The Confessions of a Shopaholic we need right now would feature John Thain begging the American public to forgive him for purchasing a $35,000 commode. As it is, the movie plays like an outrageously obscene gesture as the economy continues to swallow up livelihoods. Based on the first two books in Sophie Kinsella’s Shopaholic series—published at the tail end of the last gilded age— Confessions the film moves the source material’s setting from London to New York. “A man will never love or treat you as well as a store,” Rebecca Bloomwood (Isla Fisher) gushes in voiceover at the film’s beginning, the first of many Carrie Bradshaw–esque moments. Rebecca—$16K in hock and constantly dodging bill collectors because she can’t resist purchasing $200 Marc Jacobs underwear—dreams of working at glossy Alette but lands instead at Successful Savings magazine, run by a dully principled Brit (Hugh Dancy). Until last-minute life lessons are preached, Shopaholic is simply a product-placement vehicle for Prada, YSL, and Burberry. Yes, the time has come to set aside childish things, particularly a movie that hypocritically masquerades as a moral tale about living within one’s means after devoting most of its running time to fetishizing the labels that landed its heroine in the red in the first place.