You have had a horrible day.

You’re anxious.

Lonely.

Angry.

Maybe something happened that reminded you of a painful period in your life.

Perhaps nothing particularly dramatic happened at all. You just feel flat.

So you pick up your phone.

You browse.

You see a handbag.

A pair of shoes.

Something for the house.

You probably don’t need it.

But for a few minutes, something changes.

You’re interested.

You’re choosing.

You’re anticipating.

You click:

BUY NOW.

A tiny wave of excitement arrives.

And for a while, whatever you were feeling before seems slightly further away.

This is where shopping can become about far more than shopping.

We often think of avoidance as physically running away from something.

But human beings have developed much more sophisticated ways of escaping.

We shop.

We gamble.

We drink.

We eat.

We scroll.

We work.

We watch television for six hours.

We endlessly rearrange the house.

We jump from relationship to relationship.

We keep ourselves so relentlessly busy that silence becomes almost impossible.

Different behaviours.

Same psychological question:

“What don’t I want to feel right now?”

Gary Vaynerchuk’s challenge: stop buying things to cover up hurt

In a recent conversation with Mel Robbins, entrepreneur Gary Vaynerchuk made an interesting observation about the way people respond to emotional pain.

Talking about people who remain stuck because of things that happened earlier in their lives, Gary argues for taking action in the present.

And one suggestion is particularly striking.

Instead of “buying dumb shit” to cover up hurt, he asks why somebody wouldn’t invest that money in therapy instead.

He gives the example of people buying expensive cars when what they may actually have needed was therapy.

It’s provocative.

But psychologically, there’s an important idea underneath it:

Sometimes we spend money trying to change how we feel rather than dealing with why we feel that way.

Gary has also talked elsewhere about escapism more broadly, making an important distinction: escapism itself isn’t automatically bad.

We all need breaks.

The question is whether something is giving you healthy relief from life or becoming the way you continually avoid living it.

Why do human beings escape?

Because emotions can be uncomfortable.

Sometimes extraordinarily uncomfortable.

Anxiety makes us feel threatened.

Shame makes us want to hide.

Grief reminds us of what we have lost.

Loneliness reminds us of what we don’t have.

Trauma can bring memories and sensations we desperately don’t want to revisit.

Boredom can confront us with dissatisfaction.

And uncertainty reminds us that we don’t control everything.

So the brain discovers something useful:

Certain behaviours change my emotional state quickly.

Shopping does.

Gambling does.

Alcohol does.

Food does.

Social media does.

Sex can.

Work can.

Once the brain discovers something that rapidly changes how we feel, it remembers.

The emotional escape cycle

From a CBT perspective, the pattern is remarkably straightforward.

Something happens.

Perhaps:

“I had an argument with my partner.”

That triggers thoughts:

“Nobody really understands me.”

Then emotions:

Sadness.

Anger.

Loneliness.

Anxiety.

Those feelings are uncomfortable.

So you shop.

While browsing, your attention moves away from the argument.

You find something you like.

Excitement appears.

You buy it.

For a short period:

relief.

And that relief teaches the brain something:

“Shopping works.”

The next time you feel distressed, the urge appears faster.

This is negative reinforcement.

The behaviour becomes stronger because it removes or reduces something unpleasant.

The problem isn’t that shopping didn’t work.

The problem is that it worked beautifully for twenty minutes.

The shopping high

Buying something can provide several psychological rewards at once.

There is anticipation.

Choice.

Novelty.

Fantasy.

Control.

Reward.

You aren’t simply buying a dress.

For a moment, you may be buying an imagined version of yourself.

The version who wears it somewhere exciting.

The version whose life is going well.

The version who feels attractive.

The version who has somewhere wonderful to go.

The purchase contains a little parcel of possibility.

And sometimes anticipation itself is more rewarding than ownership.

How many things have you desperately wanted, ordered excitedly and then felt strangely indifferent towards when they arrived?

The emotional reward happened earlier.

It happened during the wanting.

Retail therapy sometimes really is emotional therapy

There’s a reason the phrase exists.

Someone says:

“I’ve had a terrible week. I’m going shopping.”

Occasionally, that’s completely harmless.

A pleasurable afternoon shopping with a friend can provide distraction, social connection and enjoyment.

