When you love cameras, there’s always a danger you may decide you need another, even though you don’t have enough time to use the ones you already own and can’t afford a new one.
It’s no different than other forms of techno-obsessive behavior.
It’s all techno-lust, the almost physical need to acquire the newest piece of technology.
Over time, most of us learn — the hard way — that newer isn’t inherently better. That there are a lot of reasons to wait and see if the latest really is the greatest — or is actually a step backward from what you own.
What to do when the desire to shop for something shiny and new, with the all the bells and whistles hits you? Your hand begins to shake on the mouse. You want it. You want it now. You don’t even know what it is, but that’s not the point. You are overwhelmed by techno-lust.
I get my jollies by going on Amazon. I look up cameras I already own. Read hundreds of favorable reviews about my cameras. Discover this one is a marvel of optics and photographic technology. That it has a viewfinder with 100% field of vision. Never mind whether or not I use a viewfinder. What’s important is that I have one. This camera can shoot a leaf on a tree 1000 feet away with perfect detail and no significant image deterioration. I know, I’ve done it.
I can pat myself on the back for my astuteness in purchasing this modern marvel.
Then, if I must buy something — just because — I always need an extra battery, a new SD card, or a filter. In the end, I’ve spent less than $20. I’ve fed my obsession, had my shopping fix, and reinforced my fundamental belief that I am a Shopping Goddess.
The danger is I might discover something I didn’t know was out there, which I absolutely must have, if not today, then eventually. So I have to stay focused, only look at cameras I own or those which are equivalent but inferior to the ones I own.
Putting stuff on a wish list is almost as good as buying it because it satisfies ones urge to click.
I advise you not use this remedy when you are half asleep or under the influence of anything. It’s alarming to wake up in the morning and discover you are the proud owner of something you will be paying off for the rest of your natural life. Or longer.
Cancelling and returning stuff is such a pain. Especially when you would rather keep it.
Meanwhile, my money remains where it belongs. In my account. Does this count as a vicarious or virtual shopping experience? Both?