8 shopping behaviors that reveal someone is trying to fill an emotional void

Let’s be honest: we don’t just buy stuff.

We buy a mood. We buy a story about ourselves.

I write a lot about the psychology behind everyday decisions, and shopping is one of the sneakiest mirrors we have.

Below are eight patterns I’ve seen in myself, friends, and readers that often hint at something deeper than “I needed it.”

If a few hit close to home, that’s not a character flaw—it’s good data.

1. You chase the high of the haul

Ever notice how the most exciting moment is clicking “Place order,” not using the thing later?

That little spike is your brain’s reward system firing. The rush fades, and the item becomes background noise… until the next cart beckons.

When I catch myself scrolling just to feel “up,” I pause and ask: What am I avoiding feeling right now? Bored? Lonely? Stressed? Naming it reduces its grip.

A quick reset that helps: close the tab, set a five-minute timer, and write exactly what you wanted the purchase to change about your day.

Then change that directly—walk, stretch, text a friend, put on a favorite album, or make a snack.

If the urge is still there after, fine. But nine times out of ten, it’s not.

2. You buy for the life you wish you had

Aspirational carts are powerful: the $180 blender for the smoothie-pro influencer version of you; the fancy hiking boots despite your last hike being… three years ago.

I’ve done this with photography gear—believing the lens would unlock the art (it didn’t; the habit did). When our baskets are full of “future self” items that don’t match our current calendar, it’s less about need and more about longing.

Try this question before checkout: If I owned this today, exactly when in the next seven days would I use it? Put the answer in your calendar.

If you can’t, it’s a vision board purchase—great for a Pinterest folder, not your bank account.

3. You hide packages, receipts, or the whole story

Secrecy is a yellow flag. If you find yourself rushing to intercept deliveries or rounding down the price when someone asks, that’s not just about money.

It’s usually about shame. And shame thrives in silence.

As Brené Brown has said, “We cannot selectively numb emotions, when we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.”

Hiding purchases is a kind of numbing—trying not to feel guilt or uncertainty. But it also blocks the pride you’d feel from aligned choices.

If this is you, start small: tell one truth out loud—to a friend or even in your journal—about why that last purchase happened.

Then explore gentler ways to get the feeling you were after.

4. You scroll shops to soothe

A lot of people shop at night not because they’re “night people,” but because nighttime is when thoughts get loud.

Endless feeds and “Just for you” pages are a soft, buzzing sedative. I’ve mentioned this before but the HALT check (Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired) is ridiculously effective.

If one of those is true, shopping will feel like a solution—until your credit card statement arrives.

Swap “open app” for “open notes.” Make a running list called “Want log.” Capture the item, price, and what you were feeling. Revisit weekly. You’ll spot patterns fast: certain days, certain emotions, certain triggers.

Knowledge beats willpower.

5. You confuse deals with value

Sale hunting can masquerade as financial savvy when it’s really emotional math: “It’s 40% off, so I’m basically saving money.”

I’ve fallen for this with kitchen gadgets—vegan waffle maker, I’m looking at you.

The question that cuts through the fog is brutally simple: Would I want this at full price? If the answer is no, the discount isn’t a reason; it’s a rationalization.

Two quick guardrails: the 72-hour wishlist rule (add to a list, wait three days, then decide) and a “replacement only” rule for categories where you tend to overbuy (shoes, tech, beauty products).

If something comes in, something goes out.

6. You upgrade endlessly

Your phone works, but the camera is 12% better on the new one. Your headphones are fine, but there’s a “Pro Max Ultra+” now.

Constant upgrading is often a chase for novelty to distract from sameness somewhere else. New feels like progress even when nothing important changes.

A reframe that helped me: make “finish lines” for categories. For example, “I’m on the iPhone 14 until the battery health dips below 80%,” or “These running shoes stay until they hit 400 miles.”

Progress then happens in your craft, fitness, relationships—places that actually satisfy.

7. You shop to feel connected

When we feel disconnected, shopping can feel like community: inside jokes about shipping delays, unboxings on social, the hit of a “Congrats, order confirmed!” email.

But connection built on transactions doesn’t last.

As journalist Johann Hari put it, “The opposite of addiction is not sobriety, it’s connection.”

When the cart becomes your companion, it’s worth asking where else connection could live—walks with a neighbor, a cooking night, a book club, a pickup game, volunteering at a local animal rescue.

If you use social shopping for fun, keep it fun: set a budget just for “play,” use prepaid cards, and share more “re-wears” and repairs than hauls.

Normalize the satisfaction of using what you already own.

8. You avoid returns and keep the tags on

If the box sits unopened for a week, or the tags stay on “just in case,” that’s a tell. It’s not about logistics; it’s about ambivalence.

Part of you knows the item isn’t aligned, but returning it would make that truth real. I’ve done this with shoes that didn’t quite fit because the fantasy (me, effortlessly stylish at some future event) felt better than the reality (blisters).

Make returns a ritual. Put a weekly 20-minute block on your calendar called “Close the loops.” Keep a small tote by the door for return items and receipts.

Future you will thank past you for choosing clarity over clutter.

Final thoughts

Short version? Emotional voids dress up as “Add to cart.”

Here are a few practical shifts I use—and recommend—to heal the root instead of feeding the hole:

• Name the feeling before you buy. Even just “I’m restless” is a win.

• Design friction. Remove saved cards, unsubscribe from promo emails, and move shopping apps off your home screen.

• Create tiny, tasty alternatives. Five-minute journal entry, a cup of tea, a 10-minute walk, a favorite song, a quick call.

• Budget for joy on purpose. A small “treat” envelope removes the shame spiral when you do want something.

• Track use, not just spend. A simple “used/ignored” note in your calendar after a purchase is wildly revealing.

• Ask future-you. “Will this still matter to me 30 days from now?” If yes, pin it. If not, pass.

And when you need a bit of perspective, I like to remember Annie Dillard’s line: “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” Shopping is part of life—but it’s not the point of it.

If any of this stung, that’s useful information. It means you’re paying attention.

And that attention is the first step toward buying less of what numbs you—and more of what feeds you.