Much of modern consumption isn’t driven by need, but by novelty. We replace things not because they’re broken, but because they’ve stopped feeling interesting. The sweater still fits. The lamp still works. The bookshelf still stands. What’s missing isn’t function, but stimulation.

Buying something new temporarily restores that stimulation. But borrowing does something even better. It gives you novelty without giving you another thing to store. Reintroducing freshness without requiring production. Smart, right?

A borrowed object, although second hand, often feels brand spanking new again. The object in itself  hasn’t changed, but the context has. And context, as it turns out, is often what we’re really shopping for.

Oddly enough, when you don’t own something: you actually start using it. A fondue set you bought five years ago might be somewhere in the back of a cupboard. But a fondue set you borrowed? That actually turns into a fondue night. And that fun projector? If it’s yours, it gathers dust next to old cables. If it’s borrowed, suddenly there’s a movie night. Even books behave differently when borrowed. You read them because they’re due back. Ownership is endless. Borrowing has a deadline.

When something is temporary, it becomes intentional. Owning things often diffuses their purpose. We buy them for a specific moment, and then that moment passes. Borrowing sharpens the moment. It gives the object a job to do and an exit.

Most sustainability advice focuses on cutting back: buy less, waste less, declutter. Borrowing shifts that focus. Instead of shrinking the number of things in circulation, it increases the number of people using them. You still get the satisfaction but without the environmental cost.

We live in a culture where adulthood is quietly measured in acquisition. You accumulate furniture, appliances, tools and backup versions of tools, just in case. And yet most of those ‘just in case’ items are barely used. Think about that drill that drills once a year, or the ice cream maker that performs twice. 

Borrowing interrupts that pattern in a surprisingly practical way. Instead of every household owning the same rarely used objects, the objects move. A ladder travels, your waffle iron rotates and your friends’ green dress attends three weddings in one season.

But something else shifts too. We’re so used to asking: ‘Should I buy this?’ Borrowing replaces that with: ‘Does someone already have this?’ That small change reframes sustainability from a private discipline into a shared habit.

And on top of that borrowing adds context. A dress with history is more interesting than one bought in a rush. A book that comes with a recommendation is more compelling than one delivered by an algorithm. We don’t just want objects, we want the stories attached to them. And borrowing, almost incidentally, gives us both.

Environmentally, the logic is straightforward: the most sustainable product is the one that already exists. Extending the life of what’s already been produced reduces demand for new extraction, new manufacturing and therefore new waste. (Read more about this benefit in this report of OLX, that shows how impactful extending the life of products is!).

But the more interesting shift is psychological. Borrowing introduces the idea that access can be enough and that needing something temporarily doesn’t mean needing it permanently.

That’s not always comfortable. There’s vulnerability in asking. There’s ego in wanting your own. Which is why borrowing works best when it feels mutual, not frugal.

The key isn’t to announce a new ‘no-buy borrowing lifestyle’, but to make it normal. Start by offering first. ‘Hey, I have a projector if anyone ever needs one.’ Or: ‘I’m not using my camping stove this summer if someone wants it.’

Create circulation before you request it. Also: keep it casual. ‘Does anyone have a ladder I could borrow?’ sounds different than ‘I don’t want to buy one.’ The focus stays on access, not avoidance.

Needless to say that it’s important to return things well. Clean. On time. With cookies if appropriate. You catch our drift. 

In a culture that equates independence with ownership, borrowing is a quiet reminder that participation can be richer than possession. And sometimes, yes – your friend’s stuff really is better.