite of discarding — it often requires
justification. I might need it someday. It was expensive. It reminds me of
someone. Sometimes these are good reasons. Sometimes they're just stories
that make letting go feel harder than acquiring. There are circumstances, however, when keeping is
primarily due to lack of attention to and blissful ignorance of the price we
pay for keeping our possessions
The physical cost is obvious: stuff takes space, time, and
maintenance. The mental cost is subtler — every possession is a small
unfinished decision (use it? fix it? sell it? feel guilty about it?). One
object is nothing; thousands create an environment of unfinished business.
There's an interpersonal cost too. Possessions live in
shared spaces, and one person's keepsake is another's clutter. Arguments about
"stuff" are often really about control, identity, money, or whose
priorities get to dominate the household. Constant acquiring consumes shared
space and shared patience, not just money.
Experiences vs. Things — With a Caveat
Research comparing material and experiential purchases
generally finds people get more well-being from experiences, partly because
experiences create social connection and become part of our life story. But the
advantage depends on circumstances — for people with fewer resources, a
possession that solves a real problem can be just as satisfying as an
experience.
None of this is an argument for anti-materialism. A good
chair, a reliable car, a well-equipped kitchen — these genuinely improve life.
The question isn't whether possessions are good or bad, but whether they're
serving our lives or whether our lives have become organized around acquiring,
maintaining, and protecting them.
Letting Go
Discarding is hard because it forces us to admit our past
selves made choices our present selves no longer endorse — the shirt for a life
never lived, the exercise equipment for a resolution that faded, the
"someday" books. Letting go means saying, "I thought this would
matter to me. It didn't. That's okay."
This connects back to Epstein: his case for range isn't
"try everything forever" — it's sample, learn, find what fits, and be
willing to change course. Our possessions deserve the same treatment. We can
acquire without assuming permanent obligation, keep what still serves us, and
discard the rest without treating it as failure.
Keeping Score Differently
The goal isn't owning as little as possible — that's just
obsession in a different direction. The goal is owning consciously, so
our homes reflect our lives rather than the accumulated evidence of every
impulse we've had.
As the old line goes — sometimes attributed to Marcus Aurelius or Seneca — "everything you own owns you." Maybe the real lesson isn't "he who dies with the most toys wins." It's closer to this: he who knows what is enough has already won.
Epstein, David. Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a
Specialized World. Riverhead Books, 2019.
Pandelaere, Mario. "Materialism and Well-Being: The
Role of Consumption." Current Opinion in Psychology, 2016.
Van Boven, Leaf. "Experientialism, Materialism, and the
Pursuit of Happiness." Review of General Psychology, 2005.
Guevarra, Darwin A., and Ryan T. Howell. "To Have in
Order to Do: Exploring the Effects of Consuming Experiential Products on
Well-Being." Journal of Consumer Psychology, 2015.
Lee, Jacob C., Deborah L. Hall, and Wendy Wood . "Experiential or Material Purchases? Social Class Determines Purchase Happiness." Psychological Science, 2018.
Epstein, David. "Kind and Wicked Learning Environments." Range Widely, May 16, 2024.
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