I recently purchased a pair of sandals. Not just any sandals, but an $850 pair of sandals. They are neatly stitched from calfskin leather, an “essential piece in every wardrobe,” or so I’ve been told.
The absurdity of this is not lost on me. But I, like so many young people my age, want to keep up and stay in-step with the city’s sartorial styles and the fashionable people who wear them.
In our visual and virtual culture, visions and dreams of fashionable people and the luxurious things they purchase are constantly up for show. Young people know this well. They are repeatedly invited to follow, and “like,” lives and lifestyles once kept hidden by the well-to-do.
A look to Instagram’s Discover page or TikTok’s For You page, provides a window into “rich kids” and “luxury fashion hauls” as well as critical commentary on the season’s latest staples and the “new” versus “old” money looks they might lend themselves to.
Together, content of this kind plays an important part in fostering a sense of aspiration and desire, in stoking anxiety about who we are and, what we should buy.
It may come as little surprise that, following a downturn in sales driven by the COVID-19 pandemic and media fanfare surrounding “the end of fashion,” luxury products like the sandals I stepped out to buy are being sold with great speed.
And much or most of these sales are driven by consumers under the age of 35, with reporters and scholars documenting a new cohort of young people eager to acquire luxury goods of their own.
Some will no doubt make their purchase online where, as sociologist and philosopher Zygmunt Bauman observed, our shopping can be “broken up” into dozens of “joyful moments.” Still others will take their business to brick-and-mortar stores where class-based aspirations (and anxieties) take meaningful form. My research looks at how cultural workers like stylists and visual merchandisers influence our purchases.