I stumbled upon Sophie Kinsella’s Confessions of a Shopaholic when I was 17 years old and fell in love with the protagonist, Becky Bloomwood. The book follows Becky’s antics of shopping the sales around London and rationalizing her purchases by considering them necessities or investments. I laughed at her attempt to save money by cooking at home, by first buying all pots and pans, a fancy cook book, and exotic ingredients. I celebrated with her when she finds a beautiful silk scarf on sale and makes the purchase. While quirky and endearing, Becky is not the greatest role model; she lacks self control, is clearly delusional, and acts irresponsibly, but I saw past her faults because I identified with her. I understood the thrill of being at a mall and the rush of adrenaline at the sight of “sale”.
