Farmers' markets won't change the world

Shopping for dinky, artisan products is fun – but don't think you're making a stand against The Man
Farmers' markets
Shopping at farmers' markets is like buying a Mulberry handbag. So don't get self-righteous about it. Photograph: Robert Stainforth/Alamy

Shopping for luxury goods is an act of acute narcissism. It's all about the positive light in which we view ourselves, and the unnecessary rewards we think we deserve or, even worse, need, as a result. That Mulberry handbag! Those Manolo Blahniks! The joyously slinky iPad 2! Gimme! Shopping in a modern British farmers' market is exactly the same kind of narcissistic act, only it comes with a greasy veneer of self-righteousness. It doesn't feel like that, of course. Wandering from the artisan breadmaker to the cheese guy to the bloke who only sells beef from wild cattle that are slaughtered lovingly to the wafting melodies of Verdi, feels like a sacrament, a physical expression of an ideology. It's like Hare Krishnas donning the saffron robes – an outward expression of a belief.




What we are not doing is harking back to a bygone era. Farmers' markets mythologise Britain, create a version of it that never existed, when horny-handed peasants lived on prime cuts of happy pig and lashings of thick cream the colour of buttercups. Our great grandparents never ate this well. They couldn't afford to. Don't let any of this put you off shopping in farmers' markets: it's a noble way to pass the time. Just don't think you're changing the world by doing so.