Why I Can’t Be Trusted in Bookstores (And How I Ended Up Owning Five Copies of the Same Novel)

There are places in this world where I simply cannot be trusted.

Casinos? Safe.

Nightclubs? Meh.

Luxury handbag stores? I can walk away.

But drop me into a bookstore and suddenly I’ve blacked out, spent $68, and somehow convinced myself that I do need another copy of a novel I already own four times.

Let me tell you how it got this bad.

It Starts Innocently Enough

The trap is always the same.

“I’m just going to browse.”

“I won’t buy anything, I’m just looking.”

“I’m only here for that one specific book.”

Ha. Lies.

Walking into a bookstore for “just one book” is like going into a bakery and saying you’ll only smell the bread. Impossible. Delusional. Potentially dangerous to your bank account.

The lights are warm. The air smells like paper and potential. Soft indie music is playing. There’s a table marked “Staff Picks” and suddenly I’m making eye contact with a novel that has a hand-painted cover and a blurb from someone named Ann Patchett.

I don’t even know Ann Patchett, but if she says this book is a “quiet triumph,” who am I to argue?

So into the basket it goes.

The Multiples Problem

Now let’s talk about the real issue:

I have a problem with buying books I already own.

And not even by accident. No, I often know I already have it. I just… want this copy too.

Maybe the cover is different.

Maybe it’s a special edition.

Maybe I think I’ll lend it to a friend one day. (I won’t. I’m a book hoarder, not a library.)

Or maybe I forgot that I’ve already made this exact same justification before.

Case in point: "Pride and Prejudice."

I own:

A tattered copy from high school

A leather-bound edition I bought to feel literary

A version with gold-foiled edges that I will never read because it’s too pretty

A pocket-sized edition I got because it was “cute”

And a paperback I picked up in a train station because I panicked and needed something to read—even though I had an e-reader with me

There’s something about the idea of having just one more version that soothes me. Like maybe this copy will unlock a deeper truth in the text. Or at least match my couch.

My Bookstore Personality Types

Depending on my mood, I shift into different bookstore personalities:

The Literary Intellectual

Wanders straight to the classics section. Pretends to be rereading Anna Karenina instead of just checking how long it is.

The Self-Improvement Optimist

Picks up four books on productivity, journaling, and eating mindfully. Ends up stress-snacking on a muffin while reading none of them.

The Cozy Escapist

Gravitates toward novels set in quaint towns where people fall in love while baking pies or fixing their late uncle’s bookshop.

The Impulsive Gifter

Buys books “for friends” and then decides to read them first, you know, just to make sure they’re good enough. (Spoiler: the friend never sees them.)

What Happens After the Purchase

I always walk out of the bookstore giddy, high on serotonin and the possibility of becoming a more interesting person.

Then I get home…

And stare at my bookshelf like,

“Where exactly am I going to put all of you?”

I rearrange. I stack sideways. I tuck paperbacks into places they don’t belong. There is no system. There is only chaos.

Sometimes I even forget about the books for weeks, until I find them again like buried treasure beneath a stack of receipts, reusable tote bags, and emotional exhaustion.

And every time I open one, I say the same thing to myself:

“Ah yes, this one. I’ve been meaning to read it.”

Reader, I still haven’t read it.

The Excuses I Tell Myself (That You’re Welcome to Borrow)

“Books are an investment in myself.”

“It’s cheaper than therapy.”

“Reading makes me a better person.”

“I’m supporting small business!”

“It’s not hoarding if it’s literature.”

“One day I’ll have a library with rolling ladders.” (Sure, Jan.)

Why I Actually Keep Doing It

Despite the chaos, the duplicates, and the piles of unread stories teetering on the edge of collapse, I keep buying books because…

Books feel like hope.

Hope that I’ll have time to slow down.

Hope that I’ll finally understand myself.

Hope that there’s still wonder, still beauty, still magic waiting on page 327.

Every time I walk into a bookstore, I feel like something good is about to happen.

And every time I walk out with a book I already own?

Well… maybe that’s just a reminder that some stories are worth revisiting. Even five times.

Lessons from the Bookstore Trenches

You can never have too many stories—but you can run out of shelf space.

Buy accordingly (and maybe look into wall-mounted options).

It’s okay to reread the books that make you feel safe.

Even if you’re technically still working through 12 unread ones.

Impulse control is overrated when you’re holding a novel about dragons and time travel.

(Or maybe that’s just me.)

Your home doesn’t need to be minimalist if it’s joyful.

Stacks of books = stacks of possibilities.

Would I Stop Buying Duplicates?

No. I’ve accepted it.

Books are my version of comfort food.

Some people stock up on candles. Others collect throw pillows.

I? I hoard plotlines, protagonists, and poetic metaphors like a squirrel hoards acorns.

Besides, one day someone’s going to visit, ask for a book recommendation, and I’ll hand them a copy I already have four of—and that, my friends, is generosity.