I Want Perfection

Through acquisition of the perfect products.

Whenever you watch a late-night infomercial and wonder who could possibly be the audience for an All-in-One Cardio and Weightlifting Fatburning Device, think of me. I’ve bought into essential oils, expensive planners, and a $100 Parisian chic sweatshirt that, despite my best efforts, looks more post-spin than South Pigalle. I am a marketer’s dream, because I want that magic bullet that will change my life for the better (figuratively; I bought the Magic Bullet blender in 2007 and unfortunately it didn’t change anything except my lack of counter space).

To me, shopping is a bit like the way I continue to watch M. Night Shyamalan movie after M. Night Shyamalan movie; deep in my bones, I know it’s not going to be what I need—but I do it anyway, in search of that one fleeting moment of perfection that I know is out there. (If you’re reading this, Mr. Shyamalan, please know that I truly have faith there is another Sixth Sense in you somewhere.) Even though I’ve made questionable decisions in the past, I still strongly believe that my (material, acquired through transaction) soulmate is out there, ready to sweep me off my feet. Here’s a list of the perfect products I currently want, and the perfect products I bought that turned out to be not so perfect.

The perfect products that I am sure will transform my life:

A Burberry trench coat, $1550. Is this an investment? Absolutely. Do I have the means to buy this now? Absolutely not. But I imagine myself breezing into work in this trench coat. Would it matter that I’m half an hour late? Would it matter that I’m planning on leaving an hour early? Would it matter that I’ll inevitably take a two-hour lunch to hide from all the tasks I’m ill equipped and undertrained to handle? Definitely not. A woman who wears a Burberry trench coat means business.

Fage Total, $33 for six individual cups plus $50 in shipping costs to Canada. Every time I escape the clutches of having a hot feminist in charge and free healthcare into the US, I make sure to hoard (and consume, upon opportune moment) as many individual cups of Fage Total as possible. Who knew a convenient snack existed that is so healthy for you and yet tastes like adult Cool Whip? If I had Fage Total, I would have my life totally together. I would be the kind of person who eats breakfast regularly (Fage and fruit, naturally), has enough energy (from the protein) to dispense with mid-morning caffeine pills in addition to a french press, and never gives in to pre-lunch gummy worms.

A dog from the Rolly Teacup Puppies Instagram, $3–6K plus airfare from South Korea. My puppy would be super small and super cute, despite being absolutely unethical and unnecessary for me to own. This dog wouldn’t just be a something to snuggle, though. This dog would catapult my life into Instagram stardom. I wouldn’t even have to work a normal job; I would just post cute pics of me and little Oliver and the occasional sponsored post from TeaTox and Flat Tummy Tea. I would be invited to tons of great events and get to rub elbows (snouts?) with all the other Instafamous dogs.

A web development immersive course, $8,500. I envision an existence for myself where not only do I have an enviable life, but I am also smart and very tech savvy. I would be totally independent, never having to ask friends who had a more rigorous major in university for tech support. I would never have to refer to Tumblr as “an okay place for us to host a website for our improv troupe!” and would get to say things like “hack into the mainframe!”—or at least, get to explain why that phrase doesn’t make sense.

La Mer, $332. My skin is not horrible, but with the exposure to these Canadian winters and the lack of protein in my diet (see Fage Total, above), my face looks dry and dull most of the time. If I had a tub of La Mer, I would look perpetually rested and ready for whatever. I would glow so hard that people on the subway would think I was pregnant and give up their seats for me. I would never age and thus never die. Instead, I’d become a super hot, super fresh 700-year-old mummy that everyone wants to party with.

Previous “perfect products” that did not change my life one bit:

A 12-pack of Happy Planet Health Shots, $36. I decided my morning would consist of vitamin shots instead of espresso shots. Despite fantasies of myself smugly turning down a latte in favor of wheatgrass, I was only able to stomach the bitter taste of one (the shots I bought were definitely the tequila of the health shot world) before I dumped the rest.

Crossfit classes, $800. I thought I could be one of those people who was mostly sedentary until they found Crossfit and became muscled beasts (who also feel comfortable calling themselves beasts all the time). I was never able to tap into my own personal “beast mode,” choosing instead to stay in “petulant tween mode” (doing the bare minimum and in my head, reassuring myself that the instructor was picking on me because he was jealous of how good I am at math). I never renewed my class pass.

A spiralizer, $20. The truth hurts, but here it is: zucchini tastes the same whether it’s sliced, in chunks, or in spirals. It is not pasta. It will never be pasta.

Martha Stortz is a writer and researcher living in Toronto, Canada.

This story is part of The Billfold’s I Want It Now series.

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