If you shop like this, you’re still stuck in a scarcity mindset – 8 signs

A scarcity mindset doesn’t only show up in your bank balance.

It sneaks into the tiny choices you make at the checkout, the way you hunt for “deals,” and the stories you tell yourself about money and stuff.

If any of the signs below feel uncomfortably familiar, don’t beat yourself up.

Noticing them is step one. Replacing them is step two.

Let’s get into it.

1. Flash-sale chasing

If “limited-time offer” lights up your nervous system like a fire alarm, that’s scarcity doing the driving.

The clock counts down, your pulse speeds up, and suddenly you’re buying a fourth water bottle because it’s 40% off for the next 11 minutes.

“Scarcity captures the mind,” write Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir in their book Scarcity—we tunnel on the urgent and miss the important (source).

Shopping while tunneled means you solve a fake emergency (“I’ll miss the deal!”) and create a real problem (clutter, debt, regret).

Abundance move: Treat every promo as an invitation to pause, not pounce. Screenshot the offer. Walk away.

If you still want it in 72 hours, revisit—without the countdown.

2. “Just in case” hoarding

I used to keep three backup phone chargers in my backpack. Then two more in a drawer. Then one in the glove compartment.

Not because I needed five, but because I feared being caught without one.

That wasn’t preparedness. It was panic in bulk.

Stockpiling duplicates is fear cosplay—an attempt to buy certainty in a world that refuses to be certain. You end up with cash trapped on shelves instead of working for you.

Abundance move: Keep a realistic buffer for true essentials (meds, basics for kids, cat litter), but for everything else, adopt a “one in, one out” rule.

I’ve mentioned this before but it’s absurdly effective. If you can’t name a scenario where a backup would realistically save the day, you probably don’t need the backup.

3. Cheapest-first thinking

When money feels scarce, “cheapest” masquerades as “smartest.”

You buy the $25 blender three times instead of the $120 one once. You congratulate yourself for “saving” $45 while spending more time, attention, and landfill space.

Morgan Housel puts it cleanly: “Wealth is what you don’t see”.

You don’t see the money you didn’t spend on replacements. You don’t see the hours you didn’t waste dealing with returns. You don’t see stress avoided.

Abundance move: Calculate cost-per-use before you buy. If the $120 blender will get used 300 times, that’s 40 cents per smoothie.

The $25 blender that dies after 30 uses costs 83 cents per smoothie—and a tiny chunk of your sanity. Buy fewer, better, and use them hard.

4. Credit-as-cash

There’s a difference between using credit and leaning on it.

When you treat a credit line—or Buy Now, Pay Later—as oxygen, you’re telling yourself your present needs matter more than your future options.

This is classic scarcity storytelling: “I’ll figure it out later.” Later arrives with interest.

Abundance move: Turn revolving credit into a clear choice, not ambient air. Before every swipe, ask, “Would I still buy this if I had to pay in full today?”

If the answer is no, your future self is already voting against it. Give that person a say.

5. Untouched “nice” items

If you’ve ever bought something “too nice to use,” congratulations, you just paid a premium to be intimidated.

I once splurged on a beautiful vegan leather weekender, then left it in a closet because I didn’t want to “ruin” it.

That bag did nothing for my life locked up like museum art.

Henry David Thoreau had a line for this: “The cost of a thing is the amount of what I will call life which is required to be exchanged for it”.

The life you exchange doesn’t end at purchase. It continues every day you don’t use the thing you bought. That’s a quiet tax.

Abundance move: Put items into service immediately. Scuff the sneakers on day one. Brew coffee in the fancy mug on a Tuesday.

“Save it for best” is scarcity language in a thrift-store tuxedo.

6. Price-only valuation

If your default question is “How much is it?” rather than “What will it do for me?” you’re stuck counting pennies while ignoring payoff.

Price matters. But price without context is trivia.

A $12 produce box that nudges you to cook at home saves you restaurant spend. A $25 book that changes how you negotiate pay might pay back for a decade.

On the flip side, a $9 impulse snack bought daily is a $3,000 habit over a year—and that’s before the health tab.

Abundance move: Ask two follow-ups before buying anything: “What problem will this solve?” and “What cheaper habit or headache will this replace?”

If you can’t answer both, the price is irrelevant; it’s expensive at any number.

7. Anxiety shopping

Shopping is a socially acceptable way to regulate feelings.

Bored? Add to cart. Anxious? Scroll for dopamine. Lonely? Track packages and call it “something to look forward to.”

Short-term it works. Long-term it deepens the very scarcity—of peace, time, emotional energy—you’re trying to escape.

Here’s a simple tell: if you’re shopping with a tight chest and shallow breath, you’re medicating, not selecting.

Abundance move: Before opening the app, ask, “What am I hoping this purchase will make me feel?”

If the answer is calm, control, or connection, try the smallest free version first: a five-minute walk, tidying a surface, or texting a friend.

Then decide if you still want the thing.

8. No-plan purchasing

A surprising amount of “bad shopping” comes from having no plan at all. You buy groceries without a loose menu. Clothes without an outfit. Fitness gear without a routine. Then you feel guilty when the stuff doesn’t magically knit itself into your life.

That guilt becomes Exhibit A in your internal court case: “See, I waste money. Money is scarce. I’m bad with it.” The verdict justifies the next impulsive purchase, and the loop continues.

Abundance move: Make the decision upstream. A two-minute plan prevents two-hour regrets. For food, sketch three default meals you actually cook and buy only around them.

For clothes, pick a uniform for your real Tuesday life, not imaginary Friday-me. For gear, write the calendar invites first; buy second.

How to swap scarcity for enoughness

A scarcity mindset whispers two lies: “There isn’t enough,” and “I’m not enough to handle it.” Shopping from those scripts turns every aisle into a threat.

So you protect yourself with speed, duplication, cheapness, or avoidance. It’s understandable. It’s also expensive.

Here’s a compact playbook I use (and still need):

• Slow the moment. If the deal is real, it will be real tomorrow. If it isn’t, it’s marketing.

• Buy for your actual life. Not your aspirational alter ego who somehow meal-preps five days, surfs at dawn, and wears silk to the farmer’s market.

• Choose durability. Pay for fewer seams, better zippers, repairable parts, and brands that make vegan, sustainable options you’ll be proud to use.

• Close the loop. If you do buy, integrate immediately: remove tags, find a home, calendar the first use.

• Audit the story. Write down the sentence you said to justify your last three purchases. Would you say that to a friend? Would you say it to your future self?

If your brain loves a mantra, try this one on the way to checkout: “Enough is a decision, not an arrival.”

The goal isn’t to spend more or less. It’s to spend with a clear head and an open hand—on things that actually make your life fuller, more humane, and (since this is VegOut) kinder to the planet and the animals we share it with.

You don’t need permission to opt out of the panic.

You just need one calm choice at a time.

Final note for fellow money-curious minds: if you like having a simple rule to return to, let it be this: spend extravagantly on what you love, and cut mercilessly on what you don’t. It honors your values and starves scarcity of drama.

Now open your last receipt and circle one thing that didn’t earn its keep.

That’s your first small win.