So your calendar is empty. You already watched the Stranger Things finale twice, and now your brain wants a hit of something new. A rush. A plan. A feeling that progress is happening.
And since you’re a cyclist, your default move isn’t meditation or journaling. It’s browsing gear. Scrolling through discounts. Convincing yourself that this piece, this upgrade, this “smart buy” is somehow preparation.
It feels productive. It feels intentional. It feels like you’re doing something for the season ahead.
That’s the trap. In fact, January is the worst month to buy cycling gear, and here is why.
Selection is awful, and that’s hardly an accident.
January discounts aren’t a gift. They’re a clearance siren.
Shops are spring-cleaning. New collections are on the way, so whatever didn’t sell over the past year suddenly gets a red sticker and a second chance at relevance. If something is 50% off in January, chances are it’s been quietly aging in a warehouse since last spring, waiting for this exact moment.
And sizing? Good luck. Normal humans need not apply. Average sizes were gone months ago. What’s left belongs in a P. T. Barnum freak show. If you wear 7XL or 3XS, congratulations, this is your golden hour. Everyone else is choosing between “almost fits” and “it’ll fit when I lose 15 kilos.”
Browse all you want. January is great for that. Just read the fine print if you buy. Clearance usually means something’s odd.
You can’t buy what’s not there yet
Picking the scraps of Christmas shoppers is bad enough. But even worse, you have no idea what’s coming in just a month or so.
New collections usually show up in late February. By then, you’ve at least re-met your body. You know whether the holiday gains are gone, still negotiating, or have declared permanent residency. Fit stops being a guess.
You also know what’s actually new. What stayed. What vanished. What problems have brands tried to fix this year? Maybe there’s a new shifter that reads your mind and changes gears based on how hard you’re gasping for air. Maybe there isn’t. In January, you’re assuming. In March, you know.
January shopping is like picking from the lost-and-found box while an entire warehouse of sealed boxes sits three steps away. You’re early, not clever.
January discounts often aren’t what they look like
January is also when prices quietly change.
New year, new logistics costs, new salaries, new margins. Brands and shops recalibrate. Lists get updated. Baselines move. So, if you want to stay amazed at the generous discount, just don’t look at the price from a month ago.
What often happens is simple. Old gear keeps its old price, but the new price for everything else creeps up. The tag turns red, the percentage looks dramatic, and it feels like you’re winning. In reality, you’re just buying something that hasn’t been repriced yet.
You’re not beating the system. You’re shopping between accounting updates.
Which is fine, if you know that’s what’s happening. Less fine if you think January is some magical window where everyone decided to be generous at once.
January shopping is a dopamine problem
January is low-stimulus living. Whether it’s the weather, the lack of holidays, the sudden disappearance of Christmas lights and trees, or the almost non-existent daylight, January is boring, draining, and aggressively uninspiring.
There’s nothing to look forward to and very little to react to. So your brain starts hunting for stimulation wherever it can find it. Something new. Something shiny. Something that feels like movement.
For cyclists, that hunt almost always ends in a webshop.
Scrolling feels active. Comparing feels productive. Buying feels like progress. It’s dopamine without effort, risk, or frozen toes. A small hit that convinces you you’re doing something for the season ahead.
But you’re not solving riding problems. You’re managing restlessness. And when gear shopping becomes a substitute for stimulation, the decision-making is already compromised. God save your credit card.
The real January deals are for gear you won’t use in spring
January does have good deals. Just not on the gear you’re thinking about. This is when trainers, winter shoes, heavy gloves, and thermal layers finally get discounted. Gear with an expiration date. Stuff shops don’t want to look at once temperatures climb above miserable.
And that makes sense. Winter is ending, at least on the calendar. Clearing winter-specific gear in January is logical. Buying spring and summer gear at the same time isn’t.
If you need something to get you through the rest of winter, indoors or outdoors, January can help. If you’re shopping for the upcoming season, you’re early. And early usually means wrong.
Do you actually have the money right now?
Christmas just happened. You remember it. The season where you sold a kidney to pay for gifts, decorations, and Christmas markets while listening to the Banshee screeching otherwise known as Christmas songs. Money left your account enthusiastically.
January then shows up pretending none of that happened. Like, this is the perfect moment to go on a fresh shopping spree, despite everything we’ve already covered. Selection is bad. Context is missing. Motivation is compromised. And your bank balance is still flinching.
Saving a bit of cash and waiting a couple of months does something important. It gives you room to breathe. It lets you shop without panic, regret, or creative accounting.
March purchases come from a different place. You’ve stabilized. You know what you’re riding, how often, and what actually annoys you.
If you still want to buy something in January
If you’re set on buying gear in January, go for it. It’s your money. Just keep it grounded.
Buy things that solve problems you already have, not problems you imagine you’ll have once the season starts. Indoor gear. Winter-specific kit. Replacements for something genuinely worn out or broken. Nothing aspirational. Nothing that assumes a version of the season you haven’t met yet.
Read the fine print. Clearance rules apply. Returns can be tricky. Sizes won’t magically reappear. If it feels like a compromise now, it will feel worse later.
Otherwise, wait.
March brings daylight, rides, and irritation. The useful kind. You’ll know what hurts, what annoys you, and what actually limits your riding. Shopping then isn’t exciting, but it’s accurate.
January shopping feels good at the moment.
Buyer’s remorse usually shows up right on time, wearing a “new arrivals” label.
