Why I Hate Costco

With food prices on the rise, buying in quantity seems like a prudent strategy. But nothing will induce me to shop at Costco.

Let's face it, Costco encourages consumption and promotes wastefulness. For example, hamburger lovers can't resist purchasing a bundled package from Heinz consisting of two large jars of ketchup, one jar of mustard, and one jar of sweet relish. But not everybody likes sweet relish. The sweet relish will rot in the refrigerator, but the savings on the other condiments still justifies the purchase. Examples of this type of bundling abound, and even without bundling, the quantities themselves lead to waste. Shoppers enter the warehouse looking for a certain portion of produce, for example, strawberries, but end up purchasing two (or even ten) times that amount, out of sheer lust for a good deal. What good are four pounds of strawberries when two of them will rot in the carton? In the case of durable goods, the problem lies not with shelf life but with self-restraint. Every day, gleeful gluttons wheel out cases of Heineken, for example, congratulating themselves on having "saved" a hefty sum. After all, higher priced beer encourages healthy living though moderation, and we don't need that. Buying in quantity fuels our addiction to goods we ought to avoid in the first place.

Costco has stripped away all the pleasant aspects of a shopping trip, and turned it into a kind of game, a nerve-wracking negotiation with the pocketbook, a desperate and impersonal quest. The social elements have vanished--nobody talks or shares information, and staff members are incredibly scarce. Compared to mall browsers, Costco shoppers look greedy and disgruntled and annoyed. They come looking for opportunities, and when they don't find them, they sulk. When they do find them, they struggle with the anxiety of having committed to purchasing so large a quantity, and spending more than they wanted to spend, with the hopes of recouping their savings over time. But time and fate play cruel tricks, and the shoppers know it, and nobody leaves entirely content.

The manufacturers ought to be wary of Costco. Purchasing large quantities of anything, and then forcing oneself to justify it, increases the risk of product fatigue. These manufacturers would prefer that you enjoy their products responsibly, and preserve your brand loyalty, rather than see a lucrative relationship spoiled by a thrift-inspired orgy.

As if to add insult to injury, Costco (along with many of its shameful competitors) actually charges a membership fee for the privilege of buying too much of its crap. The ignominy of having to renew a fifty-dollar membership in order to complete the purchase of a box of granola bars has no parallel in middle-class life.

If you have five children, then I suppose it makes sense, but even then you risk falling prey to the complex traps that await you. "The kids don't usually drink pomegranate-raspberry juice, but this is so cheap!".

At Costco, you might save ten or fifteen, or even thirty percent by purchasing in quantity. But you can save even more, as much as one hundred percent, by taking this advice: don't buy it. Put down the crate of Macaroni & Cheese, abandon your cart, and calmly exit the store.