That’s right. All this discussion about standard of living, and the material goods we have at our disposal today that our grandfathers could never have imagined, and we have completely avoided the question of quality.
I’m guessing that our grandfathers would be stunned at the shoddiness of the things we have in our homes. Our rickety furniture, our poorly-made clothes, our highly-processed foods, our mass-produced goods - everything is disposable, easily broken, and none of it made to last. Much of it is also beyond our ability to repair, a hallmark of prior generations who bought things made well enough that they wouldn’t have to buy them again. Emma Johnson at MSN Money writes about this often overlooked aspect of the generation gap:
Americans in their 20s and 30s are now at least one generation removed from the era of homemade clothing and hand-crafted wood furniture, Underhill says. “In the 1950s, 90% of homes had sewing machines, which means women knew something about how clothes were put together. They could look at something in the store and tell if was of good construction or crappy construction,” he says. “In my office, I don’t know anyone who has bought a custom suit. They don’t know the difference between off-the-rack and custom.”
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How did this happen? How did we lose track of the value of quality things — objects that hold the promise of decades of use and beauty — and come to view all the possessions in our lives as disposable?
Daniel Nissanoff, online retail entrepreneur and author of “FutureShop: How the New Auction Culture Will Revolutionize the Way We Buy, Sell and Get the Things We Really Want,” says today’s consumer culture actually bucks the mindset that brought us here.
“As human beings we’ve been socialized to buy and save,” Nissanoff says. “In times not as prosperous as today, when we didn’t know where our next food or source of supplies would come from, our ancestors bought things with the notion of holding on to them for as long as they could and then passing them on to the next generation.”
In essence: Our forefathers were poorer than we are, and yet they had better stuff, relatively speaking.
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But appreciation for quality craftsmanship has been swept aside by freely available consumer credit and high-end design on low-cost merchandise, says Dayana Yochim, personal finance writer at The Motley Fool.
“Credit cards let us instantly satisfy our retail desires,” Yochim says. “Our grandparents had to delay that gratification. They figured that if they had to save for it, they’d better get the best they could. Now retailers want to catch that fleeting desire.”
But now that we know how much a veneered, mass-produced bookshelf costs, it is easy for us to dismiss a pricier, handmade, solid-wood version as outrageous — especially if you have never experienced fine furniture, Yochim says.
“All that information is telling us where to set the (price) bar,” Yochim says. “We’re looking at pricing before quality.”
My wife is a big one on the philosophy of, “Invest now, save later.” She prefers to buy her cars new, despite depreciation, because she knows exactly how well they’ve been taken care of and how they were broken in. She’ll buy things like furniture used because she is able to evaluate the sturdiness of a chest or armoire in a way that she can’t peek into an engine.
She learned this from her father, a Chinese immigrant who left the poverty stricken agricultural area of Guangdong when he was 14, and came to America, leaving his family behind. He had nothing. He worked hard. He joined the Navy. He worked in a butcher shop. He learned how to run a grocery store. With the help of a loan from his in-laws, he bought a grocery store. Then he bought a shopping center. He bought other businesses too.
He was a guy who worked his way up from literally nothing. He grew up in the poorest of third world conditions, without any of the things we take for granted. The houses, made from cement and bamboo, are extremely small, with rooms only big enough for one full-sized adult to lay on what looks (in the pictures) like a concrete slab that sits on the dirt. The room is just large enough to stand up and walk out of. The “kitchen” consists or a room just as small, but the concrete slab is waist high and has a hole in it to build a fire in for cooking. Often, the eating is done outside because there is no space. The nearby river serves as toilet, washroom, and drinking water supply for the people. The eat dog, frog, bat, cat, crickets…the kinds of things that Anthony Zimmern might have a hard time with. As my wife put it when I asked her about it, “Everyone is just one step up form the (tribal) people in the Amazon. At least my family wear clothes.”
