I Hate Making Returns
I hate returning things.
Like a whole body freeze.
The kind of hate that follows me everywhere until it’s done.
Or until it’s too late to matter.
And yet, I’ve never had more returns to make.
It’s one month after Black Friday.
It’s my daughter’s birthday.
The girls have gone up a shoe size.
Again.
I know that when I shop in person, my chances of returning something are much lower.
You try it on.
You hold it in your hands.
You know if it’s what you want.
And still, I order it on my phone.
It’s too accessible.
It’s too tempting.
It’s too easy.
But somehow, the easier it is on the front end (search, add to cart, place order), the harder it becomes once you need to undo it.
In fact, every e-commerce website uses the word easy to describe their returns.
I can’t think of a less accurate word.
Here. Let me walk you through the steps:
Try the item on. Or use it for what it was intended for.
Realize it doesn’t fit. Or work. Or feel right.
Find the package you already tore open so you can place the item back inside—nicely. Neatly. Unused. Or close to it.
Make sure you still have the label.
Search your email for the order confirmation.
What was the name of the brand?
Scroll.
Search again.
Go back to the website you ordered it from.
Find the returns link.
(It’s at the bottom. In tiny print.)
Copy and paste the confirmation number from your email into the website.
Explain why the item didn’t work for you.
Too small?
Too big?
No longer needed?
Bought it during my luteal phase.
Ordered it at 11:47 p.m.
Forgot I am not the model.
Print the return label.*
Repackage the item in its original packaging—or find new packaging because you destroyed it when you first opened it.
Find packaging tape.
Seal the box.
Cut out the label.
Affix it neatly to the front.
Put the package in your car, hoping you’ll feel motivated enough to make the detour.
Get motivated enough to actually drive to the return destination.
Wait in line.
Print the label if you haven’t printed it.
Package it if you haven’t packaged it.
Finally, release the box to the nice person on the other side of the counter.
Drive home, elated.
You did it.
You’re proud.
The weight of the world has been lifted.
Until your next online order.
But if you’re anything like me, you don’t make it past step 13.
Instead, your return sits in the trunk for weeks, in a wrinkled Trader Joe’s bag, taunting you every time you leave the house.
Aren’t you going to return me?
It’s getting awfully close to the deadline.
What a waste of money.
I don’t know why you’re making this so difficult.
I’m easy.
Do you really want to drive the extra five minutes after grocery shopping with your kids and make that stop at UPS?
You probably don’t have the right packing material.
And you’ll have to pay to print the label.
And one day, you just know you’ve blown past the 30-day return window.
So you bring it back into the house.
You tell yourself—maybe I can use it.
Or lose some weight so I can fit into it.
Or give it to someone who lives closer to a UPS.
You don’t.
It goes to the back of the closet.
Or the back of a drawer.
And it stays with you.
A reminder that “easy” was never really the right word.
*If you don’t have a printer—or don’t have a working printer—this is usually where the process ends.
You could go pay to have it printed. But that adds another step to an already draining process.
The return becomes theoretical.
P.S. I once made a reel about this exact moment — the 29th day, the UPS parking lot, the quiet relief.
It turns out a lot of us were living with returns in our trunks.