Alkara

I’m 30 years old and about to get married. Living with your parents at this age might seem unusual to you, but where I come from, it’s completely normal. That being said, I was really excited about decorating my own space—my own home—the way I had always envisioned.

Unfortunately, that excitement didn’t last long. I had always dreamed of high-quality, timeless furniture—real wood, not the cheap, cardboard-like IKEA pieces or the thin wood-effect laminate covering compressed wood shavings. I wasn’t just looking for aesthetics or the lovely natural scent of real wood—its durability and eco-consciousness were just as important to me. I wasn’t looking for trendy, disposable furniture. I wanted my home to grow with me.

But despite my search, I couldn’t find what I was looking for. Almost every mainstream furniture store sells the same cheap, mass-produced, identical-looking pieces—and they’re priced far beyond their worth! Many of these stores market themselves as “luxury” brands, but when I hear luxury, I expect quality. Yet, today, luxury and quality have become almost completely unrelated. I was willing to pay more for well-crafted furniture, but even with a higher budget, my options were surprisingly limited. And the few real wood, high-quality pieces I found? Their prices were beyond luxury—they were astronomical. You could buy a Tesla for the price of a single wardrobe. Imagine that—one wardrobe costing as much as a Tesla.

When my grandparents got married, they weren’t wealthy; they were a working-class, lower-middle-class family. Yet, I remember my grandmother’s furniture—some of it still stands strong today. Solid wood, durable paint, built to last. It amazes me that back then, when resources were scarcer and industrial production was far less advanced, people could still afford well-made furniture at reasonable prices—and manufacturers could still turn a profit. But it’s not just furniture; clothing has suffered the same decline.

My grandmother often tells me that when she was younger, even their underwear was tailored. They would buy fabric, take it to a tailor, and have exactly what they wanted made—including undergarments. Synthetic fabrics were rare, and people had the option to choose high-quality materials. Not everyone opted for tailored clothing, but at least they had a choice. Now, so-called luxury brands sell faux leather, faux silk, and synthetic fabrics for absurd prices. Don’t get me wrong—when I was younger, I too dreamed of owning designer handbags and clothes. But now? It just doesn’t make sense. Why would I spend thousands on a piece of synthetic material?

I’ve come to realize that we’ve reached a point where we can’t even find high-quality, well-fitting clothing that suits our style, even if we are willing to pay extra—sometimes more than necessary. Think about it: just 60 years ago, going to a tailor, getting measured, and having clothes made specifically for your body type and personal style was a standard procedure. Now? Good luck finding a decent tailor. And even if you do, they’ve already been shaped by the modern age—either they don’t understand what you want, or they do but simply refuse to do it. “That’s not how it’s done,” they say. “That can’t be handmade, that’s a machine process.” They take shortcuts, yet they have no shame in demanding a ridiculous amount of money.

This decline in quality and the rise in prices reveal one undeniable truth: as human beings, we have become increasingly greedy. What frustrates me even more is that these so-called luxury brands produce cheap, low-quality items at the expense of their workers—underpaid, overworked laborers at the bottom, while those at the top can’t find enough space to store their wealth. And yet, we, as consumers, keep supporting this system.

I don’t get it. How did we become so obedient? How did we turn into mindless sheep, accepting everything without question? Why don’t we resist? Why don’t we say, Enough is enough? These brands, factories, and corporations have exploited natural resources, polluted the planet, and amassed unfathomable wealth while paying their workers next to nothing. And after all that, what do they offer us? Cheap, disposable products.

I hate social media. I hate everything about it. It has made us lazy, mindless, and uninspired. Even so-called creators have stopped being creative. When something goes viral, everyone just copies it. If cleaning videos get views, suddenly, every other creator is making cleaning videos. If a specific editing style becomes trendy, everyone jumps on the bandwagon.

And the worst part? Regular people are the ones funding these lazy creators while struggling to pay their own bills. Not naming names, but what’s the point of watching, donating, buying them gifts from their Amazon wish lists, subscribing, and commenting on the videos of someone who deliberately turns their own home—the same home they live in with their children—into a disgusting mess just so they can film themselves cleaning it and make money?

The other day, I came across a supposedly well-known TikToker—someone who lies constantly and secures ad deals without disclosing them. Apparently, it’s common knowledge at this point. I didn’t even know who she was until I saw an exposé on her. Anyway, she just bought a Porsche.

Doesn’t that bother you? No education, no hard work, no wit—just a scam, and suddenly, they’re rich enough to buy luxury cars. Why do people support this? I’m genuinely curious. And then there’s the rampant misinformation. Everyone is an “expert” these days. If someone writes “doctor” in their bio, people just assume they’re legitimate. Meanwhile, anyone and everyone is publishing books—on health, diet, workouts, even cleaning tips. Real hardcover books, e-books—whatever. And they do it all without a single verifiable source. How do we allow this?

Sometimes, I seriously think that giving people too much freedom is a mistake. Even respected professionals—doctors, lawyers, teachers—have turned into clowns for the sake of internet fame. They spread false information or post deliberately controversial content just to enrage people and cash in on that sweet, easy social media money.

Teachers, for instance, now casually share private conversations with students online. They post ridiculous dances, attention-seeking rants, and unprofessional content. I miss when people carried themselves with elegance, intelligence, and dignity. If you can’t even respect your own teacher, who will you respect?

What is happening?! I remember when being a YouTuber was something fresh and exciting. Everyone had their own style, their own content, their own personality. Now? Everything looks the same. Take beauty creators—once unique, now just walking billboards for the same sponsored products, following the same micro-trends, producing identical content.

Waiting for a new video used to be exciting. You’d wonder, What will they come up with this time? But now? There’s no curiosity. No anticipation. Just recycled trends and predictable content.

And can we talk about how loud everyone is? Overly familiar, exaggerated expressions, frantic energy—as if they’re all on something. Same facial expressions. Same gestures. Same scripted lingo. And don’t even get me started on the lingo. “Hey, girlies!” “Slay, queen!” “Babe!” No, thanks. I’m not your babe. And slay what, exactly? What queen? Who even wants to be a queen?

If there were a time machine, I wouldn’t wish to be a queen. Imagine growing up as a royal wife, constantly monitored, forced to follow endless rules, regularly cheated on, pressured to give birth to a son—only to lose that son to political schemes because someone, somewhere, had a reason to kill him. No, thank you.

And it’s not just the creators—it’s the comment sections, too. What’s the point of posting the same comment a hundred times? “You slayed, queen!” “OMG, slay!” The same thing, over and over. What’s the appeal?

And why do people spend hours watching others eat? I get that kinks exist, but are there really five million feeders on these apps? What’s so entertaining about watching someone shove a dripping Big Mac into their mouth?