The lockdown will certainly have made consumers - I specifically mean people with enough spare cash to be constant buyers of optional personal goods - think deeply about what they ought to be spending their money on, and whether they are getting value for money. A lot of spending in the 'old life' was certainly faddy and wasteful, indicative of mass shallowness and mass-control by a manipulative advertising industry. Perhaps also it was too easy to buy things that just alleviated boredom and a hankering for constant novelty. A lot of it harmed the planet, directly or indirectly.
I'm not claiming that I was any different, nor that I won't return to many of the ways of the 'old life'. I certainly want to get back to having meals out with friends, and enjoying a lot more driving about, and indulging myself with lengthy caravan holidays in nice places up and down the country. But I'll do so more aware of the cost to myself and the wider world. That will make me try hard to maintain the personal health progress I've made during the lockdown, and to make my footprint generally greener than before.
Drinking, for instance: six weeks now without any alcohol, and although I was never a big drinker in the last few years, I've found that complete abstinence suits me very well. I feel great. And no more upset tummies! So I shall be drinking rather less in future, because I want to extend this feeling of well-being.
Will I curtail my driving? I get a lot of pleasure from it. I also get a lot of pleasure exploring the countryside and coast in my car, and that in turn feeds my major leisure activity, photography. But I could try to ration my outings more, or at least cram more into each one, and not go for a drive just for the sake of it. I could certainly make sure that every outing includes a good deal of walking about - at least 10,000 steps worth!
As for purchases of 'consumer goods' - clothes and gadgets, for instance - I will definitely be thinking about whether the money is wisely spent, and hold back from impulse spending. 'Wisely' in more than just the affordability sense. For example, would it be detrimental to my health or fitness? Would I be unnecessarily replacing something that still looked good, and still worked perfectly well? Need I buy something just because other people I know have bought it and recommend it? Or because all the test reports are telling me that I will be thrilled to own this cutting-edge item of equipment?
There was always a certain pecking-order in what I'd spend money on, but now it has got clearer and firmer. There will be an even sharper distinction between 'essentials' and 'optionals'. Food first, of course. Then the house, the car, the caravan and travel. Then a phone and a laptop. Only after those things will I think about what I might spend on keeping myself pretty and well-attired. That'll be tough news to some of the clothing shops I used to frequent. I'll still be buying from them - if they survive - but I'll be much more picky. (I accept that they will fold if everyone does the same: but does it really matter?)
It helps that some regular expenditure has been decisively interrupted. For instance, having my hair done. Once upon a time, when I could truly afford it, that was a monthly expense. Then I cut it down to every other month. Now I'll make it once every four months - or longer. I haven't had my hair cut since mid-December, and yet it doesn't look terrible. That seems to prove something. A self-inflicted attempt (in January) at trimming my fringe was a disaster, but the awful effects are growing out, and future home-made fringe trims will be much more circumspect and incremental. And gradually more skilful, I hope.
I intend to let my hair grow as long as it will, a thing I haven't been allowed to do for over ten years. My last stylist wouldn't let me, insisting that for the sake of even growth I needed to keep it off my shoulders. Well, I'm rebelling. Let it grow, whatever the consequences. I want to see how it turns out. Maybe I'm wrong, and she's right after all. But let's see. If it degenerates into a shapeless mess, then it can all be corrected. The beauty of hair is that if it doesn't work out, you just find someone to cut it back into a better shape.
During the lockdown I've probably done myself no favours by making daily visits to my favourite gadget and equipment websites every day: Digital Photography Review and TechRadar. I love their reviews, because I love cameras and photography and tech generally. Both websites put me onto things that I wouldn't otherwise know about. Both introduce me to stuff that's in the pipeline, that will perform extraordinarily well, stuff I might want to try and buy.
Just now I'm in the mood to invest in another camera. Using the little Leica since mid-January has convinced me that my photography is best-served by using a high-spec compact camera that can deliver the kinds of picture I most like to take. The little Leica has done extremely well, but it's old tech - launched in 2008, my own example bought in 2009 - and its 10 megapixel sensor can't capture detail or reproduce subtle tones like modern cameras can. And I've been giving it a right old caning. It's taken over 4,500 pictures since mid-January - over 68,000 since I bought it - and although everything is still working fine, I have to ask myself 'for how much longer?' Can an eleven-year-old camera keep going at this tremendous pace? What if it developed a fatal fault - how could I carry on shooting?
Well, the immediate answer would be, 'go back to using the very good camera on your Samsung smartphone', so I wouldn't in fact be facing a sudden crisis. But rediscovering the virtues of the Leica - of using a proper camera - has spoilt me for any return to a phone. By hook or by crook I'd have to get a proper replacement. Hence my study of those test reports.
In the past I've got to this point - of feeling a need for a new and better camera - and have rushed out to buy one. But this time the brakes are firmly on. I've already worked out that, despite the savings account balance looking healthy for once, I am not going to squander that advantage. One of the cameras I've had my eye on is the latest 'luxury' compact from Fujifilm - their new X100V. Here it is - a shot from the Dpreview website:
It costs £1,300, which is a lot of money. But then the little Leica, back in 2009, cost a lot at the time too. I am not afraid to spend real money on something I really want. But, as I say, the brakes are on. It's merely a possible purchase if the Leica packs in. And if the Leica soldiers on - as well it might - then I'm not going to upgrade just because I think I can afford it.
If you know me well, you'll understand how tempting a camera upgrade must seem to me, and how unusual it is that I haven't yielded. I'm very good at rationalising a purchase, sorting out in my mind good and sound reasons for spending a lot of money. But the lockdown - and I dare say the prospect of getting infected and hospitalised - has changed my attitude. I now want to be cautious. I want to weigh up the real gains to be had by upgrading (despite any hype, they are usually only marginal). I want to husband my resources, and not fritter them away.
Particularly so if a favourite friend is serving me well. My cherished car Fiona has always been such a friend. I now see that my even-older Leica always was my friend too although hitherto I hadn't truly realised it, because I'd regarded my camera as a replaceable tool, something there for the time being, not for the long haul, and not a companion. Much as one thinks of a phone - it's there for three years, then you move on to another, with scarcely a pang, even though there's lots of life left in it.
The little Leica looked like this when new - my own shot this time, with the Nikon D700 I had:
The Fuji is in much the same classic mould. You can see how easy it would be to proceed from the old to the new. But the Leica's long and distinguished reign isn't over yet.
Perhaps I have a whole lot of things around me that I have owned for years, but taken for granted. Or they languish unused up in the attic. It may be that some of them have sad associations with a past stage of my life, and that's mainly why I put them away. That doesn't affect the intrinsic merit of those things, if they are still functional. And the sad memories are not their fault.
I dug out an old kitchen timer this morning. The small one on the right below. It's unglamorous compared to the other two (which match each other). But it works perfectly, and will do excellently as my one-minute timer for making a cup of tea. (The blue timer had that role, but is temperamental nowadays) I'm glad the old timer is back, glad it's doing its job again. I don't need to buy a new one now.
Goodbye consumerism.
