Are You Spending For Your 'Fantasy Self'?

You know that pasta maker in your cabinet? The one you bought eighteen months ago after watching a single cooking video? It is still in the box, isn't it?

Or maybe it is a yoga mat rolled up in a closet. Running shoes that have never touched pavement. A guitar gathering dust in the corner of a room you said would be your "creative space." Language learning apps with 47-day streaks that ended eleven months ago. A journal with exactly three entries, all from the first week of January.

Perhaps it is resistance bands still in the packaging. A pull-up bar you walked past every day until you moved it to the garage. Cookbooks with pristine spines. Art supplies in a drawer you have not opened since March. A meditation cushion. A bread maker. A sewing machine.

If you just cringed a little, you are not alone.

These are not bad products. They are products for a different person. A person who does not exist.

The Person You're Shopping For

Here is something most people never realize: when you buy something aspirational, you are not buying a product. You are buying an identity.

That bread maker is not about bread. It is about being the kind of person who bakes fresh bread on Sunday mornings while the house smells amazing and your family gathers in the kitchen. Those hiking boots are not about footwear. They are about being someone who explores the outdoors, who posts photos from scenic overlooks, who has a Patagonia aesthetic. That productivity planner is not about scheduling. It is about being someone who has their life together, who wakes up at 5 AM, who journals and meditates and reviews their goals quarterly.

This is the fantasy self problem. We shop for the person we wish we were, not the person we actually are.

And look, aspiration is not bad. Growth is not bad. The problem is when we confuse buying things with becoming things. When we use purchases as shortcuts to identity change that never happens.

The Psychology of "Fresh Starts"

Psychologists call it the "fresh start effect." Certain moments—New Year's, Monday mornings, the start of a new month, moving to a new city—make us feel like we can become someone new. Our past does not count. Our future is unwritten.

Retailers know this intimately. January is not just about gym memberships. It is about selling you the version of yourself you imagine when the calendar flips. The organized you. The fit you. The you who finally learns Spanish.

But here is what the research shows: buying something for a fresh start almost never creates lasting behavior change. The purchase feels like progress. Clicking "buy now" releases dopamine. Your brain registers it as accomplishment. But the actual behavior—the yoga, the running, the bread baking—requires something the purchase cannot provide: sustained motivation that exists independent of the stuff.

The purchase is not the first step. It is often a substitute for the first step.

Why Online Shopping Makes This Worse

In a physical store, reality has a way of interrupting your fantasies. You try on the hiking boots and remember you hate sweating. You pick up the bread maker and feel its weight, imagining it taking up counter space. You see the yoga mat and think about where in your apartment it would actually go.

Online, there is no reality check. You see the product, you imagine the life, you click buy. The whole transaction happens in the dreamspace between who you are and who you want to be.

Add one-click purchasing, saved payment methods, and frictionless checkout, and you can complete an identity-shopping session before your rational brain even wakes up. The friction that used to protect us—driving to the store, handling cash, carrying items to a register—has been engineered away.

The Social Media Fantasy Factory

Then there is the cultural layer we cannot ignore.

Open Instagram or TikTok for five minutes and you will see carefully curated glimpses of aspirational lives. The influencer doing her morning routine with the aesthetic journaling setup. The guy with the home gym transformation. The woman baking sourdough in her minimalist kitchen.

These images seep into us. They create a catalog of possible selves. And crucially, they make those selves seem normal. Attainable. Just a few purchases away.

The algorithm learns what you aspire to and serves you more of it. More home organization content. More running gear recommendations. More aesthetic desk setups. The fantasy self gets reinforced hundreds of times a day.

Then the ads appear. And they know exactly which version of you to sell to.

This is not a conspiracy. It is just how the incentives align. Social media monetizes aspiration. Retailers monetize the fantasy self. And we are caught in the middle, buying things for people we will never become.

The Fantasy Self Archetypes

Over time, most people develop recognizable patterns. Their fantasy purchases cluster around certain identities. Here are some common ones:

The Fit Self Running shoes, yoga mats, resistance bands, workout clothes, fitness trackers, protein powder, foam rollers, home gym equipment. You are going to start working out. You have been going to start for years.

The Creative Self Art supplies, musical instruments, cameras, journals, craft kits, calligraphy pens, sketchbooks. You have creative potential. You just need the right tools to unlock it.

