My first trip to a store in New York City surprised me. Standing in Costco, dwarfed by the endless rows of mile-high shelves stacked with food, gadgets, clothing, furniture, toys, toiletries — everything imaginable — I remember wondering, “Who buys all this stuff?” Coming from India, I’d never seen the cornucopia that is Costco, Sam’s Club, and their ilk.

I realize I’m not alone in being overwhelmed by these temples of consumption. Our reasons might differ, but a growing chorus of critics are beginning to wonder how long Americans can continue to buy all that stuff. About half of the families in the U.S. are weighed down with median credit-card debt of $2,200 — a figure that grew 10 percent between 2001 and 2004. More than three-fourths have some form of debt, up a third over the three-year period. The biggest chunk of this borrowing — about 80 percent — is to finance a home, but a healthy 15 percent is spent on stuff: home improvement, goods and services, and vehicles. One last statistic: the savings rate (the difference between income and spending) has been negative since 2005 — a first since the Great Depression. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing in the short-term. In the long run, however, a hit on investments or home values could undermine overall financial well-being and cause considerable pain.

So, what is it that drives us to lust after that 42-inch flat panel LCD HDTV?

• My old TV broke and I need a new one.
• It’s a steal at $1,500.
• Everyone has one.
• My five year old won’t stop with the pestering.
• At least one company promises in its advertisements that it’ll keep my family together for the holidays.

It’s all of the above and more. Aspiration in all its wonderful varieties drives us on, according to Juliet Schor, a professor at Boston College, in her book The New Politics of Consumption. We’re trapped in the new “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” version of the old “keeping up with the Joneses.” But the Joneses today aren’t the family down the street. They’ve been supplanted by super-rich, jetsetters like Paris Hilton, whose life we vicariously share on our 42-inch flat-screen. Of course, Hilton’s dog has a wardrobe that far surpasses mine and more jewelry than many of us will own in a lifetime, but who said desire is rational. “Luxury, rather than mere comfort, is a widespread aspiration,” Schor says in her book. What she calls “competitive consumption,” however, isn’t just tied to some irrational hope of acquiring a Hiltonesque lifestyle. With income disparities widening, even the very reasonable desire for a better life can force us into consumption we cannot afford, a.k.a. debt. So, we might stretch our budgets to buy a house that locates us in a good school district. Or, splash out on an expensive wardrobe to make the right impression during a job interview. Other people’s spending forces us to spend.

Both parts of this aspirational climb are often counterproductive. Attempting to buy our way into the good life leads us down the treacherous path of debt. At the same time, as more of our income is channeled into consumption, an ever-dwindling sum is set aside for other uses: public goods, savings, and leisure. Random consumption distracts us from investing in the things more likely to bring us the good life — better schools, better public healthcare, and a nest egg set aside for old age. These are replaced by some vague hope that plastic can buy us “priceless” moments.

It doesn’t help that the advertising gurus of Madison Avenue are paid to understand the complex mix of “fantasy, play, inner desire, escape, and emotion,” — Schor again — that drives our consumption. And marketers are targeting children at younger and younger ages, trying to harness “pester power.” Consuming, it seems, is a behavior that can’t be cultivated too early in life. No wonder then that researchers at the Stanford University School of Medicine and Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital reported that when kids between the ages of three and five were asked to taste two identical samples of food, they preferred the one in McDonald’s branded wrapping. “We found that kids with more TVs in their homes and those who eat at McDonald’s more frequently were even more likely to prefer the food in the McDonald’s wrapper,” said Thomas Robinson, associate professor of pediatrics and medicine at the School of Medicine, the lead author of the research.

Isn’t this the way the world is meant to work, though? Companies make stuff, advertising firms peddle stuff, and we — armed as we are with free choice — can either take it or leave it. Consumption is, after all, essential for the economy to grow. When I point this out to Dean Baker, co-director of the Center for Economic and Policy Research, he’s mildly indignant. “There are other ways to create demand,” he tells me — such as spending on education and healthcare or finding new ways to tackle our dangerous dependence on fossil fuels. That brings Schor’s notion of competitive spending back: do we simply need to change who we’re competing against? Is it time to welcome back the Joneses and sweep Hilton aside?

There’s little doubt that it is. The question is can we trust ourselves to do it. After all, what chance do we have against the corporate machine that researches every nuance of our lives? That funds academic research so we end up confused about whether milk or soy is better? That tracks how much TV we watch and which shows? That records how much time we spend on the Internet, where we go, and what we buy? Or even whether we’re predisposed to turn right or left in a mall? And on and on. It’s the fuel that drives our capitalist marketplace. But isn’t the idea that we are so easily manipulated an insult to our understanding of free choice; to the concept that consumers are discerning and rational, weighing the costs and benefits of each purchasing decision? Perhaps. But I keep going back to my first visit to Costco, and my feeling of mild discomfort mixed with what I can only describe as child-like excitement at the sight of all that stuff just a few dollars away. In that cornucopia of fulfilled aspirations, who could resist?

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