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It was at a gas station in the non-pristine parts of town where I went on a rage-buying spree.
The buildings were rough around the edges, encircled by dirt, cement cracks, and cigarette butts. There were no shrubs or flowers because nothing flourished there, not even weeds. The structures weren’t just tired, they were abandoned by warmth, light, or any shade of possibility — as if their best days were long past.
Only, they weren’t.
The houses and buildings were all designed to look sad and dilapidated, and had never known a base coat of hope or any touch-ups of progress. The gas station was no exception. It smelled of fryer grease, urinal cakes, and working-class elbow grit.
I was grabbing a trucker-size coffee when I overheard a young woman speaking on her phone in loud, disquieted tones.
Maybe overheard isn’t quite the mot juste (yes, I know that’s an insufferable word choice) as the timbre in her voice seemed to address everyone within a 50-meter radius.
“Ew,” she announced. “Everything is gross here. Everyone is so gross. I’m at the ghetto gas station. You want me to buy donuts from here? Ick”
The cashier’s eyebrows twitched. Another customer exchanged pained gazes with me. A few others had certainly heard every word, but seemed wholly unperturbed. I was not about to let that blanket insult go unchecked.
I did what any normal, spite-fueled person would do: I rushed to the bakery case and grabbed all the donuts. Every. Last. One. I shoved all of them into a cardboard pastry box and sweetly beamed.
The young woman stared at me wide-eyed, her mouth half-open, as I strode past her in a triumphant strut.
I didn’t want those donuts.
I didn’t want to eat them all.
And they were not a planned budget line item.
But in that unsavory moment of loud-mouthed snobbery, I needed them all. And, I rationalized, I was saving her from an “icky” culinary experience. I brought the box to work and invited my coworkers to come sample the sweet taste of comeuppance — vigilante justice, glazed in pink icing and sprinkles.
Was it rational? Absolutely not. Was it value-aligned? 100%.
It was petty. Rash. Impulsive. And last minute.
And honestly, it’s a better framework for Memorial Day spending than most of what you’ll read or hear this weekend.
Because sometimes you don’t need to shop solely off of carefully curated lists, and sometimes your best-value purchases, when measured by banknotes, are sheer frivolity.
The Problem With Perfect Spending
The way people talk about Memorial Day sales — and Black Friday and other holiday sales — you’d think your self-worth hinged on buying the right blender at the best price.
There’s no shortage of shopping guides to help you “maximize value” or “only buy when it’s worth it,” but most of them treat spending like it’s a math equation. Just plug in the variables — expert recommendations, spousal battle fatigue over counter space – and you’re ready to spend with impunity.
Yet maybe your plush towels wear thin well before Amazon Prime Day, or your kids’ growing limbs don’t align with the national shopping calendar. And even when you do size up, they will inevitably spend half a week in their sneakers before an overnight growth spurt — a highly specialized medical condition known as Your Budget Is Screwed.
We spend because we need things. We spend because we want things. And sometimes, our internal compass lights up and says, “Yes, I’ll take the whole damn case of donuts.”
With a career defined by rigor and sacrifice — and sure, helping others too — we feel compelled to joyless aestheticism.
The real value of a thing isn’t always visible in sales guides and checkout lanes. A half-priced Dutch oven might last 40 years, or live untouched in a cabinet. Those $8 flip-flops might be your favorite summer footwear. Contextual momentum matters more than discount percentages.
Our spending habits, especially during events like Memorial Day sales, are often less about rational decision-making and more about psychological impulses. Even highly educated individuals, such as scientists and surgeons, are not immune to these cognitive biases.
When 40% Off Feels Like Fate: Why Smart People Spend Badly
Daniel Kahneman, a Nobel laureate in economics, introduced the concept of two systems of thought:
- System 1: Fast, intuitive, and emotional.
- System 2: Slow, deliberate, and logical.
When confronted with a “limited-time offer” or a “50% off” sign, System 1 often takes the lead, prompting impulsive purchases without thorough deliberation.
This can lead to acquiring items we don’t need, simply because they seem like a good deal at the moment.
System 1 buys the Peloton because it’s on sale. System 2 cancels it before the first ride.
In either scenario, the problem isn’t spending money: It’s feeling like every dollar must either justify your existence or sabotage your future.
The Influence of Anticipation
Anticipation is also a powerful driver, as highlighted by research from Harvard University on a phenomenon known as the “temporal value asymmetry.”
This refers to our tendency to value future events more than past ones, even when the events are identical. For instance, individuals might be willing to pay more for a vacation they will take next month than for one they took last month, despite both offering the same experience.
This bias can lead us to overvalue future purchases, convincing ourselves that buying now will lead to greater satisfaction later.
The Myth of Rational Consumerism
Additionally, traditional economic theories assume that consumers make decisions to maximize utility. However, Harvard researchers Alan Devlin and Michael Jacobs say this is a sheer myth.
Their work on behavioral economics reveals that our choices are frequently influenced by cognitive biases and heuristics.
