In Men at Arms, the fifteenth book in Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series of comedic fantasy novels, the character Sam Vimes explains his “boots theory” of socio-economic unfairness:1
The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.
Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.
But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that’d still be keeping his feet dry in ten years’ time, while the poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.
Later in the novel, the same character describes a wealthy woman living in a mansion full of inherited furniture so well-made that it “never wore out”, enabling her to live well on less money than he did living poorly.
This isn’t a rant on socioeconomic injustice (as satisfying as that might be to write). Instead, I want to ask a question:
What if the true opposite of cheapness isn’t expensiveness, but permanence?
In other words, what if by spending more—and spending wisely—we can buy things that could pay back their increased cost and then some, potentially lasting a lifetime or beyond?
I don’t mean something like an heirloom-quality watch, as wonderful as such objects can be. The people in the market for such things aren’t typically buying one-and-done. Among watch collectors, one survey found the average such person owns 6.1 watches with a median collection value of £34,800 ($46,398 / 40 336 €). They may be buying heirloom-quality watches, but they’re not buying them to save money, or to buy a single watch of their dreams.
What I mean is something of which we normally might buy multiple over a lifetime, but if found in an example made well enough, cared for properly, and serviced as necessary, could outlive us. A top-quality wool overcoat. A robust piece of luggage. A well-engineered car. Even a digital camera, now that improvements are leveling out.
This isn’t a new concept. The Reddit forum Buy It For Life—which I recommend—exists to encourage exactly what it says: “…to showcase high quality, durable, and practical products that can be bought once and used for life”.
What I’m proposing is Buy It For Life but with a luxury twist, namely:
Luxury goods makers are capable of making items that can last a lifetime,
Items that last are more sustainable and that alone makes them desirable, so,
Items that last don’t necessarily lead to less revenue for luxury firms, so,
We should insist that our luxury firms of choice make items that can last.
Where this leads is to the concept of a second (and third, and so on) life for luxury goods: the luxury afterlife.
What is a luxury afterlife?
Of course, I don’t mean afterlife in a mystical sense. By luxury afterlife, I mean the life of a luxury item after the first owner is done with it.
For a luxury item to have an afterlife requires three things:
Serviceability. Is the item designed with repair in mind? Will its producer be available and willing to repair it when need be? If not, will independent technicians have the skills to do so? If neither of these things is true, then the item has a finite lifespan.
Viability. Will the item’s value justify continuing to invest in it through ongoing maintenance and repair? If not, it won’t be maintained absent an emotional connection to it, and that’s only likely for the original owner.
Timelessness. Will the item be something that people will still desire ten years from now? Twenty? Longer? If not, it won’t matter that it’s in good condition.
Image: Atiwat Witthayanurut / Shutterstock
It seems to me that luxury brands often want credit for craftsmanship at the time of sale. I’m fine with that. In fact, I think it’s great, as long as they’re equally willing to be judged on their craftsmanship years or even decades later, when their products require service.
Serviceability. Viability. Timelessness. If these are so simple and so obvious, why do so few luxury maisons embrace them as universal qualities?
Why luxury brands resist afterlife programs
I’m not in the sales or marketing department of a luxury maison, and if I were, I wouldn’t be writing this. But I can guess some of the reasons such a firm might resist a luxury afterlife program:
Sales impacts. To me, this seems like the most likely category of objections a luxury firm might have to giving their products officially sanctioned afterlives.
They might feel that extending the life of their products reduces the desire to buy new products. I humbly disagree.
I believe that when we trust a producer to make things that last, we come back and buy more from that same producer. If Sam Vimes could afford a high-quality pair of boots that effectively cost $5 per year instead of having to buy low-quality boots every year at $10 a pair, my belief is that he might spend that money on other useful items from that same producer. If they make boots that last, surely they make other things that last as well. And every item Sam buys from that producer (or others like it) not only saves him money that he can reinvest in more items to meet his needs, but positions him better to make more money in the future, some of which (again) will go to high-quality, durable items.
Further, an afterlife program could create an entry path for people who can’t yet buy new, but who want to begin a relationship with a brand. Not every aspirational customer who would be willing and able to buy a pre-owned item would otherwise have bought new. In many cases, the alternative isn’t “new”, it’s “not at all”. Capturing customers earlier in their luxury journey could pay dividends to a brand for years or even decades.
Or the luxury firm might believe that an official afterlife program would make their most iconic goods too accessible. If a comprehensive afterlife program increases the availability of a maison’s most famous works, that could weaken the scarcity-driven mystique around them. Again, I humbly disagree. An official afterlife wouldn’t make a particular luxury item common. It would make it trustworthy.
Imagine your favorite difficult-to-purchase-as-new luxury item: An Hermès Birkin or Kelly handbag. Many watches from Patek Philippe, Audemars Piguet, or (the 800-pound gorilla) Rolex. A few bags from Goyard or Chanel. Such an item offered through an official manufacturer’s channel would still be scarce, expensive, curated, and with much or all the cachet of its newer siblings—perhaps even more in certain cases. The manufacturer wouldn’t be flooding the market with items from a warehouse; they’d be selecting, authenticating, restoring, and recirculating a limited number of items that already exist.
Operational complexities. The other category of objections to an afterlife program are around the complexities of actually operating one. How does the firm authenticate its products? Does it have the infrastructure to be able to refurbish them? How does it set standards for refurbished products and how does it set prices based on condition? What sort of warranty does it offer? Is there an increased risk of fraud?
These are real concerns. I don’t mean to dismiss them. But luxury firms face similarly complex challenges selling new products and supporting them during their initial warranty periods, and yet we see new products, new product lines, new brands, and even new luxury (and approachable luxury) firms launch on a regular basis. In other words, the concerns are real, but to use them to dismiss the idea outright is not an inevitability, but a choice.
What this means for you
I’m going to return to this topic next week with my thoughts on what a official luxury afterlife program might look like, and why it’s such a common-sense idea. In the meantime…
For the most part, there are no luxury afterlife programs today, at least not in fashion, accessories, watches, and similar domains. (There are in other domains; tune in next week for more on that.) Absent such programs, if you’re interested in the potential durability of a luxury purchase, there are a few questions you can ask yourself:
Will the maker still service your item years from now? Some luxury makers are known for their willingness to repair their products—at a fee, once the warranty has expired, but that’s reasonable.
Will the item justify your ongoing investment? If you look at it and think, “I like it, but I don’t see myself spending money to repair it five or ten years down the road,” you have your answer.
Will the item be timeless and appealing in the future? Do you see yourself wearing or otherwise using it a decade from now? Can you imagine other people doing so? Again, if not, you have your answer.
I don’t mean to suggest that every item we buy has to meet these criteria, or that we need to ask ourselves these questions every time we walk in a luxury boutique. But when we do ask these questions, and when the answers are affirmative, that tells us we’re buying products for the long-term that could—one day—have an afterlife. And that’s not luxury as a buyer event, but luxury as owner stewardship.
Discussion
Do you believe that any luxury brands behave as if they expect their products to last?
Does a strong resale market strengthen a brand’s prestige or undermine it?
1 Many thanks to my friend Richard Harris for first exposing me to this theory.
