Why 'Treat Yourself' Culture is Costing the Earth (And Not Making Anyone Happier)

Somewhere along the way, self-care was rebranded. No longer a modest affair involving sleep, vegetables, and the occasional bath, it has become a sprawling empire of instant gratification. "Treat yourself," the internet whispers. You deserve it. A coffee the size of a bucket, delivered straight to your door. A novelty mug from an online store you’ll forget about by next week. A $12 smoothie promising spiritual enlightenment in a biodegradable cup.

Self-care, once the quiet maintenance of one’s sanity, has been transformed into an unrelenting command to consume. And the consequences for wallets, wellbeing, and the planet, are beginning to show.

The Myth of the Little Treat

The modern economy runs on a simple lie: that the solution to every problem is to buy something. Feeling sad? Treat yourself. Feeling happy? Treat yourself. Feeling nothing in particular? Treat yourself before it's too late.

In isolation, the occasional indulgence is harmless. A spontaneous pastry. A new pair of socks. No one is suggesting we all take vows of asceticism and whittle our own shoes from reclaimed wood. But when "treat yourself" becomes a daily reflex rather than an occasional pleasure, the impacts ripple outwards.

Individually wrapped snack packs. Takeaway coffee cups. Single-use delivery packaging. Endless fleets of vans ferrying tiny parcels of dopamine to doorsteps. Mountains of food, fashion, and tech consumed not out of need but out of momentary impulse, then abandoned just as quickly.

It’s death by a thousand "small" indulgences. And the planet, it turns out, is footing the tab.

Convenience is the New Addiction

The genius of modern marketing lies not in convincing people to make one big bad decision, but thousands of tiny ones that feel insignificant. No one believes that ordering one smoothie or one impulse T-shirt is ruining the world. And individually, they aren’t. But collectively? Millions of us are engaged in a never-ending cycle of click, consume, discard. The carbon cost of an average takeaway meal is staggering. The packaging waste from home deliveries could circle the planet multiple times. All so we don’t have to endure the mild discomfort of delayed gratification. Convenience isn’t just a feature anymore, it’s an expectation. Anything that requires patience or forethought is seen as an unreasonable burden. And so we find ourselves trapped: working longer hours to afford the lifestyle that supposedly saves us time.

Are We Even Enjoying This?

One of the more perverse aspects of "treat culture" is that it doesn’t seem to be making anyone much happier. Retail therapy, fast food fixes, and endless deliveries are short-lived highs, immediately replaced by the next itch.

Studies show that real happiness tends to come not from instant gratification but from anticipation, experience, and meaning. The homemade meal with friends. The sweater that lasts ten winters. The slow pleasure of saving up for something truly wanted rather than buying the nearest approximation. In the rush to treat ourselves constantly, we may have forgotten what actual treats look like.

The Case for Intentional Indulgence

This isn’t a manifesto for abstinence. Pleasure matters. Indulgence matters. Life is not meant to be a grim parade of worthy suffering. But perhaps it’s worth pausing before the next click, the next splurge, the next paper cup. Asking: Will this really make me happier? Will it last longer than the fifteen minutes it takes for the guilt to set in? Is there another kind of treat - slower, deeper, less wasteful - that might actually deliver what’s missing?

Maybe self-care looks less like ordering another $6 coffee and more like slowing down enough to make one at home. Maybe it’s an afternoon walk instead of a new gadget. Maybe it's cooking a favourite meal from scratch instead of another soggy delivery bag. In short: real treats aren’t disposable. They’re memorable. And while the planet might not notice your single takeaway cup or your next impulse buy, your future self might, grateful not just for the money saved or the waste avoided, but for the rediscovery of something rare: satisfaction that actually lasts longer than a shipping confirmation email.