Few things in life are as universally satisfying as a boycott. To the left, a boycott is the ultimate display of society in action; to the right, it confirms the market’s all-consuming power. To me, it’s just fun. It’s negging, basically – if you love something, ignore it until it comes cowering back promising to do better.
My list of personal boycotts is long and fluid. I’m currently boycotting Katie Hopkins, for example, because I am a sensible human with a functioning brain. I do my best to boycott Uber too, although admittedly that one got quite a lot easier since I moved to a town where Uber doesn’t exist. I’m also boycotting a local sweet shop, purely because the woman who runs it has got a bit of a gob on her, and you have to spend 20 minutes listening to what she had for her dinner before you’re allowed to ask for some jelly beans. But, somehow, I haven’t managed to boycott Amazon yet.
