While I’ve always liked searching out the cheapest prices, this habit became a compulsion when I became a mother. During the pandemic, I was introduced to group buying – a way for individuals to gain access to bulk discounts without, well, buying in bulk. Instead, folks in the same neighbourhood would band together to hit a minimum order to unlock a cheaper price for goods of any variety. This could range from instant noodles and cakes to electronic appliances… the list goes on.
It’s not surprising that other mums have the same tendencies I have, considering how much money we spend on our children. I’m guessing that’s why such communities flourish among mums – and sometimes dads – because we want to provide the best for those around us, at the lowest cost possible.
It went beyond simply sharing good deals. In the recesses of my memory that is the fourth trimester, I hazily recall asking for advice from mothers I’ve never met, about almost anything under the sun. Questions included poop frequencies, how to get rid of colic, how to decide on a preschool, and more.
Some mums responded in earnest. One sent over a set of silverette cups in the middle of the night because I mentioned I couldn’t find mine. Another offered a listening ear at all hours because she, too, was up breastfeeding her little one.
Confined to my armchair, it felt like I was connected to this community I’ve never seen nor met, and I was grateful for what they represented even after the chatgroups died their natural death in a post-pandemic world.
From experiment to habit
Now that we are firmly past Covid-19, the chatgroups I’m a part of have also evolved. There’s one named “Travel Lobangs” where we share updates about airline and credit card discounts, and fellow parents share their family-friendly itineraries for destinations they’ve enjoyed.
There’s another called Best Lobang, which collates good deals for pretty much anything under the sun – from kid-safe sunscreens to head massages. There’s also a community called ThriftyMama where parents ask for recommendations about child enrichment classes, cakes for school celebrations, how to treat their child’s eczema, and more.
I’ve not met most of these group hosts, and I would not recognise my fellow group chat members if I passed them in the streets. But it strikes me that these communities have become one of my first ports of call if I have a question about my child’s development, or if I’m planning a holiday.
These friends were my digital penpals, and these groups became one of the communities I treasure greatly – something I did not expect. But it does make sense after all. If one could go years without meeting another person across the globe, but kept in touch via letters and phone calls, friendships born out of WhatApp groups should not be surprising.
Just like any friendship, however, the communication needs to go both ways. Sometimes, I see questions pop up about keeping eczema at bay. Given how my entire family deals with eczema on a near-daily basis, I often offer my perspective on moisturisers, the allergist we visit, and how we manage this annoying condition.
I’ve also since started sharing my own recommendations. It began as a fun experiment on Instagram, and I wondered if anyone would care, given I’m neither an influencer nor an expert at reviewing products. Starting with food items and recipes, I began tracking prices across platforms in search of the best deals. Later, I “graduated” to skincare, and often shared deals for TikTok-viral products like the Biodance collagen mask that was all the rage last year. (Which, by the way, can go down to $16 for a box of 4)
At one point, I used some of the “investigative” skills I picked up as a journalist to look for suppliers on my own. One Christmas, an order form for Christmas meats such as hams and sausages found its way to my chatgroups. With a little digging, I found the meat supplier, and coordinated my own group buy – with a better deal to boot.
It’s become almost instinctive to doublecheck if I’m truly getting a good deal. The urge to share has also grown, especially since more people in my circle are looking to cut down on their expenses after becoming homeowners, pawrents, parents, or all of the above. I’ve started a private Telegram channel, which I update whenever I stumble across good deals.
One recent good deal? Three tins of baby abalone from a supermarket for $18. It even spurred some of my friends to go out to the supermarket that very day.
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What’s the big deal?
Sometimes, my husband jokes that if journalism doesn’t work out, I could potentially change industries and go into procurement, where my obsession with the lowest prices can actually be monetised.
But I digress. Over the past few years, I’ve come to realise that the biggest joy is when someone says they’ve benefited from what little I share. I’m reminded of a speech I came across this past week by Eli Pariser, co-director of New_Public, a non-profit reimagining social media. In his address at Pope Francis’ Jubilee of the World of Communications at the Vatican in January this year, Pariser opined that as a society, we need the digital equivalent of third spaces like libraries, parks, and town squares, where connection and contribution are prioritised over consumption or combat.
In a world where the news can be terrifying, where we may not be able to tell reality from fiction, my little corner of the internet lets my inner “auntie” – and perhaps that of my friends’ – flourish.
We may not engage in deep conversation about the meaning of life or other things that plague us, but I’m not ruling it out either. After all, an innate desire to live well despite cost of living pressures (perceived or otherwise) drove us to be connected through a random Telegram group, where we get updates about cheap rice, a half-priced sashimi platter and cheap canned drinks for Chinese New Year gatherings.
I’m also grateful for group chat hosts who hold space for thousands of messages a day, allowing frazzled mums to ask questions, unload, plan for their kids’ holidays and future. At times, they have been a lifesaver for my sanity.
I guess the unexpected lesson from my shopping habit is that we all have the ability to do this for others. To be a friend to someone you’ve never met. To send a word of encouragement to a weary soul. It doesn’t have to be complicated. And it’s completely free – the best kind of lobang.
Diane Leow is editor, newsroom insights, at The Straits Times. She is a member of ST’s newsroom strategy team.
