Of all the advice minimalism sprinkles into the world, I’ve always found one area particularly unsatisfying and one-dimensional: impulse purchases. Conventional tips include:
Delay the purchase. Stick to your budget. Shop with a plan.
Sure, these things might pamper ascetics or seasoned minimalists, but they never worked for me. Isn’t it the very nature of impulse purchases that we can’t wait? That we can’t rationally think about them?
It wasn’t until I explored a radically different approach that the curse of impulsive shopping sprees was finally lifted. The premise is simple yet counter-intuitive: what if we stopped trying to eliminate impulse purchases? And what if, instead, we redirected the impulse to needs, intentionality, and joy?
Here are three rules for curbing impulsive buying through redirection — based on some of the most reckless purchases I’ve ever made.
1. The Swedish Shopping Spree (or: how to turn impulse into intention)
Two years ago, shortly after moving to a new apartment, I entered a monstrous blue IKEA with a specific, singular mission:
The purchase of a white Trotten desk.
Piece of cake, I thought as I grabbed one of those yellow plastic shopping bags. I’ll be outta here in no time. But the first thing I learned was that the desk wasn’t available. When I started looking for other desks, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted an electrical standing desk, a slim wooden board on steel legs, or an antique round table. And what color? White, black, or something entirely else — something like… red?
I didn’t want to choose.
So I kept looking. What else do I need? Moments later, I spotted a steel-gray lamp and was suddenly convinced that I really, really needed it for a corner of my room because it would otherwise be too dim. Then I realized I needed light bulbs for that lamp, and not just any light bulbs — no, I decided that I’d always wanted remotely controlled, dimmable light bulbs. So I grabbed some of those, alongside lamps for my unavailable desk, and threw in a remote, to control those light bulbs.
Bed linen.
I really needed fresh, neutral-colored bed linen — or at least I thought so. And once I was there, why not just grab another pillowcase to match the linen? And towels. Sure, I had three towels at home, but they were too rigged, too ragged — unlike this nice, large, soft Dimforsen bath sheet. I was certain its drying experience would feel as fancy as the name sounds.
The yellow-blue warehouse overpowered me to buy everything I found remotely interesting. And ultimately, I wasn’t held back by my limited budget but by the confined space of my car.
At the checkout, I paid five times the amount I’d planned for. But hey, there was still room for some hot dogs. They were only $1, after all. A few minutes later, my stomach was stuffed with hot dogs, and my car was packed with cardboard boxes and plastic-wrapped items. And yet, I still felt like something was missing.
Oh yeah, the desk.
Rule #1: Find the hidden need
For months, I felt guilty about all these purchases, all this wasted money, all these products that I carelessly consumed. It wasn’t after I’d sold most of the stuff (due to another move) that a deeper truth dawned on me: there was a genuine reason I purchased these items.
See, deep down, my impulsive buying behavior emerged from the perfectly healthy need for an aesthetic, alluring, inspiring home. This need wasn’t the problem. The problem was the response to that need. In the end, the desk wasn’t the only cause for my sense of missing something. The actual thing I missed was the clarity to buy the items I truly needed.
The question then is, how do we cultivate this clarity? How can we distinguish between genuine needs and fake wants?
In his book How to Worry Less About Money, John Armstrong suggests a supremely useful question:
“Ask yourself ‘How good will it be for me to have this thing in my life?’ In other words, the need/want distinction goes right to the heart of questions about identity, ethics and the meaning of life.”
In this case, I shouldn’t have just asked the question, “What would a beautiful room look like?” but instead, “What would a beautiful life look like?” Perhaps I didn’t ask it because it seemed too dreamy, too pompous. Or perhaps I didn’t ask it because it was easier to let IKEA marketing masterminds do the thinking. I blindly believed that new textiles and remote-controlled lamps would translate into happiness. (Spoiler: they didn’t.)
Either way, we must dare to ask these big questions. Otherwise, we’ll always be tempted to respond to impulses with short-sighted reactions rather than long-term considerations.
In other words, the goal isn’t to eliminate the impulse. The goal is to elevate and explore the need behind that impulse. That’s when a purchase stops being impulsive and starts becoming intentional.
2. An Endless Stream of Books (or: how to embrace impulse purchases)
My reckless trip to IKEA was a tipping point in my buying behavior. I decided from then on that I would banish all needless purchases from my life. Strictness and discipline, I figured, would automatically rule out any impulse purchases — and thus any meaningless acquisitions.
And yet, slowly, unconsciously, a new consumption channel opened up: books. I discovered an online store selling second-hand books in great condition for student-friendly prices. Of course, the books I wanted weren’t always available. But that made the whole experience even more addictive, exciting, impulsive. Because when one of those books became available again, I would get an email saying something like: “Your desired item is back in stock. Hurry up! 43 other people are interested in this item!”
The thrill was impeccable.
It was much like a slot machine of online shopping. From the point of getting that email to finding out how much the book costs to finding other books to cross the $20 threshold for free shipping to unpacking the books and placing them on my shelf. All these steps were little dopamine snacks. The whole process was one delicious meal of build-up, climax, delivery, satisfaction.
