As November draws near, a peculiar spectacle takes shape. People brace themselves for Black Friday as if preparing for some grand, time-honoured event. They strategise days in advance, carefully plotting which stores to visit, pinpointing the coveted items, and noting the exact moments that sales will be unleashed. While for many this countdown to bargains stirs great excitement, I find myself at a curious distance, puzzled by the hype. Why would anyone willingly plunge into crowds, endure hours of queuing, or wrestle over discounted items?
Perhaps it’s simply that I’ve never quite caught the shopping bug. The notion of wading through bustling crowds or jostling for position over a toaster or a television seems rather excessive, even bewildering. Black Friday has, it appears, transcended its original purpose and become a cultural phenomenon, almost an unofficial holiday. Yet I can’t help but question its merits—do we really benefit from such a frenzy? Why put oneself through the trouble, particularly when the items at hand are often far from essential?
Naturally, I understand the practical side of it all. With the rising cost of living, a good deal can feel like a small victory, and for some, Black Friday is indeed a valuable opportunity to stretch the household budget. But the scene itself—the throngs, the frenzy, the sheer determination—is overwhelming. It’s as though people are swept up in a collective delirium that encourages impulsive spending far more than prudent shopping.
For some, Black Friday holds a certain social allure. Friends and family flock to the shops together, embracing the hunt for discounts as a kind of bonding ritual. For others, it’s about the thrill—the buzz of snagging a prize before it slips away. But these reasons fall short for me; I’d sooner pass up a discount than subject myself to such a chaotic affair. Call me unadventurous, but I’d much prefer a quieter Friday without the roar of crowds or the tug of impulse buys.
Perhaps my perspective lacks the Black Friday spirit. While others charge into the fray, riding a wave of adrenaline and anticipation, I’ll be content with a quiet day, a warm cup of tea, and the comforting sense that, at least for me, this annual ritual is one I’m perfectly happy to skip.
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