My WhatsApp messages show that I spend a lot of time complaining about capitalism, probably because I want to sound deep and radical, like a Sally Rooney character (closer analysis reveals that when I disparage “capitalism”, I usually mean “the need for me to work”). This is fairly hypocritical. I am no superfan, but I have capitalism’s greatest hits compilation and think it has some good tunes (takeaway food, Laser Lite earplugs, Elemis Aching Muscle Super Soak). My complaints, however, have become more heartfelt recently.
There are plenty of things capitalism is terrible at. Caring about or protecting the planet: absolutely not in capitalism’s wheelhouse. Promoting equality and treating humans with dignity: nope. But in addition to being failed by the free market in the big ways in which it was always going to fail us, I feel as if it is flunking the small stuff it was supposed to ace.
I have been looking for something for months and I can’t find it (similarly, you will be unable to source a violin tiny enough with which to respond to this tale of woe, but bear with me): a small, insulated coffee cup with a leakproof lid. “Small” is key – my crumbling bones and perimenopausal bladder can’t cope with lugging around and drinking American-style litres of brown water. I have a vision of sitting in the “quiet” train carriage, glaring angrily at people talking (even though I am wearing my Laser Lites) as I sip my modest, still-hot coffee, but I cannot live my joyless dream because this cup does not exist. I have bought one and been given another; they both leak. I don’t get it: why would anyone make a travel cup that doesn’t seal properly? My extensive searches (which have generated so many cookies that I open my laptop daily to multidirectional assault by travel cups) suggest one brand may manufacture a small-enough vessel, but the optional (necessary!) leakproof lid is never in stock.
Surely this shouldn’t happen in a technologically enabled capitalist society? Goodness knows, it appears capable of producing infinite useless crap. Merely browsing Temu or Shein brings up so much near-future landfill that I feel we should all be turned back into primeval ooze to think about what we have done: a hamster harness; shell-shaped nipple pasties; a £2.93 bag of 40 miniature plastic babies that will be washing up on beaches for the next millennium. But I understood our pact with capitalism was that in exchange for destroying everything, it would let us buy stuff we want.
So where is my spray bottle for houseplants that doesn’t look like a Harry Potter prop and won’t shed microplastics until all my descendants are infertile? Where’s the sofa that a person over 35 can sit on for two hours without going into lumbar spasm? Why can’t you buy a smart and dumb phone bundle compatible with the same sim card (a request from an acquaintance, but I want this too)? These are all things capitalism should have no difficulty providing, yet here we are.
Then there is the stuff that does exist, but horribly. My expensive big-brand printer is so bafflingly capricious that I am tempted to sacrifice a pigeon every time I need a document (though it would definitely detect the pigeon was off-brand and declare it “incompatible”). And I know functional obsolescence is a capitalist speciality, but when electric toothbrushes systematically stop charging after 18 months, it doesn’t give me warm feelings about the free market (I have just looked up an analysis of their predictably terrible life-cycle – fossil-fuel-derived plastics, nickel and copper extraction for the batteries, non-recyclable – and concluded that I will have to start cleaning my teeth with a twig to atone).
There is so much more – I have no space to rant about services that should exist but don’t (OK, just one: why is there no Deliveroo for changing duvet covers? I would find endless justifications for using it, making the founder’s fortune). Or why Fruit Salad chew-flavoured water – something no one asked for – exists, but a non-dairy milk that makes drinkable tea doesn’t.
I don’t need any of this, obviously. But when capitalism can’t give you the silly little stuff you want, it is increasingly tempting to question, Sally Rooney character-like, what the point of it actually is.
