8 minute read
Small is Beautiful
Today, my friend and I walked around Haig Road Market. It is far from a conventional shopping choice; it is not a mega-mall where H**s or Z*R*s or other chain stores beam down at you, tempting you with glossy photo shoots and advertisement banners.
Instead, it is this: several small shops taking up space along winding corridors, shop-owners perched on stools eating their lunch, sometimes having to take care of their kids or grandkids; hand-written “FOR SALE” or “BIG DISCOUNT” signs in black marker, sometimes on A4 construction paper or little neon postits, clipped onto stands by the store owner when he sets up shop for the day; chaotic store fronts where personal taste spills over to interior design – a redpaper blessing from a temple now stuck onto the utilities cabinet, or an odd knick-knack that sits on the cash register.
There is something so evidently human in all of this that strikes me; the hustle and bustle of life that reminds me that each shop is owned by another human being, that behind this business is another whole life.
As I walk, the store aunties and uncles look at me expectantly. My heart twinges because I know I will not be able to make all of their days today. Business seems slow, difficult. The “SALE!!” signs don’t irk me here like they do when I see them in malls — I count the slashes: $20s to $10s, $10s to $5. I admire them, their honesty, the fact that there isn’t any manipulation involved. The signs speak truthfully to the owners’ desires: please support us! These words don’t have to be said out loud, I can feel it in their patient waiting around, in their mindful tending of the store, in the signs they have written out themselves.
I write this as someone who was always interested in shopping small, in the beautiful possibilities of it all. The way you could talk to the store owners directly, and hear their stories. The way you could immerse yourself in a fully sensorial experience, taking your time to touch and feel a worn leather shoe, a silky blouse, a cool jade pendant. The way you could chance upon something you did not expect to — a shop in an unexpected alleyway, a newfound love amidst crowded racks or shelves.
I loved all of these things, but these felt like Small things around a Big problem.
The current rhetoric around sustainable consumption revolves around the pressing and urgent need to shift away from the capitalist, consumerist modes of buying. Fast-paced, mass-produced, bulk-buying… the dirty words of fashion, as they should be.
This urgency has become a heavy weight on my shoulders whenever I am asked to talk and write about shopping sustainably or small. My instinct has always been to share, hype up, or make Big these small or second-hand businesses. I created lists of “Top 10 second-hand shops in Singapore”, I made Instagram reels, I applied my knowledge of the algorithm and buzzy language to these businesses, hoping to reframe these businesses as “trendy” and “cool”.
Yet, I realise my own instinct for Bigness as an antidote to their Smallness. This frenzy, I feel, is very much informed by what capitalism has taught me as Success: upscaling, expansion; mega-corporations, owning several franchises in different malls; championing trends, or simply following and reproducing them.
I say, “let’s make second-hand and shopping small TRENDY!” But why must we make it trendy? Why is trendiness a marker of success within the consumption world? We proudly say, “this is thrifted” and now “thrift” and “vintage” have become “brand-words” in their own way, they’ve begun to fuel their own trend cycles, creating more production and consumption.
Maybe there is another way we can stop this endless cycle.
Is small or second-hand really so rare? Do we really need buzzy lists and social media to find that “unexpected” or “rare” gem of a shop that Instagram swears we will fall in love with?
I used to think so, and in part, this is true. It is harder to find small businesses now, because big corporations and mega brands have eradicated so much of the business of tradesmen, craftsmen, small and local businesses. I am not writing to refute this fact. But I write this to contemplate the potential and possibility that consuming “small” could be closer to our communities, our physical home, and our natural instincts than we think.
I write to explore this natural, accessible, everyday Smallness. Perhaps the antidote to frenzied consumption or big-brand domination may not be to make these Small Shops Big, or to make second-hand Trendy and Fresh and New, but rather to change the way we think about consumption, production, shopping, ownership. To change our relationship to “small”; perhaps, small as the best and most human way to reorient our lives to the material world.
THE FIRST THING:
Small is Beautiful.
Small is beautiful. Breathe, take this in.
When I first met Uncle Tom in Tiong Bahru Market, he proudly showed me every single corner of his little accessory shop. The shop was cramped, filled with his treasures and creations. In a corner on the right, there is a stool and a small workbench where he makes his jewellery. Right in front of his work bench are two large display cases where he displays finished jewellery for sale. The walls are lined with makeshift shelving where hats, glasses, jewellery and other bits and bobs are arranged for ease of browsing.