The Organized Self Planners, productivity apps, filing systems, label makers, storage containers, habit trackers. If you just had the right system, you would finally get your life together.

The Cultured Self Books you will read, language apps, museum memberships, documentary subscriptions, online courses. You are an intellectual. You are curious. You will definitely watch that lecture series on ancient Rome.

The Domestic Self Kitchen gadgets, cookbooks, specialized bakeware, espresso machines, cocktail sets, fancy knives. You are going to cook more. You are going to host dinner parties. Your home will be warm and inviting.

The Outdoor Self Hiking boots, camping gear, bikes, kayaks, climbing equipment, ski gear. You are an adventurer. You love nature. You are definitely going to use that tent you bought three summers ago.

Which ones are yours? Be honest. The pattern tells you something important about the gap between your self-image and your actual life.

Fantasy Self vs. Growth Self

Not all aspirational purchases are fantasy purchases. The distinction matters.

Fantasy purchases are for a version of yourself that does not exist. There is no current behavior supporting this purchase. You are not doing any version of this activity now. The purchase is the first step, and you are hoping it will create motivation that has never materialized before.

Growth purchases are for a version of yourself that is already emerging. You are already doing the activity—perhaps imperfectly, perhaps with inadequate tools. You are already building the habit. The purchase enhances something real.

The difference:

• Buying running shoes when you have never run = fantasy purchase

• Buying running shoes when you have been running in old sneakers for three months = growth purchase

• Buying a journal because you want to be someone who journals = fantasy purchase

• Buying a nicer journal because you have been writing in a notes app every day = growth purchase

• Buying a guitar because it would be cool to play = fantasy purchase

• Buying a better guitar because you have been practicing on a cheap one for a year = growth purchase

One is buying an identity. The other is supporting a behavior. The external action looks the same. The internal reality is completely different.

The "Already Doing It" Test

Before any aspirational purchase, ask yourself: Am I already doing a version of this activity?

If you want to buy a nice journal, are you already journaling—even in a notes app, on scraps of paper, or in the margins of books? If you want a fancy coffee setup, are you already making coffee at home every day? If you want art supplies, when was the last time you made something, even a doodle?

The pattern is simple. If you are already doing the thing, an upgrade is a growth purchase. If you are not doing the thing at all, you are buying a lottery ticket on behavior change.

Here is an uncomfortable truth: buying the thing almost never creates the motivation. The motivation has to come first. The purchase can support existing motivation. It cannot create motivation from nothing.

This is why the unused pasta maker sits in your cabinet. You were not already making pasta by hand. You did not have the motivation. You had the fantasy. And you hoped the purchase would conjure the motivation into existence. It did not.

The Real Cost

Let us talk about money for a moment.

Add up what you have spent on fantasy self purchases in the last three years. The gym equipment you do not use. The courses you never finished. The hobby supplies gathering dust. The apps you subscribed to and forgot about.

For most people, this number is somewhere between uncomfortable and alarming.

Now imagine if that money had gone to things you actually use. Things that enhance your real life, not your imagined one. Better versions of tools you already reach for every day. Experiences you actually have. Savings for something that actually matters to you.

The fantasy self is expensive. Not because the individual purchases are large, but because they add up. And because the money spent on who you wish you were is money not spent on who you actually are.

The Five Questions

Before any purchase that involves becoming someone new, pause and ask:

1. Have I done this activity in the last 30 days without this product? If no, you are probably buying for a fantasy self.

2. What specifically will change in my weekly routine? Vague answers like "I'll finally start" or "I'll do it more" are red flags. What day? What time? How long? If you cannot answer concretely, you are hoping the purchase will magically create the structure.

3. Am I buying this to become someone or because I already am that person? This question hurts, but it is honest.

4. Could I borrow, rent, or try a cheaper version first? If you are not willing to try the activity with a suboptimal version, you probably will not do it with the perfect version either. Start ugly. Upgrade when you have proven the behavior.

5. Am I excited about the activity or the idea of the activity? There is a difference between wanting to bake and wanting to be someone who bakes. Between wanting to run and wanting to be a runner. Between wanting to learn guitar and wanting to be someone who plays guitar. Be honest about which one you feel.

