#scarcityprinciple

[daviddavi09]

The REAL Reason You Buy Things You Don’t Need #shorts

Why do you feel the urge to buy something immediately, even when you don’t need it? In this video, we will explain how brands engineer a scarcity feeling to manipulate your buying decisions. From highly limited editions and hype drops, to very exclusive launches and tech pre-orders, see for yourself how perceived scarcity hijacks your brain, triggering FOMO, urgency, and impulse buying.

[daviddavi09]

Why You Feel Urgency to Buy: Scarcity Marketing Explained

Why do you feel the urge to buy something immediately, even when you don’t need it? In this video, we will explain how brands engineer a scarcity feeling to manipulate your buying decisions. From highly limited editions and hype drops, to very exclusive launches and tech pre-orders, see for yourself how perceived scarcity hijacks your brain, triggering FOMO, urgency, and impulse buying.

you will realize that ► The difference between real scarcity and perceived scarcity ► How Brands Create Urgency ► How it affects your decision-making and spending habits ► How industries profit from artificial scarcity

[randomguywholikesstuff]

“The joy is not in experiencing a scarce commodity but in possessing it. It is important that we not confuse the two. Whenever we confront the scarcity pressures surrounding some item, we must also confront the question of what it is we want from the item. If the answer is that we want the thing for the social, economic, or psychological benefits of possessing something rare, then, fine; scarcity pressures will give us a good indication of how much we would want to pay for it—the less available it is, the more valuable to us it will be. But very often we don’t want a thing purely for the sake of owning it. We want it, instead, for its utility value; we want to eat it or drink it or touch it or hear it or drive it or otherwise use it. In such cases it is vital to remember that scarce things do not taste or feel or sound or ride or work any better because of their limited availability.

Robert B. Cialdini. “Influence.”

[howwefeelaboutrabbits-blog]

Abandoned

 I walk into the room and its all ice. The doors and the walls breathe into the room a steamy glaze that lingers over the floor. The ceiling is dome shaped and in the center there is a hole that looks out into the blue sky above. My bare feet stick to the ice because my body temperature is so high. I can look through the walls into my life that surrounds them. I see my mother. Her fist is clenched tightly between her teeth as they close down on it. I can’t see her face. Just her fist. She is so angry but I do not know why. I see her reflection across the room but it’s no longer my mother, but a blonde woman in her place. She grips a chilled glass of white wine and her long acrylic nails run through her newly cut hair. She is angry too but all I can see is her eyes. The eyes of someone who is looking at you but cannot see who you are. Her eyes are empty sockets of blue. Her eyelids are half shut and she can’t really see where I am. She is saying something to me. Something I undoubtedly do not want to hear. The ice freezes her words and through the solid walls I hear nothing.

  Suddenly the room begins to shake beneath my feet. They seem glued to the floor now and I can’t move from my stance. I can’t feel my toes anymore and I see myself sinking into the ice as it melts around me. I look for the source of the noise and my eyes dart across the room until I spot my father right in front of me. I can see every feature of my fathers face. His brow burrows as he screams as if trying to break down the walls with his words. His eyes burn into me and I can see them going right through me and out the other side of my back. His arms are flailing in wild motions around his body. I can hear every word he says. I hear them come at me in the form of icicles dropping from the ceiling. I cannot avoid them because I am trapped where I stand in this chamber. The first one that falls nearly misses me but slices through my forearm on the way down. The blood cannot turn red. It comes out of my body in its most crude form and as the deep blue liquid trails down in between my fingers the icicles fall with more weight and accuracy. The next one impales my shoulder and I cannot bear to look at my arm to see if it still hangs by my side. The next falls between my legs and gauges marks that look like claw marks down my inner thighs. At this point I am thankful for the cold because it must be numbing my pain. I can barely feel anything anymore. I can’t see my warm breath as it enters the room. Even the walls have stopped to watch my pain. I can no longer look up for fear of watching them as they come down. Several smaller shards make their way down my back as if slicing through butter. The pain goes unnoticed. I raise my head to look at my parents. They are angrier than ever. My father looks as though he might burst of rage. He never raises a hand but his words continue to make this roof of ice collapse on top of me. I focus my eyes on his. I look into them with terror and desperation. I open my mouth to yell to him but nothing comes out. My tongue is dry and I can’t seem to formulate words let alone sentences. As a tear drips out of the corner of my eye it barely rolls down my cheekbone before freezing solid to my face. I raise my head in the hopes of seeing a bit of the blue sky. I look above my father to through the hole in the center and I see no sky. I see nothing. I feel nothing. I hear nothing. I am nothing.