Window Shopping as Manifestation

COVER PHOTO: Vogue Talents

It’s a little embarrassing to confess, but my favorite holiday growing up was Black Friday. Nothing beat the adrenaline rush of waking up before sunrise, piling into the car, and driving an hour to some mall rumored to have better deals. I lived for the chaos: packed parking lots, tug-of-war over bras at Victoria’s Secret, the high of scoring five-for-$25 body sprays. I remember being ten, proudly lining up twenty different EOS lip balms on my vanity. Collecting dust like little pastel trophies, I rarely used any of them. Shopping always felt like a reward for a year’s worth of curating wish lists and carefully pocketed gift money. Like sport, my legs ached waiting in lines that snaked around storefronts, caffeine keeping me upright. Overconsumption is deeply American, and for a while, I didn’t question it. But eventually, something shifted.

The thrill of a great deal hits hard, but I’ve learned that just because you can afford something doesn’t mean you should buy it. I remember my first Black Friday in college, when I genuinely had nothing to shop for. No carefully curated makeup list since I hadn’t run out of anything. No new glasses prescription to justify a splurge. Nothing. It felt criminal, wasting my annual chance. But that feeling? It’s manufactured — corporations bank on our impulses, our fear of missing out, our struggle to sit with enough.

The truth is that owning things comes with responsibility. Once something is yours, it’s on you to give it a good life and to find it a second one later on. It’s easy to ignore how much we accumulate until we’re drowning in it. Nine bags to the thrift every spring? That’s not normal. That’s unresolved commitment to your personal style showing up in a landfill. Buying something should feel more like getting a tattoo or planning to have a kid—at least a little bit permanent, at least worth the pause.

Getting that off my chest, I’m not here to scold you or guilt-trip. I still go shopping. I loooove shopping. I strut into a store like it’s Paris Fashion Week (never been) and admire the mannequins like they’re runway models. Whenever I spot a cute look, I don’t hesitate to whip out my phone and snap a photo. It gives me something to ponder later. Could I recreate the outfit with what I already own? What is it about the layering, styling, or pattern that draws me in?

As I learned to control my impulses, window shopping became kind of amazing. There’s a reason we like stepping into stores. With pieces curated by style and color, the organized racks feel intentional. Whether it’s a vintage shop or Urban Outfitters, someone spent time styling those mannequins and displays. It’s an art form, a fashion puzzle, and I never skip a good window. There is so much to do in a store when you don’t see buying as the end goal. You can chat with employees about new collections, their personal style, and hot takes on trends. You can try things on just to see how a silhouette falls and how a fabric moves. Treat it like research, collecting clues to better understand what you actually like and what you really don’t.

It took me four years to buy a pair of Doc Martens. That may not be a relatable timeline for others, but for me, I was deathly afraid of buying shoes that were so on-trend and then falling out of love with them. Then, I went to a liberal arts school in Boston where they are more on-trend than ever, and you know what? It didn’t matter because, by that point, I felt sure enough that they were a good shoe for me.

I find that window shopping has made me more lucky. It’s the law of attraction. Since I know what I like, it tends to find me. I have a trained eye for what I am looking for, and the world is so abundant. So many items I’ve walked away from in stores have ended up finding me later, sometimes for free. I’ve scored perfect tap shoes on Facebook Marketplace, gotten new headphones and speakers from college donation bins, and collected entire outfits from friends and family. I’m still in awe of how often the right pieces show up when I’m patient. Almost everything I own, I can remember how it came to me.

I rarely feel pressure anymore to buy something on the spot, even if it initially feels like finding treasure. In my experience, nothing is truly 1/1, in the sense that there will always be something similar in taste or recreatable. And on the flip side, I’ve learned not to take things just because they’re free or cheap. If it doesn’t feel aligned, I leave it behind.

So what’s my timeline? One month. Through trial and error, I’ve learned that for non-essential purchases, waiting at least a month works best for me. Most of the time, I can wait even longer. Of course, it depends on the size of the purchase. I'm going to spend more time thinking about a car than I am about a new mascara.

If you’re looking to start, try delaying the urge to buy for just 24 hours. See how it feels. And if you want a little support, I’ve put together a quick checklist of questions to help you shop more mindfully. Good things come to those who wait. I’ll be over here manifesting patience and good finds in your future! ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