The Return of Hunter-Gatherers: How Our Stuff Suffocates Us

By Mika Horelli, Brussels – Christmas is the peak season of consumer culture. It’s that time of year when affluent Westerners—whether in Finland, UK, US, or here in Central Europe—agonize over finding the “perfect” gifts for friends and relatives who already have everything. We decorate our homes and fill our storage spaces with items we’ll likely never need.

Modern humanity lives amidst contradictions. Store shelves are brimming with goods promising to make our lives easier, happier, and more beautiful. Yet our homes are cluttered with unused items, and people rent storage units to hold the surplus. Something about this picture feels deeply off.

Historians often describe prehistoric humans as hunter-gatherers. Before agriculture and livestock farming took hold, our ancestors moved from place to place, collecting food and resources essential for survival. At the core of this lifestyle was minimalism: only what was necessary was gathered, because everything had to be carried. Ironically, today’s Western consumer culture has brought us back to a form of hunter-gatherer society—albeit in a vastly different guise.

In the present day, we no longer hunt for food or gather wild berries. Instead, we hunt for new items that offer us fleeting bursts of happiness. The rush of acquiring something new—whether it’s the latest smartphone, trendy clothes, or a kitchen gadget—mimics the adrenaline surge of a successful hunt. But unlike our ancestors, we’re rarely satisfied with enough. We accumulate far more than we can use and store it all because we don’t know how to let go.

Naturally, our homes are the first place where these hunted goods land. But modern architecture—with its ever-shrinking floor plans—can’t accommodate our expanding hoards. As closets and cupboards fill up, items spill into corners, basements, and attics. Eventually, they move beyond the home altogether. This is where one of the real estate industry’s cleverest innovations enters the picture: self-storage facilities.

Self-storage units have been described as the 21st-century answer to the West’s consumption problem. When homes can no longer contain the growing pile of stuff, people rent external space to store their excess belongings. The promise of self-storage is simple: it offers a “temporary” solution for items you can’t part with. In reality, “temporary” often becomes permanent.

It’s easy to see why. Once you start paying for storage, the threshold to empty it becomes incredibly high. Every item in storage carries emotional or practical weight: “We might need this someday,” or “We can’t throw this away—it was expensive.” And so the units fill up but never empty out. What starts as a month-to-month rental stretches into years, even decades. People pay monthly for space they rarely, if ever, use.

For the self-storage industry, this is nothing short of genius. Facility owners understand that most customers will not give up their units anytime soon. This stability makes self-storage an attractive investment. Many vacant office spaces—left empty by the rise of remote work and digitalization—are now being converted into self-storage facilities. These spaces often yield higher rental income per square foot than they ever did as offices.

Yet the success of self-storage reflects a deeper problem: we’ve forgotten how to live without the constant presence of excess belongings. We’ve become so accustomed to material abundance that we see it as part of our identity. This perpetuates consumer culture, turning us into both hunters and gatherers—while literally paying for the privilege.

Letting go of possessions isn’t just a logistical challenge; it’s a psychological one. Items carry memories, status, and dreams of the future. A gifted item might feel irreplaceable, even if it’s never used. An expensive treadmill or trendy air fryer symbolizes aspirations for a healthier life, even if it gathers dust.

Meanwhile, advertising and social pressures encourage us to consume more. Buying is seen as integral to a good life and an engine of economic growth. Few stop to ask how many of these purchases genuinely improve our quality of life.

Consumer culture won’t vanish overnight, but each of us can make choices to lighten our own load and resist the accumulation of unnecessary stuff. Before buying, ask yourself: Do I really need this? Practice letting go of items you haven’t used in years. Donating, recycling, or selling can free up space and benefit others. And instead of accumulating more material possessions, consider investing in experiences that enrich your life without taking up physical space.

The rise of self-storage speaks volumes about both the creativity of the real estate industry and our society’s struggle to maintain a healthy relationship with stuff. Perhaps the real question isn’t where to put all our belongings but why we acquire them in the first place.

The hunter-gatherer instincts within us may never disappear, but learning to temper them might be the key to a freer, more spacious, and more meaningful life.