Like many other Spaniards of my generation and previous ones, I was educated in anti-consumerist values, the circular economy and responsible and sustainable consumption. I was one of those kids who was sent to return the soda bottles, I used my older cousins’ clothes (I’m a firstborn, I didn’t inherit any siblings) and I used the public library . We rarely went out to dinner as a family, almost always to a pizzeria, and the picnics were scrupulously sustainable, reusable tableware and all. The toothpaste tube could always be pushed a little further and any suggestion of unnecessary spending was met with the rhetorical question: “Do you think we are the Bank of Spain?”
The holidays involved visiting relatives scattered across Spain, who shared the same anti-consumer and sustainable convictions as us. My grandmother, for example, always got what we had left over from the day before, and she would throw them on the table saying, fulfilling the objectives of Agenda 2030 in advance: “If you don’t eat them, we will give them away. for the dogs.” Although my grandfather, about whom I wrote a book, was a hero of anti-capitalism and decadence: when he watched the Atleti game on TV, he turned off the device during half-time so that that no more electricity would be used than was necessary, and there was a fire-stove in which he burned one piece of wood at a time, in such a way that even the outside of the stove could not heat up, in a prodigy of savings and promise. green would be accredited to him for a position in the Ministry of Ecological Transition.
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The beauty of all this is that my grandfather worked at El Corte Inglés, the cathedral of Iberian consumerism. He would probably enter that building every morning feeling like a soldier inside a Trojan horse.
The result of this Spartan education created a wild character in me, logically. As soon as I collected two dollars that I earned with the sweat of my fingers on a keyboard, I polished them into trifles. Leaving the food on my plate, after repetition without hunger, was a source of lustful joy for me. Even today, when my transgressive mind has calmed down and I’m starting to be a little more financially responsible, ordering the most expensive thing on the menu and leaving a tip is like acts of vandalism like a naughty teenager. As I pay the bill, I always realise that my mother and grandfather are going to come and slap me in the head.
At home, any suggestion of unnecessary spending was followed by the question: “Do you think we are the Bank of Spain?”
So I understand, like a little (or a lot), the pleasure of consumerism, the intoxication of the lights, the high of the brands, the offers, the advertising, and the enjoyment of all those products that you don’t need but want to such as addicted I understand it for myself and for all those Spaniards who grew up in thrifty Spain, raised by parents and grandparents who never removed the post-war cold from their bodies. No matter how many balls and bubbles we’ve experienced, wasteful abundance is still relatively new in a country with direct memories of deprivation. The Europeans north of the Pyrenees are half a century ahead of us, they have embraced consumerism more and enjoy it less.
Black Friday triumphed in Spain (more among young people than among the elderly, statistics say) like the desire to party in a teenager. Of course it angers the strictest and most conscientious, just as Halloween irritates the traditionalist and the Tenorio, but one would expect the anti-consumerist sentiments that were typical of these times to be lost in the background music. the department stores or end up underground at the banners of digital business offerings.
French philosopher Didier Eribon investigates in his influential narrative essay Return to Reims (newly translated into Spanish) the shame he felt for the materialistic attitude of his working class family. Eribon declassified himself through education and became an intellectual of the French left wing (that is, in the food chain of universal intellectual predation, the dominant link, the one who has no predators), and in the this self-critical and radical work he throws against him. itself and against progressive intelligence (boboin French slang) from his country. As a left-wing intellectual, he promoted popular values and idealized working-class culture. As the son of that working class, however, he feared how little his parents were like the conscious and mobilized workers who had to transform the world. He summarizes ironically: he loved workers as entelechy, but opposed real workers. His parents’ aspirations, like those of almost every worker in the neighborhood where he grew up, were banal and consumptive. They did not dream of revolution, but better furniture, a better house, holidays, more television. Black Friday would be a redemptive orgy for them.
I don’t go that far, but sometimes I feel that consumerism takes my revenge for generations of regret and scarcity. The sermons of priests seem to me to count in favor of moderation and abstinence. It doesn’t matter if they are right, they are right. I am the wrong one, the alien wild peasant who blackens his carbon footprint very black, but I am unable to exercise responsible consumption. Long live Marx forgive me. It seems to me that Black Friday is a great pagan festival, a bonfire for St. John where the whims and sins we buy on credit, up to the limit of the card. I know we shouldn’t celebrate it, but I feel it is a proletarian celebration, the betrayal that our ancestors could not afford.
