A few times a year, I meet up with some of my college friends ($80k annual tuition) from a seminar called Poverty and Inequality. We bonded over a group project where we had to create a PowerPoint about where we think that the Poverty Line should be drawn. (Are you living in poverty if you don’t have WiFi? What if you’re just off the grid?)

After a few $21 martinis, the same conversation always comes up. The perennial riddle: is there a such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism?

We all vehemently vouch that there is no ethical consumption under capitalism. It doesn’t matter if you eat only from vegan farmer’s markets, buy from fair trade coffee shops, support local co-op owned businesses, and boycott Amazon. All consumption exists under a system that exploits labor, encourages overconsumption, and prioritizes profit above all else. In the unspoken competition between us to be considered the most morally superior, you simply have to get as close to perfectly ethical consumption as possible.

Personally, I’ve found this easy. I pass these tests of righteousness the same way I passed our seminar: through cheating. I need to find loopholes, or else how could I possibly maintain my quality of life? I just don’t have the time to grow bread in my own backyard.

For example, it is technically not unethical consumption if my mom bought it for me. If it was a holiday gift, or she was buying something for herself on Amazon, and asked if I wanted to add to the order. I didn’t press the button, and I certainly did not use my credit card.

This rule isn’t just limited to my mom either—I would be happy to ethically accept anything purchased by my friend’s parents as well. Or, anyone over the age of 60. What am I going to do, turn down a stop at the Chic-Fil-A drive through with my friend’s Dad? It would be rude to refuse. If my boss wants to buy me Starbucks from a union-busting shop, he can be my guest. Turning down a caramel macchiato might even mean that their labor has gone to waste.

There are food related escape clauses as well.

Imagine, I am on a hot date with a guy with a nose ring. He so kindly offers to buy me sea urchin tartare from a sushi restaurant with a reputation for problematic fishing practices. It’s not ME buying it. It doesn’t count. And frankly, men still owe me for all of my unpaid emotional labor. Plus the wage gap. (Unclear if the wage gap applies to me personally, but we discussed it in class, and I found it compelling.)

You can also get away with never ordering UberEats—you can just Venmo your roommate when they do it. If they place the order, they carry the moral weight of contributing to a gig economy that exploits drivers who deliver napkins individually wrapped in plastic. What you’re doing is reimbursing. Some might even call it wealth distribution.

I also believe that if it’s secondhand, it’s absolved. Anything I find in a thrift store is inherently virtuous, even if it was originally produced by a fast fashion conglomerate. Once it hits the Goodwill rack, it becomes untouchable.

Sometimes, I excuse myself from buying sustainably if I’m just having a really bad day. Anything I buy when I’m not in the right state of mind doesn’t count. I deserve to buy a Temu standing desk, probably sourced from prison labor, after seeing a reel of it when my train was delayed. Don’t forget that capitalism itself is a prison too.

By the way, the Dyson Air Wrap was a gift.

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Julia Kopstein is a comedian and writer living in Brooklyn, New York.