It started simply enough.
I had a mini fridge.
I sold it on Marketplace.
The transaction was quick.
The item moved easily.
I was hooked.
A couple of fun advertisements.
A few more dollars.
Doom scrolling over people’s castaway treasures, opportunities and oddities.
I’m into downhill skis, guitars, bicycles and rusty hammers. (and perhaps a surfboard or two)
I scored skis for the children! It was so exciting. I was thrilled because I found cheap second hand skis?
That’s what this doom scrolling is for? Cheap skis?
Or do the skis mean something else entirely?
Does it tug at the memory of when I was their age, when I started skiing?
Or am I just cheap and want to win at shopping.
I’m pretty excited to go skiing with the kids. I think it will be fun.
And every time I look at my phone, I check to see if the right skis for me have come up.
Or perhaps a guitar…
Then weird shit starts popping up.
Fifty year old tractors. Records. Clothing suggestions.
These images appeal to me.
And? It’s a trap!
Each time I click, I feel dirty. I’m essentially filling out a survey for Zuck.
These are things that I like and am drawn to, these are things I am not.
Here I go, I’m sending more data to meta so they can better milk humanity, Yay!
I catch myself scrolling, looking, hoping for something new.
Or perhaps a reminder of some long lost aspiration. A whiff of the scent of “that time”. You know, that time you: just moved to that city / started that relationship / had that realization… “That time.”
That time that took your breath away.
Notice your breath the next time you’re on marketplace, ebay, etsy or pinterest.
I don’t use the other three. Me?
I’m a ‘marketplace man’. They should put me on adverts wearing dungarees and a stetson.
That marketplace… Geeze, it started with a mini fridge. I told you guys about the wet suit in another foolsletter.
(can any of you guys remember that one? help me out and I’ll put a hyperlink in here and give you credit for being super helpful)
But that markeplace? It’s all about nostalgia.
It’s good at nostalgia.
That’s where it hooks me.
Geeze. I must be getting old…