Retail Therapy Is My Love Language (But My Wallet Says We Need to Talk)
Let’s start with a confession:
When I say I’m going to “process my feelings,” what I really mean is… I’m going to J.Crew. Or Nordstrom. Or, if it’s been a particularly stressful, emotional Tuesday, I’m driving straight to Lululemon like it’s a licensed therapist with a 5-star Yelp rating. Funny thing is, I AM a licensed therapist. And yep, my favorite therapy is retail therapy.
Retail therapy can be my go-to coping mechanism.
Bad day? Lululemon Aligns.
Feeling overwhelmed? J.Crew blazer in every color.
Slightly inconvenienced? Nordstrom online order. It’s called self-care.
The High Is Real… Until It’s Not
Let’s not pretend it isn’t effective—for about 8 minutes.
Because nothing delivers serotonin quite like watching a Nordstrom box land on your porch like a beacon of hope wrapped in tissue paper and inflated expectations. Even better if it comes with a sample-sized luxury moisturizer I’ll never buy full-size but absolutely needed in that moment.
But the high fades. Fast. And eventually, the new blazer or mood-boosting leggings aren’t curing what I hoped they would. They’re just hanging in my closet next to the emotional baggage they failed to fix.
Emotional Spending, But Make It Stylish
Here’s how I knew my version of retail therapy had crossed into emotional spending:
I was buying joy with express shipping.
I wasn’t solving anything—I was accessorizing my stress.
I was confusing “I want this” with “I need to avoid my feelings.”
If you’re nodding along while looking at your fourth pair of black leggings (all slightly different, obviously), you’re not alone. Shopping feels productive—it’s a distraction that smells like mall air and seasonal candles. But it’s not actual self-care.
Lululemon and Target Can’t Fix Your Nervous System (I Checked)
The uncomfortable truth: no matter how soft the joggers or chic the trench coat, they won’t regulate my anxiety.
They might hug my hips, but they’re not holding my hand through a breakdown or bout of depression.
They might layer well, but they’re not helping me peel back emotional avoidance.
And listen, I say this as someone who once tried to solve a life crisis with a structured J.Crew blazer and some lip gloss. It didn’t work. Turns out, healing doesn’t come with a Nordstrom Rewards number.
What I’m Learning to Reach For Instead
These days, I’m trying to diversify my coping portfolio.
Yes, I still window shop like it’s cardio, but I’m also learning to:
Run it out instead of shop it out
Journal the meltdown instead of Amazon Prime it
Phone a friend for connection instead of scrolling the Anthropologie app
Budget (ugh) with the same enthusiasm I budget for skincare
Final Thoughts: Buy the Dress, But Don’t Expect It to Heal You
Do I still love retail therapy? Oh, absolutely. I am who I am. Am I going to stop? Don’t be ridiculous.
But now I try to pause and ask:
“Am I shopping to treat myself… or to avoid myself?”
Because while Banana Republic might give me confidence, it won’t give me clarity.
Lululemon may offer comfort, but not closure.
And Nordstrom? Let’s be honest—it’ll always have my heart… but it’s not going to help my anxiety.
So if you’re also a high-functioning, emotionally intelligent, slightly overstimulated adult who occasionally treats their burnout with boutique candles and a coupon code—same, bestie. Same.
So here’s to the small wins: one less impulse click, one more deep breath. One less sale item and one more try at a healthy coping tool like connections.
And maybe, just maybe… remember, the cart can wait. Skipping the cart in favor of actual peace.
But also… if it’s on sale and it has pockets?
Maybe just one more time.
Your favorite therapist (retail & all);
Kristi
