PicoBlog

One thing about me: I’m cheap.

There’s a term used in many industries to refer to certain consumers: “price-sensitive.” Typically, these consumers don’t buy anything full price (guilty), they’ll search high and low for the best price on literally anything from salad to surgery (check), and—and this is perhaps the most important trait—they’ll compromise on things like the look and feel of something in order to save a few bucks (not a chance).

I’m not “price-sensitive.” But I am cheap. So, like, what’s the difference?

In my mind, it’s not really about how much money I save on something, it’s about how much money I could’ve spent to get the same something. It’s about how close to the original value of that something I can get for a lower price. It’s not “a deal” if I would’ve never cared about it at full price. It’s not “a deal” to get more stuff I’m just okay with over one or two things I’m really in love with. And it’s definitely not “a deal” to get something that only kinda sorta looks like something I really want, when everything else about it pales in comparison. But I already talked about dupes.

Today, I wanna talk about TikTok. Specifically these videos.

To me, these videos are a perfect showing of the way fast fashion takes perfectly lovely, simple design, and cuts corners to the point that it not only barely resembles what it once was, but it almost looks like parody. Take the two coats, for example: this is a classic style, with conventional (read: not very unique) detailing. The notched lapel, the epaulettes and wrist straps, the faux storm flaps (those are the buttoned flaps of fabric on the chest)—everything about it has been done before, down to the color. But where the one of the left looks nice, and classic and thoughtfully constructed, its copy on the right looks stiff and silly, like they just checked off characteristics to make something like a coat and tossed it on a rack for price-sensitive fast fashion sho—wait, does that say two hundred and twenty nine pounds??!??!?

Here’s a vintage trench coat for $228 (which is only £183) that I found on Gem.

But I digress.

Why can’t people tell the obvious quality—if not price—difference between those two looks?

Or the even more strikingly obvious difference between these two (the length, the drape, the bow detail and the lapels of the blazer, to name a few)?

I have some theories.

In the video above, more than one person that was asked chose the outfit on the right because it “looked shinier.” I mean…need I really say more? In the comments of every video like this, there are dozens if not hundreds of people looking for the exact wrong thing to figure out why something might cost more than something else. This is why exactly the “Old Money” trend had so many people rushing out for to Aritzia and Zara neutral polyester knits instead of vintage St. John.

Here’s the thing: no one would look at this man’s T-shirt and think it was a Hanes shirt from a pack.

The sleeves are cut too nicely, the crop is too perfect, the drape is too buttery yet firm: it just doesn’t look cheap.

Until you reveal that the shirt costs $95. All of a sudden, this clearly beautiful T-shirt is overpriced and clearly not worth it even though the whole reason you asked what shirt it was is because it’s worth it!

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard someone say “nothing is worth more than (obscenely low price)—it’s all made in the same factory!” Those clothing brands that claim to “cut out the middle man” and use the “same” manufacturers as high end designers are no help. But, it’s simply not true. And, even if you did manufacture your clothes in the same factory as Gucci or, hell, even an actual high quality designer brand like The Row, it doesn’t mean you’re using the same fabrics, the same construction techniques or even the same machines. But, no one wants to think their clothes are crap. We all want to feel like we look great in what we choose to wear, even if we’re choosing out of price sensitivity. So, it has to be a scam to pay more than (insert whatever we personally pay) for (whatever we personally want).

Growing up, Nordstrom was the place of dreams. My mother was a compulsive shopper, so we frequented JCPenney’s, Kohl’s and Foley’s (eventually Macy’s), but never Nordstrom, as they never really discounted their wares down to prices we could afford. Naturally, as soon as I got a little bit of money, I went in looking to buy my first three-figure items, and I went often, as I worked in a building attached to a mall. I could tell it was cleaner and higher end than I was used to, and I just loved being there. And I spent many thousands’ of dollars worth of my barista tips on clearance dresses by brands like Kensie and BP.

Then, I went to Bloomingdales.

All of a sudden, the $99 dress that cost a good $89.01 more than the stuff I typically wore looked cheap. Yeah, it looked better than the rest of my wardrobe, but compared to Bloomie’s, I might as well be wearing Charlotte Russe.

That’s because Nordstrom, though it is more expensive than most people can afford, is still a mid-range store. That’s not to say there’s nothing that’s high-end or high quality there, only that, in the grand scheme of things, it’s simply not the tippity tip top of the iceberg. And I was experiencing the tippity tip top of the iceberg—that is, until I went to Barney’s for the first time.

Unfortunately, we’re not usually comparing whatever we’re thinking of buying to its highest quality and/or most expensive version. But, maybe we should be…

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