As if we didn’t already know from the evidence of our own cognitive faculties, the Office for National Statistics recently alerted us to distinct changes in our shopping habits, most of which can be put down to our no longer living together in lovely families. Instead, we choose solipsistic and atomised units of one, all the better to wax our legs in absolute peace, and eat low-calorie frozen meals without anyone saying: “What are you eating that mingin’ food for?” With neither spouse nor issue, we no longer need tinned salmon or Oxo cubes. And pipe tobacco is so passe.
Clearly, this has long-term economic consequences – there will be job losses all round. Sure, the salmon-tinners may find alternative employment removing the calories from the foodstuffs (I don’t know how that’s done, but I bet it takes a long time). But what’s going to happen to the restaurant workers whose principal job is to remind pipe-smokers to be considerate to other diners? Why, they will have to concentrate solely on cigars. Times will be hard; some will sink into a despond and ultimately perish, some will find other jobs. That’s what happened to the miners, after all. Pshaw, I bet they’re feeling pretty silly now, after all the fuss they made.
For every obsolete item that single people don’t purchase, there are four or five baubles and comestibles that they need as a matter of some urgency. The shopping basket in 1947 contained 250 items; today’s has 650.
There are three times as many cosmetics that the modern Miss/Mr must have, before they can get laid; there are the slimline meals, to keep them trim for the occasion of their getting laid; there are the ethnic takeaway meals, to broaden their frames of gourmet reference, should they happen to go on a blind date with someone of a different background; and then there’s the video, for every other time.
Let’s be frank – every single item that is new to our statistical shopping basket pertains, whether obviously or obliquely, to sex.
The “fashionable women’s top” that the Independent says would “probably be found in Bridget Jones’s shopping basket”? A sex thing. The crystal wine glasses? An entertainment-of-possible-sexual-prospect thing. The leg wax? Sex, sex, sex. Hair dye? Sex. Sunglasses? Sex. Aluminium stepladders? Kinky/tall-on-short sex. Do I need to make this any clearer?
Consumer acts, actually, have always been aimed at sending a message out to possible mates. One day in the 20th century, we all realised that, while the shopping started out as a means to an end (marriage), it was actually quite fun in its own right.
In order to keep on shopping, however, we need to stave off settling down, because, once married, who would notice our fashionable top?
There’s an awful lot in the newspapers about why one might choose to live alone. Listen to this, for instance, from Mariella Frostrup: “Working longer, tougher hours, with no job security and everything from public transport to getting the washing machine mended posing a problem, it’s no wonder that we’ve lost our zest for cohabitation.” Now, this doesn’t make logical sense – there is no evidence to suggest that cohabitees have a detrimental effect on public transport (unless you’re living with Tony Blair). The washing machine could well be their fault – but isn’t necessarily.
What she meant to say was: “With more shops, open longer hours, selling more things, and with no real justification for purchasing that attractive thing if there’s only a husband/long-term boyfriend and possibly some brats to see it, why, staying single is our only option.”
There must be some equation here, some perfect ratio of things bought to people slept with, whereby there are sufficient bedfellows to warrant the purchase of a top-to-toe skincare range, without so much shopping that you become credit blacklisted. Unfortunately, I spent my maths-education money on ready meals, and will have to guestimate this ideal ratio at 56:7.
However, nature abhors a tidy solution and none of us will stop at this equation. Instead, we will enjoy the frisson of spending so much that, even when we’re quite literally buying beer-flavoured lubricant and handcuffs, we’ll forget that it was meant to be about sex, and be too busy in our consuming frenzy to go to wine bars. Then the species will die out, and that will be the end of that.
In the interim (between now and the end of the world, that is), what products can most realistically expect a customer surge, and what markets should be very worried indeed?
Well, sell your shares in toys, because now that we’ve all realised weddings are pointless, we’re going to twig any day now that reproduction is futile. However, keep your shares in the kinds of toys that borderline autistic men like to play with. They would have been snapped up by plain ladies in the past (the men, I mean, not the toys), but nowadays they are stuck at home with a PlayStation and, if they’re lucky, some CDs that are not yet in alphabetical order.
Anything that makes a claim for self-improvement is going to be huge – on the back of Botox, the Onion (the American equivalent of Private Eye) predicts teeth-whitening rabies, pneumococcal meningitis cheekbone enhancer, and Kawasaki disease facial peel. The trend with foodstuffs will be towards a lower and lower calorie count, until it is so low that they require more calories to digest than they actually supply.
The Intelligence Factory, a consumer-trend predictor with genuine researchers and everything, identifies the increasing spending power of the single professional female, and names it the Chardonnay pound. More wine will be purchased, as well as Marlboro Lights, half-arsed recreational drugs and kittens that self-destruct on the point of ascension to cathood.
What fun we’ll have.
Content from our partners
Related
