I took this course my freshman year of college called Shop ‘Til You Drop. It was, despite its name, taught by the well-known, social economist Juliet Schor. The class took a surprisingly in-depth look at modern American consumerism – purchasing patterns, consumption trends, value and status as it applies to goods. Not quite what the 75 girls in matching Polo polos were expecting…

I remember this especially riveting lecture on risk vs. reward – a study on the thought process people go through before making big investment purchases — purchases that cause a set-back in day-to-day living but offered high return after time: first house, new car, adopted child.

My main immediately jumped to relationships. Risk vs. reward. Impact on day-to-day. Decision fear. Compared to picking a signficant other, new cars are cake.

The thought crossed my mind again this week after a certain conversation. “We have to be social actuaries,” the friend said. “We have to really weigh the risks.” They say finding that special someone is a numbers game – apparently deciding whether or not to keep them is too.

First, back to BC.

BC was a hot bed of consumption – and not just of the product variety. We bought up campus clubs and weekend retreats with the same ferocity as Vera Bradly bags and supplies for the ultimate Beirut table. We knew no moderation but were still methodical in our purchasing. Each acquired good was intentional and part of a greater image, need, or plan (I’m expounding – stay with it).

After that Shop ‘til You Drop lecture it dawned on my that our relationships – or lack there of (hhmm) – were another piece of this consumption game. With that background and my current NY life I’ve developed a theory:

In our over-achieving, 21-century, children of the ’90s bubble, we are so conditioned to assess risk vs. reward that we’ve come to function romantically through that lens. We acknowledge that a relationship is a risk – a risk we treat as one additional element in our climb to “success” – conventional or otherwise. We weigh it just like a job/education/activity: is this worth an investment of my time and self? What will I gain vs. lose? To what degree can I guarantee the success or failure of this endeavor? How many perks are involved?

BC was a playground for this – a place full of people raised to focus on careers, dreams, goals – themselves. We were overachievers in every area but love (aaww). Post grad life, from what I’ve seen in Manhattan, often follows suit.

We’ve stopped valuing an investment in love because we’re too focused in all our other investments. Stopping to focus on love might knock us off our track to the top. That combined with the fact that admitting our focus is love or relationships seems trite in this day-and-age. We don’t value it personally because we don’t value it societally.

And to take it one step further – we’re not used to failing. “We” being a fair percentage of career-focused, future-orientated, 20-somethings. We know what we want and we go get it. We rise to the top. We form clubs and then make them succeed. Risk failing in a relationship – no thank you. That might make us feel inadequate and confused. Frankly, we don’t have time for that.

It’s more an observation than a criticism. I do it chronically. And I do wonder, when it’s all said and done, which instincts are smarter to trust: studied consumer logic or the x factor that is love?