The issue isn’t:

Do I ever shop when I’m unhappy?

The useful questions are:

Do I repeatedly shop because I’m unhappy?

Do I struggle to stop?

Do I spend money I can’t afford?

Do I hide purchases?

Do I feel guilty afterwards?

Am I buying things I don’t actually need or particularly want?

Is shopping becoming one of my main ways of regulating emotions?

That’s when the relationship with spending deserves attention.

Gambling works on a similar principle, but with an extra ingredient

Gambling offers escape too.

But it adds something particularly potent:

uncertainty.

Maybe this time.

Maybe the next spin.

Maybe the next race.

Maybe the next bet.

The possibility of reward keeps attention locked onto the present moment.

For somebody overwhelmed by worry, trauma, loneliness or depression, this can provide an extraordinarily effective temporary escape.

For a while, there is no past.

No difficult relationship.

No unpaid bill.

No painful childhood.

There is simply:

Will I win?

And because rewards are unpredictable, the behaviour can become particularly compelling.

The person may continue even after losing money because the brain remains focused on the possibility of the next reward.

Food can become emotional anaesthetic

Food can work similarly.

After a difficult day:

“I deserve this.”

There is nothing wrong with enjoying food for comfort occasionally.

Food is emotional as well as nutritional.

We celebrate with it.

We connect through it.

We comfort one another with it.

But problems can develop when eating becomes the primary way we regulate distress.

Anxiety?

Eat.

Lonely?

Eat.

Bored?

Eat.

Angry?

Eat.

The underlying emotion never gets processed.

Then shame about eating creates another painful emotion.

And what reduces that?

Sometimes more eating.

The escape creates the next thing we need to escape from.

Alcohol and drugs

The connection here may be easier to recognise.

Alcohol can reduce anxiety temporarily.

It can quieten thoughts.

It can lower inhibition.

It can help somebody forget.

That is precisely why it can become psychologically attractive to somebody living with unresolved emotional pain.

Again, the short-term effect can reinforce the behaviour.

Distress → drink → relief.

Eventually the brain learns:

“When I feel this way, this is what I do.”

The socially acceptable escapes are harder to spot

Not all avoidance looks unhealthy.

Some avoidance receives applause.

Consider work.

Someone experiences emotional pain.

So they work twelve hours a day.

They achieve.

They earn.

They receive praise.

Nobody says:

“You seem to be avoiding your feelings.”

They say:

“You’re incredibly driven.”

Exercise can work similarly.

Exercise is enormously beneficial.

But somebody can still use excessive exercise to avoid difficult emotions.

Even helping other people can become avoidance.

If I’m permanently solving everybody else’s problems, perhaps I never have to sit quietly with my own.

A behaviour can be healthy in itself and unhealthy in its function.

That’s an important distinction.

And then there is the escape machine in your pocket

Your phone may be the most convenient emotional avoidance device humans have ever invented.

You don’t even have to get off the sofa.

Uncomfortable thought?

Scroll.

Bored?

Scroll.

Lonely?

Scroll.

Anxious?

Scroll.

Sad?

Scroll.

Within seconds, your attention is somewhere else.

Someone’s holiday.

A dog falling into a paddling pool.

Celebrity gossip.

Breaking news.

A handbag.

A political argument.

Another dog.

Your brain has travelled through seventeen emotional states before you’ve even remembered why you picked up the phone.

Again:

distraction works.

But constant distraction can mean we rarely remain with an emotion long enough to understand it.

The difference between healthy escape and emotional avoidance

This distinction matters enormously.

We all need escapism.

Gary Vaynerchuk himself has previously argued that we should stop judging other people’s escapism.

Watch television.

Play games.

Shop.

Read a ridiculous novel.

Go to the cinema.

Spend Sunday watching football.

Life doesn’t need to become one endless personal-development seminar.

Rest and pleasure are psychologically important.

The question is:

Am I choosing this because I enjoy it, or because I cannot tolerate what happens when I stop?

Healthy escape says:

“Life has been difficult today. I’m going to watch a film and relax.”

Avoidance says:

“I cannot be alone with my thoughts, so I need something constantly happening.”

One restores us.

The other increasingly controls us.

Trauma doesn’t always look like trauma

People sometimes imagine unresolved trauma means flashbacks and nightmares.

