Have you got selfisolation shopping syndrome?

The seven phases of lockdown purchasing

One of the stranger things about the lockdown is the discovery that we are all doing the same things in the same order. Cleaning on Saturdays. Quiz nights on Sundays. And shopping most days. Not the shopping for basic essentials as infrequently as possible, but the other sort of shopping – online and not essential.

It appears there are seven phases of lockdown shopping:

Phase One: We Are Never Shopping Again

This lasted about four days, during which we sat shaking our heads, marvelling at the things we thought we needed BC (Before Corona). That was before we realised that there could be things you need specifically during a lockdown. Phase One was adjusting to the idea that, having forsworn all shopping other than for rice and potatoes and tinned tuna, we were back on it, subject to certain crucial new rules. Rule one: nothing frivolous. Rule two: nothing that we can envisage taking to Oxfam in the not too distant future. Rule three: no bedding, until current bedding threadbare.

Phase Two: Ordering Practical Life-savers

For example, weights (we needed to take up weights so our arms didn’t turn into boneless hams), resistance bands, an exercise mat, small inflatable balls and so forth. We toyed with buying a rowing machine, but He would have had to assemble it in the absence of Didza the Polish man about the house, so that was vetoed. This was the phase when cases of wine were ordered – wine being an essential life saver and going the way of loo paper in the supermarket. Our price limit has almost doubled on the basis that we’re not spending on anything else. Much.

Phase Three: The MustMaximise-this-time Purchases

Arguably the best example of lockdown shopping tendencies, because we’d never have thought of purchasing any of it BC. He bought a guitar (now, as you might have guessed, He can play the first chords of Here Comes the Sun). I ordered a photo album. Friends went for a sewing machine, stencil kit, Thermomix …

Phase Four: Random Nesting Purchases

Many of us who used to WFH varied the routine and worked away from home, now and then, to avoid LAAFA (looking around and feeling anxious) on account of the urgent need to overhaul our interiors. It took a week to feel a nagging low-level dissatisfaction with our surroundings, and 11 days before we were ordering rugs (two), cushions (two) and contemplating an on-offer Oka side table.

Phase Five: Appearance Improvement Purchases

Some of us who had not taken to the weights bought a skipping rope and hairthickening shampoo. By day 13, we were scoping out the best packet hair dyes and home wax kits, and wondering if Laura Mercier lip gloss would help.

Phase Six: (much sooner than we thought) Makeover Shopping

This goes one of two ways: either you buy clothes that work for your new indoors life, like clogs, or clothes for the bright, party-drenched future beyond the lockdown, such as a gold halter-neck maxi dress. NB: These dresses may in future be known as “hope dresses” – like hope chests. They will be identifiable by future generations on account of the glut of pretty frocks in excellent condition. “Ah,” they will say, “extravagant print dress, unworn: that’ll be the 2020 pandemic.”

Phase Seven: Sheets and Things

To be honest, sheet buying is clearly our anxiety default purchase. Other people scoff biscuits, we order sheets and towels. Oh well.

He’s bought a guitar, I’ve ordered a photo album... we’d never have got any of this stuff BC (Before Corona)