'Tis the Season of Waste

Hello, hello storymaker.

How’s the fall season treating you?? Somehow, the stores are already themed out for the Christmas/winter season, and I didn’t even get to drink my first PSL.

While prepping this newsletter, I couldn’t help but notice the battle of consumption cores. Some creators still hustling the algorithm with overconsumption core, while other creators in the underconsumption core preaching enough is enoughhhh.

The algorithm influences the masses. When fall arrives, decor and restock hauls, boo baskets, and more overconsumption content flood the scene. It signals to many online that, to be part of culture, “you have to keep up.”

Creating this kind of content during this season shows you’re still involved, playing along, and visible. In many ways, (over)consumption has, somewhere along the way, become about being seen.

That, I think, is what’s really happening beneath the surface of this endless seasonal churn. We’re all trying to say the same thing in the only language the system rewards: I’m here too.

We’re lonelier than ever. Most of our days are spent in front of screens, scrolling through curated lives. And no one to blame, we’re social creatures trying to feel close to each other… but doing it through pixels, just isn’t working out.

Because social media made it easy to confuse visibility with belonging.

And for an entire generation that’s never known life before this? It’s the only language of “belonging” they’ve participated. I believe we are facing an impediment with belonging rather than overconsumption.

• How overconsumption fills the absence of human connection
• What deinfluencing reveals about cultural burnout
• Why conscious brands are stuck in an economy that rewards the “more is more”

Underneath all the shopping trends is a question about belonging. People don't overconsume for the sake of doing so; nobody finds satisfaction in overconsumption. People consume because cultural pressure fuels the belief that consumption is how you belong.

And social media has amplified this mental shift. The haul video, gift baskets, holiday swaps, curated tablescape, and even the underconsumption videos all show where you want to belong. It’s a way of showing I’m part of this too.

For founders and marketers, this changes the work entirely. Consumers aren’t just buying to own; they’re buying to express belonging.

They want to see themselves reflected in what they purchase and to feel that their choices carry meaning. The role of a conscious brand, then, isn’t simply to sell differently. It’s about creating spaces where people can express who they are without constantly acquiring new things.

Would you agree?? Comment below!

Sustainability-focused founders face a challenging paradox. They want to slow down consumption, but they work in an economy that rewards constant output.

Visibility depends on newness. To stay seen, they’re expected to create more—more content, more launches, more reasons to keep people paying attention.

As Harvard Business Review notes, the attention economy increasingly rewards novelty over purpose, leaving intentional brands at a structural disadvantage. Marketing a “buy less” message on platforms designed to sell more creates a contradiction. But that contradiction can also be a strategy.

Brands like Patagonia and Eileen Fisher have built credibility by naming the tension itself — framing repair, take-back, and renewal programs as cultural commitments rather than marketing tactics. Transparency about what they can’t solve builds trust.

That honesty matters. According to the 2024 Edelman Trust Barometer, 71% of global consumers say they distrust corporate sustainability claims, and NielsenIQ reports growing fatigue with sustainability messaging that feels performative.

Ironically, acknowledging that fatigue (instead of overselling progress) is often what earns loyalty.

If buying has become the primary way people express care, what happens when a brand tries to teach a different language?

Phrases like “made to last” or “seasonless design” sound quiet next to “limited edition.” Even “durable” can feel uninspiring in a culture that equates relevance with speed. The challenge isn’t convincing people to care but making care feel current.

Research in the Journal of Consumer Research found that sustainable messaging framed around joy, beauty, and aspiration performs far better than guilt-based appeals. Similarly, the BBMG x GlobeScan Regeneration Report shows that consumers respond most to brands that make sustainable living feel aspirational, not obligatory.

And what if conscious consumption is still just consumption? The organic sweatshirt, the thrifted haul, the reusable tumbler—they may be better choices, but they still exist within the same logic of constant renewal. As The Atlantic’s Annie Lowrey writes in “The Myth of the Ethical Shopper,” the comforting idea of voting with your dollar shifts systemic accountability onto individuals who already feel overwhelmed.

Conscious shopping might ease guilt, but it doesn’t challenge the infrastructure that created it. Longevity must feel emotionally rewarding, not just morally correct. That might mean showing where things come from, how they’re repaired, or what happens long after the sale.

For founders, this is the insight that matters most. The ability to articulate why meaning matters in a market that treats everything as replaceable is what will set the next generation of conscious companies apart.

Conscious founders still need to market. Consumers still want beauty and newness.

Maybe personal sustainability isn’t about consuming better things or fewer things. Perhaps it’s about redefining connection, about creating meaning that doesn’t depend on the next “haul” or “anti-haul” video.

Because what people are really craving is connection.

🌀 Till next time,

Camila from Conscious Voices

📣 Know someone building a conscious brand who needs this? Forward away.