Myself and Daughter Number Four had to get her a small whiteboard for class. This isn\u2019t a high-end piece of equipment, so we knew exactly where to go to get it. In the shopping centre near where we live, there are a number of shops that sell this kind of thing, all of which have unambiguous names like Low Pricez or Supercheapo!<\/p>\n
Once we\u2019d located the whiteboard, (\u20ac2.50), Daughter Number Four looked at me slyly and suggested: now, let\u2019s go buy some stuff we don\u2019t need.<\/p>\n
She knows me so well.<\/p>\n
What\u2019s interesting about these kinds of shops is that you know exactly what they are, but you also don\u2019t. Their singular pitch to the consumer is that they sell products cheaply; but other than that, they are uncategorisable, because they sell everything. And the nature of that stock can change with each visit.<\/p>\n
They are marvellously random, and as such pose a range of existential questions to the consumer. Of course, you don\u2019t need a canoe or a shortwave radio, but could these products alter the texture of your life? Once you\u2019ve taken the necessary canoe lessons, could it profoundly change your relationship to nature? Think of it: every weekend, traversing the rivers and lakes of Ireland, finally in tune with the beating heart of our fair island. Perhaps you should also get a tent, so you can camp by the river bank. At night, you can look up at the stars and talk to your deserted family on the shortwave radio.<\/p>\n
These products are not just things. They promise personal transformation, new skills, new sources of joy and convenience. It\u2019s dizzying \u2013 and addictive.<\/p>\n
While the random-product shops are a relatively recent development, the idea isn\u2019t new: other supermarket chains have been offering random middle-aisle products for decades. You go in to buy milk, and you come home with a soldering kit. But you forget the milk. The random-product shops have simply inverted the model: you go in to buy the soldering kit, but also come home with four jars of marmalade.<\/p>\n
There is the psychological stuff at work here: the haphazard, even slightly shambolic way the goods are displayed somehow reinforces the idea that there are genuine bargains to be had. It flatters us into thinking that we have embarked on a quest, and that our relentless aisle-prowling will be rewarded. Occasionally, it might be something we actually want. But the thrill of the search is such that we rarely consider the quality, where it\u2019s been made, or under what circumstances.<\/p>\n