The Paradox of Deals and Marketing: Inherited Instincts

Yesterday, I talked about contradictions: how this time of year turns us all into walking paradoxes trying to slow down while cramming twelve weeks of work into four.

Today, I want to explore the paradox of loving a good deal while despising flashy “BUY NOW” marketing. For me, I can easily trace my love of a bargain to my father.

Now, my dad was not someone you’d feature on Hoarders. But still… he had a problem.

Exhibit A:

We were on our way (late, as usual) to a baseball game. Not practice. Not optional. A real game. The kind where if you don’t show up on time, you don’t play.

We’re cutting it close, the field is five minutes away, and suddenly… we slow down.

“Dad? What are you doing?”

“This’ll just take a second.”

He pulls over.

I look out the window and he’s just standing there, staring at this old dresser on the side of the road. Not a nice dresser. Not a “we just moved and we desperately need furniture” dresser. More like the kind of dresser that almost certainly contains bedbugs, and perhaps a portal to Blarnia (a much worse version of Narnia.)

“Dad, NO. Absolutely not. We are going to be late.”

“This’ll go faster if you help me.”

At this point, I know I’ve lost.

We fold down the seats. We try to angle the dresser in. It’s not fitting. We try again. It’s still not fitting.

Finally, we manage to wedge it in at an angle that defies physics.

He goes to shut the door.

And when it closes, one corner of the dresser catches the window and the entire thing explodes.

Glass everywhere. A shriek, a silence, a moment of eye contact. Then, somehow, we both start laughing.

And in that moment, as I’m looking at him with equal parts disbelief and affection, he gets this look on his face like, “Huh. Maybe I do have a problem.”

And deep in my soul, I had one prayer:

Please God, don’t let me inherit…whatever this is.

Spoiler alert: I did.

Fast forward to adulthood, and I have the same maddening, wonderful instinct.

The Swap Shed

We have a town dump in Lincoln, and going there is one of my absolute favorite chores. Not because I love throwing things away, but because of the swap shed.

People leave free stuff for other people to take home. Perfectly good free stuff. Free is my love language.

I have brought home many things from the swap shed. A concerning percentage of them are now quietly decomposing in my basement beneath a blanket of musty cobwebs.

But some of it? Some of it has been glorious.

Like the time I found a real sword.

Not a toy. Not part of a costume. A genuine (replica) Japanese katana. A sword.

See? It’s a real sword.

I brought it home like Indiana Jones in possession of a sacred relic.

“Sue! Look what I found!”

Her reflexive response to anything from the swap shed is: “Put it back. We don’t need it.”

“Um, excuse me? What if someone breaks in? What if society collapses? This could save our lives someday. Do you not understand that this is a real sword?”

(I did not put it back.)

The Paradox of a Good Deal

Every time I put a $5 rotisserie chicken in my cart at Costco, it’s basically a microdose of MDMA. Something in my brain just lights up. It’s probably evolutionary (the hunter-gatherer joy of discovering resources in the wild).

So yes: I love deals. I love treasure-hunting. I inherited that from my dad.

But here’s the paradox:

I also inherited ADHD from him.

Not like “haha I have ADHD I lose my keys sometimes,” or “It’s actually a superpower.” More like “I take medication and require regular coaching and therapy just to be a functional member of society.”

And nothing triggers my squirrel brain in a bad way quite like Black Friday.

The “SALE ENDS IN 3… 2… 1…” panic-inducing nonsense. The artificial scarcity (“Only 2 left!” when there are 20,000 in a warehouse in Nevada). The psychological pricing tricks (oh it’s $499.99, that’s so much less than $500!) It feels like I have to fend off a bombardment of dopamine missiles every time I open the internet this time of year.

And for years, I thought that to run a successful photography business, I had to participate in that same noise. I had to “optimize” and “convert” and “leverage scarcity” and all the other BS that makes me feel like a slime ball.

I hate how anxious it makes people. I hate how anxious it makes me. I hate how it tries to get people to buy things they don’t need, using strategies that are basically emotional trickery.

The contradiction is: I am both pulled toward real value and repulsed by manufactured urgency.

I love a free dresser. I hate a fake “doorbuster.”

I love a good deal. I hate tricking people into buying something they didn’t want.

I love finding hidden treasure. I hate being told I “have to act now.”

This is the tension I live in. Maybe you feel it too.

Ready to find your own treasure? If you’re interested in capturing your special moments with a genuine approach, let’s chat and make something memorable.