How much time of your precious life is a defensible amount to have spent in the Tesco chocolate aisle? Whatever the number, in my case I’d say it’s definitely been too much. I don’t know how it happened, but here I am again, standing in the snack section, transfixed by the twinkle of neon-lights bouncing off of candy wrappers like stars guiding my way, desperately trying to navigate through the pinks and purples of Quality Street and Milky Way towards a purchasing decision.
These trips used to be 2-minute affairs. Once I had counted out the weekly snack budget from my stipend, my hand went into autopilot and grabbed the bar that promised the most creaminess bang for my scholarship buck when the midafternoon slump hit – Galaxy chocolate. When the money was gone, I spent the remaining time fantasising with a racing heart (not from consuming an unsafe amount of sugar, the budget wasn’t big enough for that) about earning enough money to buy as many Galaxy bars as I wanted when I wanted them.
However, as soon as I reached the semblance of a predictable pay check, things became less clear-cut. What if in all those years of sticking to Galaxy, I had foregone even more exciting flavours. Let’s look at just one other brand on offer. Today you can get KitKat Milk Chocolate (solid choice), KitKat Dark Chocolate (I see what you’re doing), KitKat White Chocolate (That makes sense, let’s keep moving), KitKat Vegan (How considerate of them!), Kitkat Chunky Milk Chocolate (For those who like more girth in their chocolate bar, I’m sympathetic), KitKat Chunky White (yep), KitKat Chunky Peanut Butter (Okay, unnecessary), KitKat Chunky Caramel Milk Chocolate (Wait, I thought all of them had caramel?!), KitKat Chunky Hazelnut Cream (just no), KitKat Chunky Lotus Biscoff White Chocolate Bar (what are you doing?!) and KitKat Dark Chocolate Mint (Now why the fuck would you ruin a perfectly edible chocolate bar!?).
Once I noticed other options, I couldn’t unsee them. And whatever bar I decided to chew on, it was always accompanied by the bitter taste of all the chocolate bars I hadn’t picked and the haunting question – would they have tasted even sweeter?
Turns out that contrary to what my cash-strapped self and, probably, capitalism (?!), would have me believe, more options don’t make me feel better but paralyse me into a state of indecision and discontent with what I have, that results in an obscene amount of time wasted in front of chocolate aisles in the desperate attempt to optimise my cocoa consumption.
A while ago I read about an experiment that divided people into two groups – one group was offered 30 chocolate flavours to choose from, the other only three. You’re guessing right: the group that only had three options ended up way more content with their lot. Maybe that’s the answer then, decreeing that there be only three types of chocolate on offer. Imagine going to the supermarket and being presented with 3 clearly distinct options: white, milk chocolate and dark. How easy it’d be to choose.
Oh dear, this is perhaps the most damning realisation to occur in a Tesco’s yet: the agony of choosing is enough to re-awaken dictatorial urges in a child with dually fascist heritage (hello, I’m German-Italian), eradicating in less than 30 minutes, 30 years of post-war state re-education.
And chocolate is only the tip of the iceberg, you then have to choose crisps, yoghurts, shampoos, what to eat, what to write, where to work, live, who to love, hate, procreate with, whether to procreate. And if I’m so unsure about what I want, do I even want it? Is it really my wanting or what I think I should want based on what everybody else wants.
For a moment my gaze trails down the aisles along endless rows of choices lying ahead of me – now – tomorrow – until the day I die. Maybe I should simply camp out here. Wedged between the sparkling water and the special flavour crisps cardboard pop-up I could sit snuggly and slowly eat my way through the aisle until I die a sugar-induced but happy death.
Before I can go down in the annals of this North London Tesco as the ‘incident in aisle five’, I panic-grab a pretzel and leave. It feels like the most appropriate choice given how I’ve tied myself into knots here.
The next morning, I wake with a renewed sense of resolve. With decisive steps I walk to the shop only to find it shut for construction! Of course, separated from my beloved aisle by plywood panes, it is crystal clear what I want – Cadbury milk chocolate now and forever – I think …