What my father-in-law learned along his journey from squalor in China to modest American business owner is this: never settle. Save your money when you can, and you’ll have it for later, but don’t blow it on junk. It’s not worth it.
He is literally allergic to cheap stuff. I have no idea how his body knows, but it reacts. You give him a glass of cheap bourbon, and he sneezes after taking a sip. You hand him a snifter of Hennesy VSOP, and that’s a different story. With experience as a butcher, there are only certain cuts of meat that he’ll eat. When he bought clothes for his children, he bought them the best, most durable kind. Pay more upfront, but they’ll last longer later. His philosophy can be summed up as follows - “Why spend all your money on a bunch of junk? It’s no good and then it gets thrown out… might as well as put your money in the garbage.”
And yet, that’s what the free market forces a lot of families to do. I’ll bring up the big box stores again (if for no other reason than to poke at Joe Marier
because they simultaneously drive many small businesses out of business, and then hook the low-paid wage-earners on their rock-bottom prices - prices made low because nothing they sell is made here. (It’s made by people from China, living in squalor.) Of course, the quality standards of the products being produced in the factories of the third world are horrible. Nothing lasts. Planned obsolescence, which was invented here in the good ol’ U.S. of A., has become the norm. If I can coax this toaster oven through the next 12 months, I’m happy, because I only paid $20 for it. Then, I’ll just replace it.
When you start adding up the cost of all those things you have to replace, it makes you begin to wonder - is it worth buying the cheap stuff? I’d say no, but what choice do we have? For most of us, getting it cheaper is far more important than getting it better. We have tight budgets to keep. Sure, I’d love to buy that rock-solid Pennsylvania Dutch dining room set that I can pass on to my kids, but it costs as much as a small car. Our wages reflect the reality of our global economy, not a domestic, attention-to-detail, craftsmanship-based system of goods.
I can hear the shouting about mass-production and how I’d never have a DVD player if they didn’t and blah, blah, blah. The fact remains that it would be great to have local, well-made goods. I try, when I can, to buy from farmer’s markets and local food-producers. It’s one of the only places I can invest in a system that encourages quality and relationships between producers and consumers - relationships that demand accountability, I might add. Years ago, I started buying New Balance sneakers, because most of them were made in the U.S. Many are now made overseas, though they do keep a decent amount of production stateside. Economic patriotism isn’t dead out of pure apathy, it’s dead because people have been trained to try to get the most quality they can out of the cheapest possible product, even if it’s made by children. Even if the children are slaves.
I’m guessing that some of my capitalist objectors here might say that the money I spend at the farmer’s market, or on locally produced goods - all of which are more expensive - are a luxury that artificially bloats my cost of living. But that’s because capitalism seeks to maximize profit and lower expense, not correct what is wrong with the system. If I want to vote with my money, that’s fine, but I shouldn’t complain then about not having enough of it. After all, I could get by with less.
Should wealth be a prerequisite for having well-made goods? Should our reliance on globalization-induced pricing mean that our standard of living should preclude concerns about quality, or local sources? And by the way, what about adjustments for inflation? Speaking of our grandfathers, how did salaries then compare to now?
According to MeasuringWorth.com, a site dedicated to helping compare costs between various years according to a variety of metrics,
In 1931, an accountant in the US would be earning about $2,250, an amount that would represent a comparative purchasing power of $30,631 in current dollars. However, this salary is almost 45% more than what the average household spent in those days. This would correspond to $72,300 today, a “status” of nearly twice the national average.
So even with higher-quality goods, many of them local, a household in 1931 could live on $2,250, which amounts to Kevin’s arbitrary standard of $30,000 (in today’s dollars) with approximately $13,500 (today’s dollars) to spare. To accomplish a proportionate living standard today, a salary of $72,300 would be needed.
Yeah. I’m guessing our grandfathers would be surprised by our standard of living in more ways than one. They might be impressed by our TVs and dishwashers and DVD players, but overall, I’m willing to bet that their quality of life might make us pretty jealous.