Ezra leaned back in his chair, staring at Adam across the table. His fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of his cup, though he had barely taken a sip. The coffee was lukewarm, but it hardly mattered.
“It’s in everything,” Ezra said, his voice cutting through the noise. “It’s in the way we talk, the way we dress, the way we think. Consumerism has hijacked identity itself.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” He took a casual sip of his coffee, tapping his fingers against the ceramic. “People buy things. That’s all it is.”
Ezra shook his head. “No, that’s not all it is. Look around you.” He gestured subtly to the other tables.
Across the room, a young woman held up her phone, angling it just right to capture her cappuccino with the café’s neon sign in the background. She adjusted her expression—thoughtful, but effortless—then snapped the picture. Immediately, her fingers danced across the screen, adding filters, adjusting brightness, making sure the moment looked just right before posting it.
“It’s not just coffee,” Ezra continued. “It’s an aesthetic. A lifestyle. A brand. Do you think she actually cares about the taste? Or does she care about what it represents?”
Adam smirked. “So what? Maybe it makes her happy. Who are you to say what’s real and what’s not?”
Ezra sighed, leaning forward. “That’s the whole point. Happiness itself has been rebranded and sold back to us. You don’t just buy a coffee anymore. You buy the image of the kind of person who drinks that coffee. Every choice we make is pre-packaged, market-tested, and wrapped in a neat little bow of self-delusion.”
Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “You make it sound like we don’t have free will.”
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“Do we?” Ezra challenged. “Think about it. If companies can make you believe that a product is part of who you are, is it really you making the choice?”
Adam exhaled, glancing at the young woman’s phone screen as she scrolled through notifications, watching the likes trickle in. He looked back at Ezra. “Even if that’s true, people still choose what they want. Nobody forces them.”
Ezra tilted his head. “Do they? Or have they just been conditioned to believe they’re choosing? People don’t buy things because they need them. They buy them because they’ve been taught that without them, they’re less.”
Adam leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. “You’re acting like this is some dystopian nightmare. Newsflash, Ezra—people have always followed trends. This isn’t new. Cavemen wore jewelry. Romans showed off their wealth. The difference now is that we have better marketing.”
Ezra scoffed. “Exactly. Marketing isn’t just about selling products anymore. It’s about selling meaning. It’s psychological warfare. Look at the ads around us.”
Adam turned his head slightly, taking in the surroundings. The café walls were covered with minimalist posters featuring vague, poetic slogans:
- “Be Bold. Be You.” (next to a picture of an expensive watch)
- “Awaken Your Potential.” (beneath a logo for an energy drink)
- “Happiness in Every Sip.” (above an image of the very coffee they were drinking)
Ezra’s voice was steady. “They don’t tell you what to buy. They tell you who you’ll become if you buy it. They sell confidence, success, belonging. The product is secondary.”
Adam exhaled through his nose, his amusement fading slightly. “Fine, let’s say you’re right. What’s the alternative? Should we all live in caves, rejecting everything? You act like you’re above all this, but you’re still sitting here drinking their coffee.”
Ezra gave a small, tired smile. “Exactly.”
Adam frowned. “What?”
Ezra leaned back, arms crossed. “That’s what makes it inescapable. Even when you see it, you’re still a part of it. You mock people for chasing brands, but your rejection of it? That’s a brand too. Anti-consumerism has its own aesthetic. They’ve even managed to sell rebellion.”
Adam laughed, shaking his head. “So what, we just give up? Accept that we’re all walking advertisements?”
Ezra shrugged. “I don’t know. But at least I know why I feel the way I do. Most people don’t.”
A silence settled between them, the weight of the conversation pressing against the hum of the café.
Nearby, the young woman’s phone vibrated. She looked down at the screen, smiled, and took another picture.
Ezra and Adam said nothing.
The jazz continued playing overhead.