For example, the “endowment effect” causes us to assign more value to items simply because we own them, leading to irrational attachment and reluctance to part with them, even if they no longer serve a purpose.
It’s the same reason a generation of parents bought their kids American Girl dolls — and then wouldn’t let them play with them. The dolls were “collectibles,” which meant they were destined to live upright and untouched on high shelves while their bonnets slowly gathered dust.
The child’s desire to love and ruin them clashed with the adult’s desire to preserve (yet never sell) their $110 investment — the endowment effect in petticoats.
Implications for Memorial Day Spending
Understanding these psychological factors can help us approach sales events with a more critical eye.
Before making a purchase, consider:
- Need vs. Want: Is this item something you genuinely need, or is it an impulsive desire? I genuinely needed to put that classist, tactless, vulgar woman in her place.
- Value Over Time: Will this purchase provide long-term satisfaction, or is it a fleeting pleasure? It’s a memory that keeps me chuckling a decade later, and one I’ll honestly carry with me to the grave.
- Emotional Triggers: Are you buying this item in response to an emotional trigger, such as stress or boredom? Emotional donut buy? Probably. But it was also a wholly value-based purchase.
- Shelf Life: Are you actually going to use this thing, or are you just planning to pose it in petticoats on a metal collector’s stand?
Recognizing these psychological tics helps us spend less like triggered algorithms and more like humans with working frontal lobes. Even if, yes, that creepy $300 porcelain doll with human eyelids is finally on sale.
Bargain Spending vs. Value Spending
There’s a difference between scoring a deal (see: porcelain doll sale) and scoring something that actually improves your life (see: literally anything else). It’s the difference between bargain spending and value spending: One adds to your hallway closet, the other possibly adds to your quality of living.
Bargain spending is reactive. You didn’t wake up needing an extra bathmat, but when you saw it was 70% off, your brain went straight into shopper calculus: What if I need this later? What if it’s not this cheap again?
Value spending, by contrast, is planned — or at least purpose-driven. That $55 sun hat you bought last-minute at a resort gift shop because your skin was frying and your mood was going downhill with it. It wasn’t a steal, but it saved the afternoon. That’s value.
Most Memorial Day shopping guides conflate the two. They parade deals like they’re inherently virtuous, as if buying the Dutch oven means you will suddenly become the kind of person who braises short ribs and has weekday linen napkins. Spoiler: you won’t. You’ll just own a big, heavy pot that you completely forget about, as you heat another Trader Joe’s Chicken Tikka Masala frozen dinner.
Bargain buys feel thrifty. Value buys feel lived in.
So before clicking “buy,” ask: Will this item earn its keep in your life, or just add to the clutter on your closet shelf and credit card statement?
The Case for Sometimes Saying Yes
But here’s the kicker: Not everything has to pass the logic test.
Sometimes, saying yes — on a whim, in a mood, out of boredom or joy or righteous indignation — is the right call.
Spite donuts? High value. Spite chair because your ex doubted you’d ever afford that Eames chair? Still worth considering.
We live in a culture where frugality is often performed like a badge of honor, especially among the financially literate and early-retirement diehards. But performative minimalism can be just as exhausting as performative wealth. Sometimes, buying the damn thing is the emotionally and economically sound choice, and some things can just be right for right now.
Your budget doesn’t need to be a moral document; it needs to support a life that feels like yours.
Let the Donuts Be a Reminder (Not a Guide)
I’m not suggesting you should start stockpiling deep-fried pastries every time someone offends your sense of decency. (Although if you do, call me; I’ll bring the coffee.)
But those donuts? They weren’t just sugar and spite. They were a reminder: Not all spending needs to be premeditated, morally vetted, or coupon-justified.
Some purchases are reactive. And that’s okay.
They don’t all need to be optimized through a spreadsheet or blessed by Wirecutter. Sometimes, you buy something that doesn’t “make sense” because it made you laugh, made you feel alive, or made someone else’s face twitch with discomfort in a way that high-fived your inner child.
Was the donut box a planned, frugal purchase? No.
Was it emotionally clarifying and, in retrospect, deeply satisfying? Absolutely.
That’s what makes it different from the eight-drawer organizers I bought during a Black Friday blitz, which are currently organizing exactly zero drawers. (They’re just sad plastic reminders that personal transformation is a lie.)
You don’t get extra credit for abstaining from sales. You don’t get docked points for spending $40 on a flower vase because it reminded you of your grandmother, but you do need to weigh its value carefully, as it will chip away at your FIRE goals. You can buy the occasional tchotchke and still achieve financial independence and retire early.
The Memorial Day sales around the corner aren’t a moral test. They’re not a trap, either — unless you let them be.
Over this next long holiday weekend, awash in “deals,” you’re allowed to buy things. You’re allowed to not buy things. But don’t conflate buying something with weakness, or skipping something as moral strength, because sometimes you just need to stand in a gas station, inhale the holy trinity of urinal cakes, burnt coffee, and expired scratch-offs, and lean into an unplanned purchase that makes you feel alive.
Featured image by: Kaboompics.com