It can.

But unresolved painful experiences can also show up indirectly.

Difficulty trusting.

Fear of abandonment.

Perfectionism.

People-pleasing.

Hyper-independence.

Anger.

Emotional numbness.

Constant busyness.

Compulsive behaviours.

Low self-worth.

Difficulty being alone.

A person may not consciously think:

“I’m going shopping because my childhood was painful.”

The connection is rarely that obvious.

They simply know:

“I feel better when I buy something.”

This is why curiosity works better than judgement.

Why telling yourself to “just stop” often fails

Suppose shopping is helping you manage loneliness.

You decide:

“No more shopping.”

Excellent.

Except now you’re lonely.

You’ve removed the behaviour without addressing its function.

The brain will often look for another route.

Perhaps you start eating more.

Or drinking.

Or scrolling.

Or gambling.

This is sometimes called symptom substitution, although the reality is more complicated than simply swapping one symptom for another.

The useful principle is:

Don’t only remove the escape. Build the capacity to deal with what you were escaping from.

Ask yourself: what happened immediately before the urge?

This is one of the simplest exercises you can try.

Next time you suddenly want to shop, gamble, drink, binge, scroll or engage in another escape behaviour, pause.

Ask:

What happened in the last hour?

Then:

What am I feeling?

Perhaps:

Rejected.

Lonely.

Bored.

Overwhelmed.

Inadequate.

Angry.

Ashamed.

Anxious.

Empty.

Then ask:

What am I hoping this behaviour will make me feel instead?

That’s the gold.

Maybe shopping gives you excitement.

Gambling gives you adrenaline.

Alcohol gives you calm.

Food gives you comfort.

Social media gives you connection.

Work gives you worth.

Now we understand the need underneath the behaviour.

Try the 20-minute pause

When the urge appears, don’t tell yourself:

“I’m absolutely forbidden from doing this.”

That can make the urge even stronger.

Instead:

“I can still do it in twenty minutes.”

Then do something else.

Walk.

Shower.

Call somebody.

Make tea.

Sit outside.

Write down what you’re feeling.

Play with the dog.

Do something with your hands.

After twenty minutes, ask:

“Do I still want this as much?”

Sometimes you will.

But you have interrupted the automatic connection between feeling and behaviour.

That interruption matters.

Learn to name emotions more precisely

Many people have only a few emotional categories:

Fine.

Stressed.

Angry.

Sad.

But underneath “stressed” might be:

Overwhelmed.

Rejected.

Embarrassed.

Uncertain.

Powerless.

Lonely.

Disappointed.

Jealous.

Ashamed.

Once you accurately identify the emotion, you have more options.

If you’re lonely, buying shoes doesn’t solve loneliness.

If you’re ashamed, gambling doesn’t resolve shame.

If you’re grieving, scrolling doesn’t process grief.

The coping strategy needs to fit the emotion.

Ask: what do I actually need?

This question can change everything.

If I’m shopping because I’m lonely:

I need connection.

If I’m drinking because I’m anxious:

I need ways of regulating anxiety.

If I’m gambling because life feels empty:

I may need stimulation, purpose or excitement.

If I’m scrolling because I’m exhausted:

I may actually need rest.

If I’m working constantly because I feel worthless when I’m not achieving:

I need to examine why productivity determines my value.

The urge is information.

Don’t just fight it.

Decode it.

Spend money on the problem, not the escape

This is where Gary Vaynerchuk’s comment becomes particularly interesting.

Imagine spending £300 every month on things you don’t really need because shopping briefly lifts your mood.

What if some of that money went towards something that addressed the underlying problem?

Therapy.

Exercise.

A course.

A hobby.

Time with people.

A weekend somewhere restorative.

Paying down debt that is causing anxiety.

Something that builds your life rather than briefly distracting you from it.

This doesn’t mean never buy the handbag.

Life would be rather joyless if every spare pound had to demonstrate therapeutic value.

It means becoming conscious of the difference between:

“I’m buying this because I genuinely want it.”

and:

“I’m buying this because I desperately want to feel different.”

Create an emotional emergency kit

If you know your escape behaviour, prepare alternatives before you need them.

If you shop when distressed, your alternatives might be:

Call someone.

Walk for twenty minutes.

Write down what happened.

Listen to music.

