Ah, Black Friday. That glittering gem in the calendar; nestled between the ever-growing spooktacular of Halloween and the plunge into December consumer chaos. It’s a day that lays bare the human condition; our technological genius, our innovation and our capacity for lunacy, all played out under fluorescent store lights and Wham’s Last Christmas. Not to mention the fact that a recent Telegraph survey found that one in ten of us will pull a sickie from work to spend the day shopping. Wowsers.
The marketing gurus would have you believe that Black Friday is a joyous occasion; a celebration of bargains and life-enhancing opportunities. But the truth lies elsewhere. It’s consumerism’s equivalent of a cattle prod; jolting us into a frenzy with the promise of ‘steal of the day’.
Let’s start with the name ‘Black Friday’. It sounds medieval, doesn’t it? Almost as if it’s commemorating a particularly tough week in the bubonic era. Well frankly, the comparison isn’t far off. For the uninitiated, Black Friday is the global festival of bargains; when items you didn’t need yesterday become life essentials. When the toaster you ignored last week is now sporting a 20% discount and an air of self-importance.
Partaking is not for the faint-hearted. Lost souls stood shivering outside a store at dawn, surrounded by fellow bargain hunters who look as though they’re embarking on a poorly planned Arctic expedition. When the doors open, the scene is chaos; part rugby scrum, part apocalypse. One year, I watched a man dive into a rail of North Face jackets like an Olympic swimmer, emerging victorious with a triumphant grin and a bruised rib.
But Black Friday wasn’t always like this. It began in the US in 1869 as a phrase to describe the financial crisis during a failed gold market scheme. By the 1950s, police in Philadelphia had repurposed it to describe post-thanksgiving traffic and shopping bedlam. Then came the 1980s, when retailers (in a stroke of PR genius) reframed Black Friday as the day their books went ‘from red to black’. Thus, our modern frenzy was born.
The internet has only added fuel to the fire. Now, instead of battling in-store, we anxiously hover over the mouse, upload our credit card details and slip online behind commercial enemy lines. No pushing or shoving, but the pressure is just as real. Watching an item vanish from your cart because someone clicked ‘Buy Now’ a nanosecond faster, is its own kind of heartbreak.
Yet out in the consumer fringes, a quiet rebellion against Black Friday madness is growing. Some companies like Patagonia, have started campaigns urging us to buy less. Patagonia’s famous ad ‘Don’t Buy This Jacket’ encourages mindful consumption over impulsive splurging.
Montane, a UK outdoor brand, takes it a step further by donating its Black Friday marketing budget to ‘Fix the Fells’ with the rallying cry of ‘Lake District Forever!’ I can hear William Wordsworth breathing more easily already. The company says it won’t be pushing any Black Friday deals and instead will double any donations made to ‘Fix the Fells’ via its website; an organisation aiming to protect and reduce erosion. It’s refreshing to see retailers opting out of the hysteria, even if it’s unlikely to stop the stampede entirely.
Black Friday is less about what we truly need and more about the thrill of the hunt. It’s the suggestion that if we just buy more, own more, or spend more, we’ll finally feel fulfilled. Spoiler alert: You won’t. That air fryer might improve your hash browns, but it’s not going to fill your cup of optimism and bring about the associated long life. Long-term joy isn’t hiding in that heavily discounted sofa and your godson doesn’t need another remote-controlled car; he needs your time and attention, which, as it happens, are free.
So, what’s the alternative? Perhaps it’s time for a new tradition in late November. Stay home. Reach out to a long-forgotten friend. Learn to bake. Light a fire. Read a good book (preferably by Bill Bryson or Tristan Gooley). And if you must shop, aim for quality over quantity; things you genuinely need, not fleeting bargains destined for the closet of shame.
Ultimately, the greatest gifts aren’t found in the discount world. They’re the moments we remember; walking on a windswept hillside with a roaring fire awaiting, laughter, connection and yes, even watching a Disney film with your kids.
As for that £150 discount on a golf driver, designed to get you 15 yards further into the trees? Don’t worry, it will still be there on Cyber Monday. Although I have to confess, it is pretty tempting.
Yours,
Adam.
