Rampant consumerism: Trying to make sense of our pervasive culture of materialism

My turn to pay for the desk I was buying finally arrived after finding my way through the maze of furniture at Ikea. This was my first time shopping since returning from my month studying in Cuba and when I saw the total price of my purchases arrive at over $200, I was suddenly flooded with guilt.

There was something excessive and irresponsible about the way I was consuming — actions I had vowed to avoid upon my return home.

Yet, there I was, spending $200 on one desk. Looking at the couples around me nonchalantly conversing while inching their overflowing carts toward the cashier, it was clear that I wasn't the only one thoughtlessly spending.

What has struck me most about adjusting back to life in Seattle is this rampant and pervasive consumer culture.

As consumers, we use and buy things every day with the money we work hard to earn without acknowledging how we have the privilege to access these products.

Rather than acting as responsible global citizens, we see ourselves only as individual consumers, allowing for irresponsible and excessive consumption.

It is common knowledge that the United States is one of the world's richest countries — and its most voracious consumer.

As of 2001, the United States had the highest household final consumption expenditure out of the roughly 152 countries in this report, according to the 2003 World Development Indicators report.

How does this fact manifest itself in our daily lives? It finds its reality in the endless line of cars that flood I-5 every morning. For a college student like me, these statistics materialize in the cellphone that follows me everywhere I go.

Compare this experience with other economic realities and our actions suddenly adopt more than just a benign meaning.

In Cuba, products were not everywhere waiting to be consumed; people simply did not have the money and, with the embargo, they had very limited access to products.

Walking down the streets of Havana, I constantly saw men hunched over the hoods of their 1950s cars, fixing faulty parts since buying new ones wasn't an option.

Washed plastic bags hung to dry from clotheslines outside people's windows for reuse — and not simply as one-time garbage-can liners.

I met a man celebrating his wife's birthday with a day at the park. He didn't have the money to do much else.

With these differences in consumption in mind, it's difficult to view our daily acts of excessive buying as anything but self-absorbed and offensive. Our thoughtless consumption somehow becomes unethical when compared with experiences of scarcity.

Even when we want to change our actions, our culture of buying again consumes us. We "need" things.

Returning from Cuba, I found myself slowly falling back into my usual consumption patterns. I began buying my daily latte again. I "needed" coffee to survive my sleep-deprived days of studying. Similarly, I "needed" a new desk for my first apartment; my 10-year-old desk at home was too small.

Yet, these are skewed notions shaped by our environment. Driving home from Sea-Tac Airport, I was bombarded by neon lights signaling superstores and high-tech billboards selling various products.

Leaving the airport for my hotel in Cuba, I remember seeing none of these things, only run-down buildings with faded paint, billboards with government propaganda, and crowds of people strolling the streets hoping for a ride from a passing car.

Places like Ikea and McDonald's simply were not available to instill a notion of "needing" an extra value meal or a $200 desk . Even if they were available, who, except us tourists, could afford to purchase them?

I think we who participate in this culture of consumption need to ask ourselves some simple questions. Do we truly need much of what we consume every day? At what cost? Who benefits from and who is hurt by our consumption?

I'm not advocating for us to stop spending or to even radically change our modes of consumption. I simply hope that we begin critically questioning our own consumption and view these actions in a global context.

Only then will we begin acting as responsible global citizens, rather than as isolated and individual consumers.

Anne Kim is a UW junior. E-mail: NEXT@seattletimes.com