![]() ![]() Bounce! Hi-C! Carefree Sugarless Gum! I’m ready for the Round Robin game! I find myself muttering brand names in my sleep. Ever since watching the fifteen episodes of merchandise madness streaming on Netflix, I’ve been stuck in a shopping spree reverie like a food-fixated fever dream out of which I can’t wake. ![]() Did you think I was kidding when I mentioned writing an essay on this tacky television classic last week when stanning over Nick Cave? Well, I wasn’t. ![]() I’m talking about my newest obsession: the height of competitive consumer culture, the pinnacle of the trash aesthetic, the summit of shopping cart chaos, the apex of American capitalist mania, Supermarket Sweep. Is there anything more beautiful than the dual glee and panic of a boxy silhouette of tapered jeans and blinding billowing Technicolor sweaters hurtling down a supermarket aisle as if shot from a cannon in search of a specially marked bottle of Tide? Is there anything more inspiring than a blur of Dep shellacked and spackled bangs and long crunchy permed hair flying through the air, tangling in its own self-perpetuated velocity, toward the dry goods? Is there anything more ecstatic than the jarring bright whiteness of athletic sneakers against the skin-tight black leggings slip-sliding on the shining linoleum of the cereal section? ![]()
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