Readers of my blogs know that weaning myself from Amazon is an ongoing challenge for me. I hate that Amazon pays $0 in taxes; that Jeff Bezos has been obscenely enriched by the tragedy of coronavirus even as millions are forced into poverty and food insecurity; that Amazon vacuums up money that might otherwise land in local coffers into its bulging, centralized, corporate pockets; that Amazon underpays, overworks, and mistreats its employees; that, over its lifetime, Amazon has been responsible for the demise of so many small booksellers; that Amazon is now also Whole Foods, and that creates a concentration of wealth and influence that feels dangerous; that, from what I can understand, Amazon gives nothing back; and mostly, that Amazon is so entrenched in American society, and that I am so addicted to it.
It's the ease and convenience, of course. I love not having to hop into my car to get a thing, to just have it delivered—and quickly—to my door. Sometimes, it's also that Amazon offers the lowest price.
Buying everything that I need to buy for the lowest possible price is a basic Struggling Goddess tenet. But in this instance, it's chafing too frequently and too hard against my sense of ethics. it doesn’t matter any more that Amazon may sometimes have the cheapest price for something. Its evil influence and vast reach trump any savings I might realize by shopping there.
This is not going to happen overnight. I'm not going to go cold turkey here. I recently had something easily and quickly sent to my son in another city using Amazon, and that was a welcome convenience. There are some things I don't know where else to find, although I'm starting to look into this, to try to figure out alternatives.
Reviewing my Amazon purchases for the last year, I bought hardware, tools, a couple of books, personal care items, supplements, some food, electronics, batteries, and air purifiers. Off the top of my head, I can decide to patronize a local hardware store for the tools and hardware stuff. I can almost surely get any books I want from Powell's Books or another independent. Because the personal care items I buy are made by small companies, I can buy directly from them. (I think. I have to suss this one out more thoroughly.)
But, almost certainly, I add most significantly to Amazon's riches with the stuff I buy at Whole Foods. In a big way, my Amazon habit is my Whole Foods habit.
I buy supplements, food, and, when I can't make it to the feed store, dog food at Whole Foods. I don't do all my shopping there, but I do buy most of my meat there—because since I finished my treatment for cancer, I have really tried to buy pastured poultry and grass-fed meat as a way to limit toxic exposure and increase nutrient density—and some produce, essentially whatever I don't pick up at the farmer's market in a given week. I also buy some specialty items that I can't find elsewhere, like sugar-free chocolate chips. And while I’m there, since I’m already there, I’ll often pick up other stuff, such as parchment paper, spices, or navy beans.
So while I was sick, I looked into alternatives that would allow me to shift the $$ I spend on food to places that I felt better about supporting.
My favorite is a bulk-buying coop called Azure Standard. Based in Oregon, Azure trucks orders to most of the country. Turns out, there's a monthly delivery drop point in the town next to mine. There's no membership fee, no delivery fee, and no drop-off fee, just the cost of the items. Azure carries a lot of my favorite food brands, and also has an Azure-brand with many organic items available at good prices. All Azure vendors are verified non-GMO. (Some people consider this unimportant. I am not one of them.) One of Azure's stated core values is supporting independent and family-owned businesses. So when Unilever swallowed up the Seventh Generation brand—originally a small, independent company—Azure stopped carrying Seventh Generation products because Unilever and its ilk are part of the problem of corporate consolidation and centralization that's undermining local economic and cultural autonomy.
(I acknowledge that the Azure model, with its truck delivery system, depends on fossil fuel availability. So it’s not as local, resilient, and robust as I might like in an ideal world. I still think it’s a valuable first step, and I’m psyched to learn about it.)
Browsing the Azure site, I was happy to find dried organic baby lima beans in bulk at a very nice price point. But when I discovered that I can order some of my personal care items—such as Dr. Tung's replacement toothbrush heads for less than I pay on Amazon—I was like, Sign me up, Azure Standard!
I like the idea of not being beholden to corporations I loathe for the food on my family's table and the toothbrush in my bathroom.
Our first Azure order arrives on October 20.