It wasn’t even February when I broke my New Year’s resolution: No buying anything online.

Like many people, I’m drawn in by the endless websites dedicated to helping me find The Best Item. An ad, a review or an article convinces me: I’ve been looking for this thing forever! (Even if I have never heard of it before.) Before my sentient brain can bust in, the nerves in my body have purchased the wet vacuum, ill-fitting khaki suit or eight-pack of invisible ink spy pens; the guilt comes when they’re chucked on my doorstep.

I often don’t feel good about the time I spend online shopping, which fills the moments in between life’s tasks or serves as a little treat for completing them. And I suspect I own too much stuff. It’s not like my house is cluttered, it’s just that every room has an “everything drawer” and there’s an “everything room” in the basement that’s getting out of hand. How did all this get in here? The answer is online shopping, turbocharged by my nesting instinct, itself heightened as a coping mechanism during the pandemic. Now, it’s maladaptive.

It isn’t just about my own well-being. On top of the dismal working conditions for the people who make our clothes, phones and other consumer products, I worry about the quality of work for gig delivery drivers who are sub-sub-contractors, some of whom make money per parcel delivered and can work 13 hours a day, seven days a week. I have a hard time justifying the convenience of online shopping at the expense of others’ poverty wages.

Like those who’ve decided to boycott American products due to U.S. President Donald Trump’s looming trade war, I’m trying to spend money in a way that reflects my values and rewires my brain away from instant gratification.

I’ve done it before. In 2023, I made it through the year without online shopping – for the most part. I carved out exceptions: Gifts for other people (such as decorations for a baby shower, a beanbag toss game for my godson), my cat’s prescription specialty food and – this was fudging it ‐ ordering takeout food on the apps just about every week. It worked, in that I wasted less money and time scrolling the endless inventory online.

There were times I felt like I was missing out. By June, I had made a note on my phone titled “Things I Wish I Could Buy on the Internet” to throw links into when I felt deprived. One of the items was a $277 silk top in the colour “tea.” Another was a sink caddy, the thing that holds your sponge. I never bought anything on this list.

When I told people what I was doing, the typical answer was, “I could never!” often involving children, which I don’t have and can’t imagine schlepping to a mall, so fine. Some people are unable to get to stores because of physical limitations, sensory processing issues or illness, so e-commerce allows them to buy what they need.

But there’s really nothing stopping me from going to a store. I’m old enough to remember a world before rental vans parked askew all over the city, delivering packages from Amazon, Temu and everywhere else. I liked that world just fine. I walked to stores with my friends and bought whatever was there. And that’s what I did in 2023: A credit card statement reveals that I shopped in-person at COS, Patagonia, an indie bookstore, the grocery store, the pharmacy.

I was still buying too much. When every transit ride, TV show and social media feed is full of ads, it’s hard not to feel like buying something creates a sense of belonging in our society.

And the allure of e-commerce is strong; despite going mostly without in 2023, I was back online the following year.

One time, I ordered a suit that looked cool and guessed at the size. It didn’t fit, and I discovered there was a cost to returning the clothing, which discouraged me from bothering. A “return fee” is getting more common as even retailers try to get you to think before you click checkout.

So, reawakened to the hassle of online shopping, I brought back my ban as this year rolled around, with no expiry date and forgiveness for the odd slip-up. My first online-buy of 2025, in my defence, wasn’t available in-store; my colleague had convinced me I needed a $119 acupressure mat that feels like a bed of nails to cure my sleep problems and headaches. She might be right, but after three weeks, it’s still in the box.

Sometimes a little friction – like the task of leaving your house and going to a store – gives you time to rethink your purchases. That’s a good trade.