too much to choose from?

It's fantastic isn't it? As many shapes and sizes of the same old tat as you could shake a virtual stick at. Novelty clutter beyond the dreams of avarice. I honestly don't know how I'd cope if I didn't have fourteen different styles of cargo pants to choose from of a morning. How could I start my day without first deciding which of a hundred kinds of monocultured, dried beverage-sweepings I should imbibe, which sugar-coated, reconstituted gloop-clusters I should pour which variation of which genetically modified animal's steroidal, iradiated milk onto, and which one of a million brain-stem-pop stations I should tune into using which ubiquitous, overbearing technology. Choosing is fun. It's what makes us free.
Ok, so my choice may inch globalisation that teensy bit closer to a fairer trade. Fair enough. It may deny some small pennyworth to some large corporation or despotic regime. We can but try. And so we must. But let's be honest about the choice thing, -in most cases It's just a turd of a thousand disguises. Dress it up how you will - cheese string is NOT progress.