The awareness of austerity, as Vicente Valero also recalls i The time of the lilieshis recent book on Francis of Assisi, almost always comes from the rich. My family was Franciscan by necessity, not by conviction, and there is a big difference between giving up what you have and not being able to spend what you don’t have. For this reason, the accusing finger of those who make fun of the consumer masses always hurts me a little. Of course, the shopping malls and Amazon and Shein and all the websites saturated with compulsive clicking are golden calves, but I would be very careful about interpreting Moses with the tables of the law. If I were that prophet and I found people enjoying the birth of the calf, I would join the party instead of scolding them. Come on, don’t be so sulky, it’s only Black Friday and it goes fast.
How can traditional anti-consumerist values be integrated into modern marketing practices?
Interview between Time.news Editor and Expert on Consumerism and Sustainability
Time.news Editor: Welcome to our special interview today, where we’ll be delving into the complex relationship between consumerism and sustainability, especially in the context of Spanish culture. Joining us is Dr. Laura González, a sociologist and expert in the field of consumer behavior and sustainable practices. Dr. González, thank you for being here.
Dr. Laura González: Thank you for having me! It’s a pleasure to be here to discuss such an important topic.
Editor: Let’s start with a rather nostalgic perspective many Spaniards share. The article highlights an upbringing rooted in anti-consumerist values and sustainability. Can you elaborate on how these values persist in Spanish culture today?
González: Absolutely. Many Spaniards, especially from older generations, were raised in homes where thriftiness was a necessity rather than a choice. This upbringing shaped their attitudes toward consumption. Even today, there is a significant segment of the population that feels a strong sense of responsibility towards sustainable practices, often rooted in a history of scarcity and a communal approach to resources.
Editor: The article discusses the influence of family traditions—like passing down clothes or reusing leftovers. Do you believe these practices have evolved, or do they still hold relevance for younger generations?
González: They have certainly evolved, but the essence remains. Younger generations are more influenced by global trends and digital advertising, which sometimes clashes with those traditional practices. However, there’s a growing movement among youth to reconnect with sustainability, particularly amid increasing awareness about climate change. Many young people are now promoting recycling, second-hand shopping, and even minimalism, echoing those old anti-consumerist values.
Editor: Interesting. The concept of “Black Friday” is mentioned as a recent phenomenon that resonates particularly with the younger crowd. How do you think events like this fit into the broader narrative of consumerism and its impact on sustainability?
González: “Black Friday” represents a shift in consumer culture, driven by global marketing strategies. While it creates short-term excitement and provides the thrill of obtaining goods at reduced prices, it can lead to overconsumption and waste, which are antithetical to sustainability. This clash creates a unique tension in modern Spanish society—between the inherited values of moderation and the allure of modern consumerist practices.
Editor: The article references the work of French philosopher Didier Eribon, who grapples with the shame associated with working-class consumerism. In your opinion, how does social class influence consumer behavior in Spain?
González: Social class plays a critical role in shaping consumer behavior. For many from working-class backgrounds, the aspiration for better material goods can sometimes overshadow the values of sustainability. There’s often a desire to signal status through consumption, which can be at odds with anti-consumerist beliefs. However, there’s also a counter-movement within the working class advocating for a balance, seeking to reconcile their aspirations with sustainable practices.
Editor: So, are these sustainable practices gaining traction among the younger, more consumer-driven generation? How can they bridge this gap?
González: Definitely. Platforms like social media have enabled the younger generation to create communities around sustainability, where they share tips and organize eco-friendly initiatives. Influencers who advocate for responsible consumption are particularly impactful. By combining traditional values with modern technology, younger consumers can lead the charge in redefining how Spanish society approaches consumerism.
Editor: It sounds like a fascinating dynamic. As a closing thought, what advice would you offer individuals who want to embrace sustainable practices while navigating the pressures of modern consumerism?
González: My advice would be to cultivate mindfulness around consumption. Before making a purchase, ask yourself if it’s a necessity or a desire. Engage in practices that celebrate sustainability, like second-hand shopping or supporting local artisans. By prioritizing quality over quantity and encouraging experiences over possessions, individuals can find a satisfying balance between enjoying what modern consumerism offers and adhering to sustainable values.
Editor: Wise words, Dr. González! Thank you for sharing your insights with us today. It’s been a pleasure discussing these critical issues surrounding consumerism and sustainability in the context of Spanish culture.
González: Thank you! It was a pleasure to be here and engage in such an important conversation.