Opinion | The Cult of Overconsumption: When Having Becomes Needing

Walk through any social media feed and you’ll see a strange kind of abundance,endless haul videos, unboxing clips, and shots of closets bursting with clothes still bearing their tags. Buying has become an activity in itself, a form of entertainment and identity. What once was a necessity has turned into a compulsive display. The rise of fast fashion, influencer culture, and global accessibility through social media has helped normalise behaviour that is, at its core, deeply problematic and unsustainable.

Owning more than we need isn’t new, but the scale and speed at which we now consume is unprecedented. Doing clothing hauls every week or purchasing luxury goods with the ease of buying groceries isn’t normal, though it increasingly seems to be. When every other post shows someone with drawers of makeup or tumblers in every shade imaginable, it begins to shape our sense of what is standard. Even if some people can afford that lifestyle, turning it into a collective expectation is damaging; for individuals, for society, and for the planet.

A major driver of this pattern is the quick burst of pleasure we get from buying something new. That fleeting dopamine hit has made consumption a coping mechanism. We convince ourselves that a new bag or gadget will bring happiness or productivity. Soon enough, the novelty fades, and we look for the next fix. From phone sanitisers that resemble toasters to Labubus to matching purses for our water bottles, the sheer absurdity of what is being sold and bought reflects how detached we’ve become from actual needs.

This constant chase also comes at a cost few talk about. Many fall into unnecessary financial distress trying to keep up with what’s trending. Easy access to credit cards and “buy now, pay later” schemes only make it easier to overspend. Behind every viral “must-have,” there are hidden price tags, ones measured not just in money, but in anxiety and guilt.

Then there’s the cost to the planet. Every pair of shoes, shirt, lipstick, or plastic tumbler we buy has a footprint. Factories producing them often rely on cheap labour and harmful materials. Once discarded, these items don’t simply vanish, they pile up in landfills or get shipped off to so called “garbage markets” in the global South, where mountains of discarded goods from wealthier countries suffocate local ecosystems. Everything you’ve ever owned still exists somewhere. Nothing truly disappears, it just moves out of sight.

Social media fuels this cycle by constantly showing us curated perfection. Seeing such consumption every day makes it feel normal, even aspirational. But these images are both unrealistic and unsustainable. The question we rarely ask is, is that trendy outfit worth more than the waste and exploitation it caused? The answer should be obvious, yet we often avoid confronting it because the system thrives on our silence and participation.

Microtrends, the fashion waves that last barely a season make things worse. The lifecycle of a trend is predictable; a few “cool” people wear something, it becomes desirable, fast fashion brands rush to mass produce it, suddenly it’s everywhere and soon after, it’s “cringe.” The item then floods thrift stores before vanishing again, only to resurface years later in a new form. This cycle isn’t harmless, it drives overproduction, waste, and a culture that equates relevance with constant renewal.

Overconsumption doesn’t stop at clothes or gadgets. We consume everything the same way, content, food, experiences. There’s barely a moment of stillness. We scroll while cooking, walking, even in the toilet. The idea of simply being present has become foreign. We live in a state of perpetual input, and the line between what we need and what we’re told we need keeps blurring.

Psychologists describe a phenomenon called “conspicuous consumption,” where people buy things to signal status rather than for utility. Research shows that feelings of uncertainty about our morals, self-worth, or place in society can make us more likely to engage in this kind of display. In other words, when we’re unsure of ourselves, we turn to things to fill the gap. The irony is that the more we try to prove our worth through possessions, the emptier we often feel.

To push back against this culture, we need to stop romanticising overconsumption. It shouldn’t be seen as aspirational or glamorous. Owning less doesn’t mean lacking, it can mean freedom; from clutter, debt, and constant comparison. It also means aligning our actions with values like care, moderation, and responsibility.

There’s a simple test before every purchase: ask yourself whether you truly need it, or whether you just want it because it’s on sale, trending, or promises a momentary thrill. If the answer doesn’t hold up a day later, it probably isn’t worth it. Small acts of awareness can add up to larger cultural shifts.

The truth is, everything we want already exists. The world is overflowing with stuff, clothes, gadgets, decor, trinkets. Instead of producing more, perhaps we should start valuing what’s already here. The planet can’t sustain infinite growth, and neither can our minds. Consumption is not inherently bad, but mindless consumption is. It clogs our closets, drains our wallets, and numbs our sense of what really matters.

In the end, the problem isn’t that we have too little it’s that we’ve forgotten how to recognize enough.

(Masters student at Jamia Millia Islamia) kaswafirdous@gmail.com