Occasionally, three new books arrived by the time I only read one.
Rule #2: Make space for impulse purchases
When I first became conscious of this behavior, my first reaction was, of course, to banish it. Send it off into exile. Far, far away. After all, I had set out to control my impulse purchases, not exacerbate them. But, strangely, suppressing all impulses only turbo-charged them.
It’s like telling yourself: Try not to think of a pink elephant.
The harder you try to avoid this thought, the more present it becomes. When you try to replace the pink elephant with a different thought, it might work for a moment. But then, suddenly, the pink elephant will blast through the fickle barrier of your thoughts, returning stronger than ever.
What helps? There’s emerging psychological evidence that setting specific “worry boundaries” (e.g., time slots) can help reduce repetitive thoughts. To stretch the metaphor: we must occasionally let the elephant roam free rather than lock it in a cage all day.
Similarly, we might find lots of calm and relief by making room for certain impulse purchases. Once I gave myself permission to impulse-purchase books, I stopped feeling bad about the whole shebang. And not just that: it became far less compulsive.
So, rather than banish all impulse purchases, we might benefit more from welcoming impulsive purchases — by channeling them through specific categories, time slots, budgets.
3. The Regret of the Rings (or: how to bounce back from impulse purchases)
Even with the best intentions and most sophisticated systems in place, we’ll inevitably fall prey to unintentional, unwanted impulse purchases. What then? When the money is spent, the refund impossible, the damage done — what should we do? Turns out, we can retroactively turn impulse purchases into meaningful investments.
I’ll explain.
About a year ago, I randomly stumbled upon a YouTube video of a guy working out with gymnastic rings. That person didn’t just have the body of a Greek god, he also looked irresistibly aesthetic moving around the rings. Meanwhile, there was me: stuck at my desk, feeling slouchy, craving strength, craving fitness, craving energy.
I thought: Hey, I want to be a ring-swinging god and become a lean, mean gymnastic machine!
And so, on a whim, I purchased gymnastic rings for $60. Filled with endless excitement, I ripped the box open, ran to the nearest park, hung them up on a tree, tried to exercise, and … failed. I couldn’t even lift myself between the rings for longer than five seconds. Discouraged and disappointed, I put the rings back into their box, where they would turn into landing strips for dust. What a stupid mistake, I thought. I can’t sell these rings, can’t use them, can’t do nothing.
Many months later, while rearranging my room, I rediscovered the box with the rings. At the time, I was stuck in a deep rut — nothing really excited or inspired me. But looking at those rings, it hit me: what if the impulse purchase wasn’t a mistake but… a chance? And perhaps more than that: a challenge to grow, explore something new, and embrace difficulties?
Ever since it has become a ritual: every other morning, I run toward the nearest park, hang the rings on a tree, breathe the fresh morning air, and do a few simple exercises. I’m by no means a ring-swinging gymnast. But the rings are a persistent reminder to embrace change, randomness, and blunders.
Retroactively, my impulse turned into purpose.
Rule #3: Turn regret into relish
What if our impulse purchases only seemed impulsive? What if the impulse was, in fact, a subconscious part of ourselves making itself heard? And what if we reacted with relish rather than regret?
I got this idea from the minimalist blogger Shawn Mihalik. He explains it like this:
“Next time you make an impulsive purchase, after you’ve acknowledged the impulsivity, ask yourself: Now that I have this thing I might otherwise not have bought, how can I extract maximal value from it?”
The beauty of retroactive intentionality is that it’s still intentionality. It creates a deeper relationship between you and the things around you, thus sharpening your sense of what genuinely enriches your life. Shawn again:
“over time, that intentionality will begin to happen before you make a purchase … and the purchases that don’t have value, you might eventually not make at all.”
And heck, even if the purchase was completely irrational — that’s fine. It’s normal. We live in a world where entire marketing campaigns, algorithms, and masterminds are working overtime to trigger our impulses, to trick us into making that impulse purchase. Pretending we can resist all impulses is an illusion of control.
The appeal of my gymnastic rings — and any impulse purchase — might be precisely that I didn’t plan for them. How boring and monotonous would life be if we always got what we anticipated?
Three Rules for Taming Impulse Purchases
- Find the needs behind impulses. Ask yourself, “How good will it be to have this thing in my life?” Very often, impulse purchases stem from deeper questions we haven’t yet answered — like how we want to live, what our values are, or how we derive meaning.
- Make space for impulse purchases. Suppressing all impulses will only make them stronger. So, instead, try to make the right impulse purchases. You can channel them by limiting yourself to certain categories (e.g., books), time frames (e.g., Saturday mornings), or budgets (e.g., $50 per month).
- Turn regret into relish. Perhaps the impulse purchase wasn’t as irrational as you thought. And even if it was — why should you feel bitter about it? Commit yourself to retroactive intentionality. By learning to extract value from what you already have, you’ll naturally avoid future impulse purchases.