Exercise.

Take a bath.

Do breathing exercises.

Sit with the feeling for ten minutes.

Book a therapy appointment.

Do something creative.

Go somewhere rather than buying something.

You aren’t looking for one perfect replacement.

You’re building a menu of responses.

Make the unwanted behaviour slightly harder

Our environment shapes behaviour more than we like to admit.

If compulsive shopping is a problem:

Remove saved cards.

Delete shopping apps.

Unsubscribe from promotional emails.

Wait 24 or 48 hours before purchasing non-essential items.

Put things in your basket without immediately checking out.

If gambling is the issue, use blocking tools and self-exclusion services.

If scrolling is the problem, remove apps from your home screen or create phone-free periods.

Willpower is useful.

Friction is often better.

But eventually you may have to feel the feeling

This is the part we spend years trying to avoid.

There may not be a clever trick that eliminates grief.

Or rejection.

Or shame.

Or loneliness.

Some emotions need to be experienced rather than solved.

Sit with them.

Write about them.

Talk about them.

Take them to therapy.

Cry.

Be angry.

Notice what happens in your body.

Allow the emotional wave to rise.

And then watch something surprising happen.

It falls.

Emotions are temporary physiological and psychological states.

We often make them last longer by spending enormous amounts of energy trying not to experience them.

Trauma deserves treatment, not judgement

If your escape behaviours are connected to trauma, this isn’t about blaming yourself for developing them.

They may have helped you survive extraordinarily difficult periods.

Avoidance can be protective.

The problem comes when a coping strategy developed for survival continues running long after the danger has passed.

Therapy can help people process painful experiences and develop different ways of regulating emotions.

Depending upon the problem, approaches might include CBT, trauma-focused CBT, EMDR or other appropriate psychological therapies.

The aim isn’t to erase the past.

It’s to stop needing to organise your present life around escaping from it.

Before you click BUY NOW

Try asking yourself five questions:

1. What am I feeling right now?

2. What happened just before I wanted this?

3. Do I want the item, or do I want the feeling I expect the item to give me?

4. How will I feel about this purchase tomorrow?

5. What do I actually need right now?

Sometimes the answer will still be:

“I want the shoes.”

Fine.

Buy the shoes if you can afford them.

The point isn’t to pathologise pleasure.

It’s to distinguish pleasure from anaesthesia.

You don’t need to escape every uncomfortable feeling

Perhaps that is the larger lesson.

We live in an age offering almost unlimited opportunities not to feel.

Food delivered in minutes.

Shopping delivered tomorrow.

Thousands of television programmes.

Infinite scrolling.

Online gambling.

Alcohol.

Games.

Pornography.

Social media.

Work.

Noise.

Distraction has never been easier to obtain.

But emotional health doesn’t mean feeling good all the time.

It means developing confidence that:

“I can survive feeling bad.”

I can feel lonely without immediately filling the emptiness.

I can feel anxious without immediately numbing it.

I can feel rejected without trying to buy myself a different identity.

I can feel bored without needing stimulation every thirty seconds.

I can remember something painful without allowing the memory to run my life.

That is emotional resilience.

Build a life you need less escape from

Gary Vaynerchuk’s message in his conversation with Mel Robbins is ultimately about agency.

You cannot change everything that happened to you.

You cannot undo childhood.

You cannot reverse betrayal.

You cannot prevent every disappointment.

But there comes a point when the question changes from:

“Why did this happen to me?”

to:

“What am I going to do with what happened to me?”

That doesn’t mean pretending trauma doesn’t matter.

Quite the opposite.

It means taking it seriously enough to address it rather than continually anaesthetising it.

Shopping isn’t evil.

Gambling isn’t evidence of moral weakness.

Enjoying food isn’t a psychological problem.

Watching Netflix isn’t wasting your life.

And occasionally escaping from reality can be wonderfully restorative.

But pay attention when escape becomes somewhere you live.

Because the purchase arrives.

The bet finishes.

The bottle empties.

The episode ends.

The phone eventually goes dark.

And whatever you were running from may still be sitting quietly underneath it all.

Perhaps the bravest question isn’t:

“How do I stop doing this?”

It’s:

“What am I trying so hard not to feel?”

And once you know the answer, you can finally start dealing with the thing that actually hurts.