Entry #3: On Buyer's Regret and Wal Mart's Fancy Cousin

Today I tried scouring my procrastinating mind for a provocative yet poignant blog post entry idea... to absolutely no avail. For at least a solid half hour I ran through a slew of recent chapters in our lovely social psychology text, hoping that some academic concept would weave itself gracefully around a personal memory of mine and, voilà!, the assignment would be written and completed in no time. 


That did not happen. So I went to Target. 

There she is, the gleaming bane of my scholastic existence. 

It was only an hour or so later, while audibly fretting to myself in the bright red corporate checkout line, that I realized my blog topic was blatantly obvious. In fact, I was about to experience it. 


Cognitive dissonance is defined by both Wikipedia and our textbook as a feeling of discomfort caused by simultaneous conflicting cognitions- these could be emotions, values, beliefs, or ideals. Basically it means that as humans in good(ish) conscience, we tend to get upset when the projected images we have of ourselves do not match up with our actual behaviors or actions. We aren't always/usually/ever the best people we can possibly be. Shocking. 

Are you trying to convince America you aren't a crook Richy?
Or are you juuust trying to convince yourself?

Now, my own example of cognitive dissonance may not be on as large of a scale as Watergate was, but it is something that affects most of us red bloods on a daily basis. Two words: buyer's remorse. The All-American dilemma.

Really betch? The plane just wasn't doing it for ya?

Come on people, you know the feeling. You just got a chunky paycheck (or in my case, an exaggerated food stamp). Your bank account balance is in black. Your pockets are weighed down. You're feeling frisky. So what do you do? You shag your butt to the nearest retail monster and try to tell yourself you will "just look at the sale rack for a second". And after two hours, you end up like me. 

"I really need this plunger."

I am in a constant state of buyer's remorse. I know I need to save money for, I don't know, LIFE, but I am so easily convinced (by myself) to spend any hard earned cash as soon as it is in my possession. If justifying consumerism was an olympic sport, I would be Michael Phelps. I can create ludicrous pro and con lists for that blouse/jean jacket/perfume/necklace/speedboat in about five seconds flat. It's a gift. In fact, one of the ways cognitive dissenters can sleep at night is through reducing the negative effects of their actions. Usually this is done by putting space between the right and wrong decisions. So by convincing ourselves that whatever decision we make is much better than the other, nasty, weird, gross, terrible one, we effectively reduce our cognitive dissonance. Meaning we effectively feel better. 

And if we feel better, we buy more!
That tank top could restart a third world economy!
Go America!!!

In conclusion, although Target's internal battle of retail raged deep within me, I eventually found some peace. I knew that the crippling remorse I felt as I walked out of the store clutching my single plastic bag was just a momentary cognitive discomfort felt during a lifetime of dissonance.

Besides, I really needed those shoes. 

Entry #2: You aren't always what you eat

In social psychology, the fundamental attribution error (or correspondence bias) is known by some as the cornerstone concept to understanding and analyzing human behavior. The term is defined as our human tendency to over-value a person's personality or disposition as a way to explain their behavior in a given situation, instead of considering any outlying factors as a means for explanation. Basically, when we see someone do something (whether it is smart or dumb or right or wrong), we chalk it up to them. Their personality, their morals, values, attitudes, whatever. We rarely stop and consider any other influences.

Now, we could just believe that these are very strange men.
But we don't know how hot it was in the photography studio.
We don't know what it is like not to be able to afford shirts. 

My own real-life example of the fundamental attribution error took place a little before and during the beginning of college. I had heard the rumors: college makes you fat, the freshman fifteen is inevitable, JMU has the best food of all time, etc etc. I didn't believe my friends and family. I thought to myself, college does not make a person fat. The person makes themselves fat.

I'm sorry, but this was all you honey.

I mean, how could someone possibly slip into the realm of tubby while away at school? JMU had a gym. I liked salad. I had tons of free time. I would be fine. In my head, the people I knew that put on weight during their freshman year of college were lazy, unhealthy, and previously inclined towards heiferdom anyway. It was in their souls to be chubby undergraduates. However, this way of thinking was my fatal mistake. I attributed their downfall to their dispositions. Their personalities. Who they were made them fat. I did not believe the situation had anything to do with it. I did not blame college.

Boy, was I wrong. 

As wrong as a motherf****ing duck phone. 

During my freshman year at James Madison, I learned what buffet style eating was. I learned about ice cream at E-Hall. I learned about grilled cheese Thursdays. And I got a scholarship in binge drinking. Eating healthy was harder than I previously thought. 

No one wants a salad on Sunday morning.
They want 500 mg of Advil and some dangerous carbs. 

Not to mention, going to the gym was a pain in my (growing) butt. After an exhausting midmorning to afternoon of rigorous general education classes, napping always sounded more promising than a trek to the University Recreation Center. Plus it was always crowded when I wanted to go work our. Plus it was a really far walk. 

What I am trying to say is, I got fat during my freshman year of college. I put on about 20 pounds in a matter of months, as a result of all of the aforementioned vices that greedily snuck their way into my life, into my pants. When I went home for Thanksgiving Break, I got lunch with a couple of high school seniors that I was friends with. Suddenly aware of myself, and aware of my weight, I warned them intensely of the trials and tribulations that awaited them during their first year of higher education. The parties! The food! The laziness! The food! I blathered to my young friends about the same things I had scoffed at only a year before. I desperately wanted them to know it wasn't my fault that I was a fatty. It wasn't my inner Michelin Man that had caused this. 

This picture is only here for the sake of science. 

Yup, I had gained weight. However, I had also gained some perspective. Perhaps it was not an innate personal quality to get chunky. Perhaps the freshman 15 really was situational. A collegiate slap-in-the-face, if you will. A test of one's budding self-control. An impossible challenge to a naive freshman like myself. Luckily, I had been decently athletic in high school. And I really did care about my health. So after a year and some change spent as a heavy-hitter, I got myself in shape. While blaming college for the size of my thighs was easy (and pretty accurate), it was me that had to fix it.

After all, it was, fundamentally, my own error of fattribution.