No economist would recommend you to walk a puppy
I have a 6-year-old toy poodle who, after every dinner, starts to nag me. She’ll place her front paws on my knees, tilt her head upward, and gaze at me with her big, dark eyes—intently staring, as if to say: “I need a walk, and more importantly… I need to pee.”
As we head out for our evening stroll, most of the time with my girlfriend by my side, we chat about the events of the day—everything from the mundane to the absurd. I cherish these moments, these simple walks in the park, with the sound of our dog’s little paws tapping along the path. But even as I enjoy the walk, there’s a subtle sense of guilt that gnaws at me, quietly echoing in the back of my mind. It almost feels like I’m doing something wrong. I should be doing something “productive,” something that will make my time more valuable. In some strange way, I’ve come to equate leisure with guilt.
This feeling isn’t just personal. It’s part of a larger narrative, one that shapes how we see ourselves and our place in society. In Talking to My Daughter About the Economy, economist Yanis Varoufakis identifies one of the central tragedies of capitalism: the triumph of “exchange value” over “experiential value.”
Oscar Wilde wrote that a cynical person is someone who knows the price of everything but the value of nothing. Our societies tend to make us all cynics. And no one is more cynical than the economist who sees exchange value as the only value, trivializing experiential value as unnecessary in a society where everything is judged according to the criteria of the market.
This is exactly where my sense of guilt comes from when I’m walking my dog in the park. Capitalism tells us that success is measured by growth—by GDP for nations and by the balance in a person’s bank account. Any activity that distracts a nation from growing its GDP or keeps an individual from making more money is considered unproductive. Worse yet, it’s deemed “unethical” in a system that equates busyness with value.
And yet, my girlfriend and I derive a deep sense of happiness from our simple routine of walking our puppy. It’s a daily ritual that provides emotional fulfillment and strengthens our bond, but in the eyes of an economist, it counts for little. Unless, of course, we stop at a café for a cup of coffee on our way to the park, thus contributing to the economy.
The more I reflect on this, the more I begin to question the central tenet of capitalism—that growth, unchecked and unrelenting, is always good. And maybe—just maybe—the value of those walks with my dog and girlfriend, those moments of pure, unadulterated joy, should count for something more than just an indulgence of guilt.