The Exception: Real Commitment Devices

Sometimes buying something is a legitimate commitment device. The gym membership you pay for whether you go or not. The class you sign up for that forces you to show up at a specific time. The expensive race registration that creates a deadline.

These can work. But be honest with yourself about the difference between a commitment device and wishful thinking.

A commitment device has structure, accountability, and external pressure. It costs you something if you do not follow through. Other people are involved. There is a schedule you did not create.

A pasta maker in a cabinet has none of these. Neither does a yoga mat in a closet or a guitar in a corner. There is no external accountability. No deadline. No cost to not using it. These are not commitment devices. They are props in a play you never perform.

If you want to use a purchase as a commitment device, pair it with a real commitment. Sign up for a class. Tell people. Schedule it in your calendar with other humans. Put money on the line. The purchase alone is not enough.

What To Do With Past Fantasy Purchases

If you are reading this surrounded by unused aspirational items, first: let go of the guilt.

Everyone does this. It is built into how modern commerce works. Entire industries exist to sell you idealized versions of yourself. You were not weak or stupid. You were human, operating in a system designed to exploit exactly this tendency.

Now pick one of three paths:

The "Use It or Lose It" month: Pick one fantasy purchase. Just one. Commit to using it at least ten times in the next thirty days. Not perfectly. Not expertly. Just using it.

If you do, congratulations—it turns out this is part of your real life after all. The fantasy self and the real self aligned on this one.

If you do not, you have your answer. It was never about the product. Let it go.

The honest release: Sell it, donate it, give it away. Someone else might actually use it. Someone out there is already doing this activity and would love better equipment.

Holding onto it "just in case" is holding onto a fantasy. Letting it go is accepting reality. And reality is not a punishment. Reality is where your actual life happens.

The pattern audit: Before you release things, notice the pattern. What fantasies did you buy into? What identities were you trying to purchase? Your collection of unused items is a map of your aspirational self.

This information is valuable. Not as ammunition for shame, but as data. What does this pattern tell you about what you think is missing in your life? What are you actually hungry for? Sometimes the fantasy self is pointing at something real—a desire for creativity, for health, for adventure—that you could pursue in a different way.

The Waiting Game

Here is where the 24-hour rule becomes powerful—especially for aspirational purchases.

When you save something instead of buying it immediately, you create space between the impulse and the action. Over time, you will notice something interesting: the fantasy self items fade. You stop thinking about them. They drop off your list without you even deciding.

That yoga mat that seemed so essential at 11 PM? You forgot about it by Thursday. The language learning app that would "definitely" stick this time? Interest evaporated within days.

The items you keep thinking about, the ones you keep coming back to weeks later—those might be real. Not all of them. But the ones that survive the waiting period have passed a test that your impulses cannot fake.

This is not about deprivation. It is about letting time separate real desire from temporary identity shopping. Your impulses cannot distinguish between the two. But time can.

The Goal Is Not Less Stuff

Let me be clear: the goal is not to buy less. It is to buy better. To spend money on things that actually become part of your life instead of symbols of a life you are not living.

When you stop buying for the fantasy self, you start buying for the real self. And here is the thing—the real self is interesting too. The real self has quirks and preferences and a life worth supporting.

Maybe you will never be the person who runs marathons. But maybe you are the person who takes long walks while listening to podcasts. That version of you deserves good walking shoes too.

Maybe you will never be the person who bakes elaborate sourdough. But maybe you are the person who makes the same three recipes really well. That version of you deserves good cookware.

Maybe you will never be the organized productivity guru with the color-coded planner. But maybe you are the person who keeps a simple to-do list and actually follows through. That version of you deserves tools that work for how you actually think.

The fantasy self problem is not about giving up on growth. It is about being honest about what you are actually growing into—and supporting that person with your purchases.

The Test of Time

The yoga mat can stay in the closet as a reminder. Or it can find a new home with someone who actually uses it. Either way, it has taught you something.

The next time you are about to buy something for a person you wish you were, pause. Save it. Wait. Apply the 24-hour rule—or longer for aspirational items. And see if that person shows up.

Usually, they do not. And that is okay.

The person who does show up—the one who actually lives your days, makes your choices, fills your hours—is worth buying things for too. That person has real needs, real pleasures, real growth edges.

Stop shopping for the fantasy. Start shopping for the real.

You might find that person is more interesting than the one you were trying to buy your way into becoming.