Why America Went Shopping Post 9/11

What happens when we conflate consumerism with patriotism?

First, I think it’s important to acknowledge the serious losses of September 11th. 2,977 lives lost, countless others changed forever. There are empty seats at holiday tables and lives forever changed from injuries, toxin exposure, and PTSD. Losses that individuals, families, and loved ones will never fully recover from. Even for those of us not directly affected, the legacy of 9/11 has changed our mundane personal experiences (like boarding an airplane) and the profound, like our conception of America’s role in the global order.

I don’t take the gravity of the profound loss or the impact on American lives and experiences lightly. But one thing I’ve been particularly interested in is the American imperative to shop in the aftermath of 9/11, and, in fact, pretty much every other crisis over the last century.

In the aftermath of the fall of the Twin Towers, then-President George W. Bush urged Americans to return to ordinary life. Specifically, one that apparently involved a whole lot of shopping:

“Get down to Disney World in Florida.  Take your families and enjoy life, the way we want it to be enjoyed.”

“I ask your continued participation and confidence in the American economy. Terrorists attacked a symbol of American prosperity; they did not touch its source.”

Then-Vice President Dick Cheney was a little more blunt: “…I would hope the American people would, in effect, stick their thumb in the eye of the terrorists and…not let what's happened here in any way throw off their normal level of economic activity.”

Taken out of context, the request seems almost absurd: The most important thing you can do after a world-changing tragedy is open your wallet.

In context, I’ll be a little bit more fair: The best way to demonstrate that terrorism did not win was to go about our daily lives (and, you know, not crash the economy). Our daily lives just happened to involve a whole lot of consumer spending.

The Bizarre Trend of Buying Things as Virtue Signaling.

Consumer spending did, in fact, soar in October 2001. In fact, Americans spent enough that— combined with monetary policy and all the other complexities of a big economy— it ended the Y2K recession of 2001. But some of the things that Americans chose to spend on in the aftermath of the attack were, um… interesting.

In October 2001, just one month after the attacks, the Washington Post wrote about the rise of Osama bin Laden themed, well, everything: “In the spirit of unrefined capitalism, we are now mass-producing the image of a man said to be responsible for killing thousands of our citizens. You can buy Osama bin Laden posters ("Wanted Dead or Alive"), Osama bin Laden golf balls ("You will drive this ball farther with a little extra aggression")… Of all the anti-bin Laden products out there, toilet tissue is perhaps the most intriguing. At the America! store at Dulles International Airport -- and online -- you can purchase a roll of "Wipe Out bin Laden" for $7.95.”

In fact, were you even an American if you didn’t buy the Osama bin Laden golf balls and t-shirts? To be fair, though. the best sellers were simply more American. Sales of flags, patriotic sweatshirts, commemorative earrings, and even a controversial cheese plate soared in the aftermath of 9/11.

And, in fact, businesses profited substantially from the rise of patriotic-adjacent goods. In the first 6 months post-9/11, corporations sold over $100 million in goods with labels like ‘For the benefit of the Twin Towers Fund.’ But while consumers thought that their purchases were entirely charitable, in reality, corporations frequently donated less than a dime of every dollar in profit. In fact, one CEO defended his decision to retain 90% of profits from the sale of America-themed sneakers by arguing that “the most patriotic thing we can do is make money.”

For many families of 9/11 victims, the emphasis on consumerism— particularly the inclusion of a gift shop at Ground Zero— was understandably devastating. But still, as a society, we chose to put our patriotism on full display. In the form, that is, of t-shirts and themed toilet paper.

Journalists in the aftermath of 9/11 even coined a term for it: Market patriotism. As Robert Reich wrote for the Washington Post at the time, “market patriotism suggests a strange kind of sacrifice: Continue the binge we've been on for years.”

What I think this points to is an interesting form of virtue signaling, where we conflate buying things as doing good. I think we’ve been sold the idea that buying a flag t-shirt is not only the best way to demonstrate patriotism, but is also somehow morally equivalent to donating directly to the families of fallen firefighters. And I’m not here to judge the morality of anyone’s buying choices. I just don’t think the best version of our society, whatever that might look like, should conflate the two… but here we are.

Shopping as Crisis Control

Fast forward 20 years, and our response to the Covid-19 crisis was not all that different. Although we were being asked to stay home rather than traipse to Disneyland, our societal imperative was still to shop. And in addition to shopping local, Covid-19 stimulus money went to fund $1.8 billion in Peloton sales, a mad rush on coveted holiday toys, a brand new lounge wear craze, and a whole host of other weird panic buys. For many people, one of the most acute frustrations of 2020 and 2021 was supply chain delays and out-of-stock items.

My family narrowly dodged the panicked toilet paper purchases of the early pandemic days. But I still remember one of the most frustrating moments of the pandemic as waiting literally months for a stroller— and that’s with a front-line health care worker husband, my position as a then-teacher taken virtual, and a newborn baby at home without being able to access the support system we had envisioned. It wasn’t that the stroller mattered, because in the grand scheme of things it didn’t. But it was one of the only things that felt remotely in my control at the time— because even when the world shuts down, our entire American experience is predicated on being able to get our wildest consumer dreams delivered in a matter of days.

I’m curious about the health of a society where the most important thing in the aftermath of crisis is to shop.

A crisis of consumerism isn’t new. In fact, I’m reminded of President Jimmy Carter’s speech about the ‘malaise’ of American society in the wake of an energy crisis (a speech that David French of the New York Times argued was perhaps more relevant today than it was to the 1970s): “In a nation that was proud of hard work, strong families, close-knit communities, and our faith in God, too many of us now tend to worship self-indulgence and consumption. Human identity is no longer defined by what one does, but by what one owns. But we've discovered that owning things and consuming things does not satisfy our longing for meaning. We've learned that piling up material goods cannot fill the emptiness of lives which have no confidence or purpose.”

But the crisis of consumerism is a manufactured problem. As in, literally manufactured by corporations who produce trillions of dollars in goods and spend $674 billion annually on advertising. (In comparison, we could end world hunger for around $40 billion, just a fraction of corporations’ global advertising budgets).

As a society, we could use our resources for any number of good things, however you want to define good. We could contribute to relief funds instead of buying chintzy t-shirts, support local charities instead of hoarding commemorative plastic junk, or, it turns out, end global hunger with barely a dent in corporate profits.

And crucially, shopping is not a substitute for community. In the aftermath of crisis— whether it’s the energy crisis of the 70s, the terrorist attacks of 9/11, or the Covid-19 pandemic— it’s misguided to think that opening our wallets or clicking add to cart is a viable substitute for soul care or a supportive community. I’m not pretending to have all the answers on how we got to this point or where to go from here— but I’ve opened comments on this post to everyone and I’d love if you weighed in.

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