MARKETING algorithms have been a gift to lazy shoppers like me. No need to trawl the web or traipse around shops looking for products to my taste – adverts for them will eventually simply pop up on my phone.

However, this does sometimes lead to some jarring in-store experiences, when I am reminded that the world does not revolve around my preferences and other people are making some truly questionable purchases.

This week it was a pair of novelty pyjamas that threatened to tip me into a full-blown existential crisis in the middle of Asda. Not just novelty pyjamas, but novelty pyjamas celebrating the forthcoming coronation of King Charles III. Indeed, matching novelty pyjamas celebrating the forthcoming coronation of King Charles III for the entire family.

Well, I say the entire family – as far as I can tell, Asda does not have any coronation clothing for dogs. Its coronation range does, however, include six different products bearing the image of a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, numerous Paddington-themed garments, and some guest appearances by Simba from The Lion King.

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Let’s not even get into the Union flag-emblazoned matching mother-and-daughter sun dresses, other than to say that these might serve as a useful visual clue of which families to avoid when choosing a picnic spot or sun lounger during the forthcoming summer holidays.

That’s assuming anyone is actually still showcasing these crimes against fashion come July or August, and didn’t just buy a full set for mum, dad and the kids to wear for a single bank holiday weekend or, worst still, for a single carousel of Instagram images.

In one sense, novelty pyjamas are a lesser evil compared to almost any other novelty clothing item. After all, they are designed only to be seen by one’s nearest and dearest, not flaunted in public thoroughfares, so when the novelty inevitably wears off they still have a practical use. The frequency of washing and wearing – assuming, for my sanity’s sake, that the owner does not have umpteen different pairs of novelty pyjamas – means they will eventually wear out.

However, it’s difficult to imagine these consumers adopting the same philosophy as Charles himself, by repairing any holes or rips. “’I’m one of those people who hate throwing anything away,” the monarch told Vogue a few years ago. “Hence I’d rather have them maintained, even patched if necessary.”

This may be the first and last time I find myself asking “would the King approve?”, but it does seem particularly insane that people are celebrating the crowning of a man who has been preaching “reduce, reuse, recycle” for decades by buying cheap, throwaway clothing.

Of course, if Charles was truly concerned about waste he would not be having a £100 million event to begin with, but it’s easy to imagine him wincing at the particular ways in which the little people are trying to involve themselves.

Asda’s pyjamas are 100% cotton, so they can theoretically be sent off for recycling, but how many pairs will be in landfill by the end of the year? And when parents are gleefully tugging their children’s arms into sweatshirts bearing the King’s CR cypher, will they spare a thought for the environmental harms caused by global cotton production?

How many bees died so that a five-year-old could be cheerfully branded as a subject? Also, has anyone told the kid in the “future king” T-shirt that he’s merely a future pleb? The last time an obnoxious brat was encouraged in such delusions, the ultimate consequence was Brexit.

Lest it appear that I am unfairly singling out Asda and its customers for condemnation here, please let it be known that I was last week also confronted with a box of life-size cardboard King Charles cut-outs in Sainsbury’s, mere inches away from a tasteful display of Habitat tableware.

That brand’s founder Sir Terence Conran might have accepted one of the Queen’s Birthday Honours, but he must surely still be turning in his grave at this crime against good taste.

Where will these effigies end up? Put them on sale in six months’ time and there’d be uproar, but better for one to top a bonfire than take up an entire blue wheelie bin.

There are, of course, plenty of other examples of excess associated with special occasions, which raise questions about just how many seasonal items are being hoarded away for 11 months of the year.

A Christmas hand towel or table cloth is one thing, but a Christmas ceramic soap dispenser and rubber-backed bathmat is taking it too far.

The National:

Halloween decorations are easily tossed into a loft, but where are people storing their specifically spooky casserole dishes and oven gloves? I suspect folk are simply discarding this stuff at the end of the season, ready to buy more the following year. Otherwise they would end up needing an entire second home in which to keep it all.

And yes, “fast fashion” in general is a bigger problem than these daft seasonal indulgences, but at least dedicated followers of fashion take pride in their appearance.

What is there to be proud of on May 6, what possible logic dictates that a special pair of pyjamas is required not just for yourself, but for your household? To celebrate a one-hour event? If you really want to feel like king for the day, stick on some patched-up rags.