'I just don't have enough time.' It's something we say almost without thinking, like an apology before leaving. We hear it in our groups over and over again, regardless of the topic we are talking about. It's not just a complaint about work or our schedules. It speaks to something deeper that we often don't stop to think about: 'The feeling that we are constantly lacking time, attention and presence. 'It's not that we don't want to. It's that we really aren't able to.
Whenever we listen to people talking about their lives, love always seems to be at the heart of the conversation. "My partner is the most important thing to me," "my family is my rock," "my friends are the ones who help me reconnect." But when we bring it down to the level of everyday life, that focus changes: "We hardly see each other during the week." "I talk to my parents whenever I can" or "We promise to see each other on a weekend that never comes."
In this context, time has become an peculiar currency. It cannot be accumulated or saved, and it always seems insufficient. Nowadays, we decide not only how we spend our money, but also how we allocate our time, energy and emotional attention.
Love, even if it makes us uncomfortable, is a choice: And choosing is tiring.
From this perspective, consumption ceases to be a simple transaction and becomes an emotional language. We don't just buy things for convenience or efficiency; we buy them to address emotional issues that we can't resolve in any other way. The ready-made meal that 'takes care' when there is no time to cook, the gift that tries to compensate for an absence, or the film on a streaming platform that replaces the conversation we have not been able to have as we are so exhausted by the end of the day.
Brands step in exactly at this point: in that fragile space where the desire to care collides with the constraints of a fast-paced life. They act as mediators, shortcuts and even temporary substitutes for care.
This is not experienced as cold-hearted, quite the opposite in fact: Many of these decisions are charged with intention, guilt, and even tenderness. They can be seen as emotional tactics that we can employ within a constricting framework.
One thing we can’t ignore is that brands not only accompany love but also inhabit the spaces it leaves behind. In a world where we want to be present but can’t always make it. Where we are deeply sorry, but unluckily sometimes arrive too late.
Understanding this context does not mean demonising our behaviour: It means accepting that, in today's world, brands not only sell products and services, but also ways of being present when time is short.
Maybe the deeper question isn’t whether we consume too much, but what we’re trying to hold together through what we consume.
Because in a chaotic, fluid world, the only thing that still feels solid is love, in all its forms.
Marta Valle
Research Manager
