My online habit causes me great despair, but I just can’t kick it

For the past few weeks, I have been on an emotional roller coaster. Although I might look calm and collected on the outside, on the inside I’ve been in a state of agitation. It is not because of the state of the world, although that’s definitely something to be agitated about.

It’s because of a simple pair of shoes. Well, three pairs of shoes, to be precise.

A couple of months ago, I bought some slides online. I have drastically toned down my online shopping since I realised that material possessions will not complete me, but I still do it every few weeks because it’s fun and I’m weak of will.

Waiting for a parcel can be an emotional rollercoaster.Credit: iStock

Online shopping follows a very predictable timeline. I see an item I wish to buy and feel a jolt of desire. I engage in an internal debate: Do I need this item? Can I afford it? Can I justify the expenditure? I decide that yes, yes, I can. Probably. Definitely! I press “Add to cart” and experience a rush of adrenaline. I complete the transaction and immediately imagine the item here, in my hot little hands. How marvellous life will be. How happy I will feel!

I check my emails for the receipt, then move the receipt to my “Purchases” folder, where I never have to look at or acknowledge the amount ever again. The penultimate stage of my journey begins: the delicious, torturous waiting.

Normally, this stage is brief and I proceed rapidly to delivery. With most shopping platforms offering light-speed postage, I can press a button on Tuesday and be holding the package by Thursday. As someone with a very low tolerance for delayed gratification, this feels magical, every single time.

Occasionally, I have to wait a week, or even two, for my package to arrive. These weeks always feel interminable, even when the purchase is not at all urgent. I scan my phone for updates, refresh my Australia Post app daily, and check my mailbox, just in case. When the item finally – finally! – arrives, the pleasure is even more sweet.

Then, inevitably, a few hours or days later, I realise it’s just another item.

My three pairs of shoes, however, didn’t arrive at all. I had ordered them from a shoe company that – unbeknown to me at the time – was based in China. Now, as painful as it is to admit this, I had been Influenced. I had seen the slides on Instagram and was immediately hooked. They were “comfort” slides. They had arch support! They were cushioned and bouncy. They promised to change my life.

I’d intended to buy one pair, but they were offering an irresistible deal. The slides were half price – half! – and there was a Buy Two, Get One Free offer, meaning I could buy three glorious pairs for the price of one! I was practically earning money just by buying them.

I imagined how perfect the slides would look with literally everything in my wardrobe. I’d never need another pair of shoes again.

KERRI SACKVILLE

I received my confirmation email and began tracking my package. I imagined how perfect the slides would look with literally everything in my wardrobe. I’d never need another pair of shoes again. I’d be wearing comfort slides until the end of my days.

My order landed in Sydney within a week, and I watched excitedly on my app as it was logged in the warehouse. They’re almost here! Within a day, I would surely hear the ping to tell me my slides were being delivered.

But the app did not ping. The tracking did not update. Weird, I thought. It will definitely happen tomorrow.

It did not happen tomorrow, or the day after. Each time I checked my app – and I began checking it compulsively – the goods were still in the warehouse.

An entire week passed. A second week passed. My shoes didn’t budge. I emailed the store. There was no response. I emailed the warehouse. I heard nothing back. I tried calling the delivery company directly. The phone rang out. I was enraged.

Late one night, still slide-less, I Googled the logistics company’s name. “SCAM!” one reviewer wrote. “It took eight months to receive my package,” wrote another. “I’m convinced they’re just stealing packages,” wrote a third.

I realised, with despair, that I was never getting my shoes. And this was a problem, not just for my feet, but for my psyche. You see, an online order generates a yearning that can only be satiated when the goods arrive. Robbed of gratification, denied closure, I would remain in the yearning period forever.

I lodged complaints. I requested refunds. I thought about the slides every day. They became a mental panacea, a sartorial nirvana, the purchase that would finally and completely heal my soul.

This continued for two months. And then, one day, without update or notification, the slides appeared on my doorstep. I nearly wept with joy. It was literally unbelievable. By then, I had completely lost hope.

I slipped a pair onto my feet. Within hours, I had a huge blister. I may soon need another pair of shoes.

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