Small is beautiful, as in, Uncle Tom, he knows every piece or item he is selling in his store. When my fingers run over an antique silver ring, or trace the beads on a necklace, he immediately pipes up with an anecdote or two — telling me about the material, the manufacturer, or the place of origin. I can see that Uncle Tom, proudly showcasing to me his collection of handmade jewellery and antiques, has personally unpackaged, handled and polished every one of the items in his shop with his own two hands.
This is not the “you will also like…” function on online platforms or algorithmdriven advertising – this is someone communicating with me through consumption and production; this is someone sharing his life’s work, his career, his passion with me, through buying and selling. These words are sadly now tainted with capitalist notions of materialism, overconsumption, greed, but here, I am saying these words lovingly, because they’ve allowed us to meet and connect in this small little shop space, they are the ways in which I am entering into and partaking of the small little world he has built up.
Meeting Uncle Tom, and other small shop owners like him, I think: what a beautiful small world. I want to be part of buying and selling when it’s with them.
I want to be a part of this relationship, built on mutual respect and trust. This applies to that small Instagram shop owner I trust to curate good quality things for me, as it does to that Aunty or Uncle who stand proudly at their store front. These are people who place their own person alongside the goods they sell, telling us in their beaming smiles: this is what I want to offer. This is what I think is good. This is what I believe is of value to you. In this, there is accountability, ownership and pride. We are not talking about an absence of profit motive, or no desire to sell you their goods. Of course they want you to buy — this is their labour, this is their life. But all I can say is small is beautiful, because here, there is trust and personhood and relationships that govern this process of production and consumption.
Let us stop hiding behind glossy advertisements or AI-generated metrics: I am tired of relationships of production and consumption being based on manipulation. As the brands scheme and plot to get us to spend money at their store, we, in turn, scheme and plot on how to make the best bargain for ourselves. We plan a combination of discount codes to get the best deal out of them; we turn to websites and mobile applications specifically built to tell us when prices have dropped; we hold out until we know the company strategically rolls out discounts to clear out past season inventory. If not, we buy something, only to bemoan the company for “cheating us” of our money when the item doesn’t live up to advertised expectations. There is frustration and pain on both sides – mistrust, scheming, outwitting, disappointment, defeat.. these are the things governing our buying and selling today.
I mourn for the openness, respect and trust we have lost. I yearn for the communing, sharing, and joy we could have.
I want to smile at something I love, touch it, try it, talk to the shop owner about it, engage in friendly banter, ask them questions about the material and supplier, ask for their opinion, tell them I’ll come again; or I want to purchase it, believing and trusting that the money I have put into the item will serve me well, will serve me long.
THE SECOND THING:
I am reminded of Remy from Ratatouille, and the movie’s famous quote. “A cook can come from anywhere.” A cook can come from anywhere, and that beautiful item of clothing or object that will stay with you, and serve you for life, can come from anywhere.
“Trendy” is everywhere. “Cool” is everywhere. Most importantly, Beautiful is everywhere. Have we been hoodwinked by media and corporate messaging that these things can only be found in specific places, i.e. on their platforms?
Instead, could we ask ourselves: what’s opposite my house? What’s on the street next to mine?
What’s that aunty selling at the market? What does my friend/parent/ significant other have in their closet or homes?
What do the communities and people directly in our vicinity have to offer?
For so many of us, including myself, our needs and wants have pushed us towards what has presented itself as the most accessible and convenient: huge malls, or online shopping platforms. We rely on businesses and brands to curate our tastes for us; our needs and wants are slowly being shaped by the sheer volume of products we see online, the flashy advertisements, the compounding discounts.
When I feel overwhelmed with want, I like to take a walk around my neighbourhood. It always opens my eyes and shows me there is so much more closer to home than I realise.
What are the shops near our home? Where are the nearest local markets? What do they sell, and on which day? Where is my community centre – do they have community gardens, workshop spaces, or a book exchange shelf? Where is our local library? Where is the nearest shoe repairman or tailor? What about our friends and neighbours – could I borrow or swap something with them?
It is beautiful to be in physical and material interdependence with those around me. In a time where isolation and independence have become the norm, even praised and celebrated, I want to lean hard on my place, my people. I want to depend on things to be there for me — the bread shop that opens every day until midnight, the aunty who sells the softest cotton sleepwear every Sunday, the uncle who I know will be there, faithfully repairing shoes until he no longer can… In turn, they depend on us to show up and support them.
THE THIRD THING: