I’m not saying that I predicted last year’s inflation—but if you’re as addicted to shopping as I am, you probably saw the writing on the wall too: At least since the start of the pandemic, the prices of luxury goods seem to have skyrocketed from really expensive to really, really, really expensive—or from aspirationally splurge-able to no-way-can-I-afford-that. A few months ago I bookmarked a pair of designer leather boots in the hope that I could maybe budget for them, only to find that by the end of the season they’d gone up by $200, not down—for no apparent reason other than being in demand. When they finally went on sale, it was at the price I’d first seen. (Needless to say, I still don’t own these boots.)
“I started to be extra horrified about five years ago,” says Becky Malinsky, a former newspaper editor who now writes a popular shopping newsletter. Prices, she noticed, seemed to have reached a sort of fever pitch. “I was like, What is going on?”
There are myriad factors at play, but dramatic rises in the costs of shipping, materials, and manufacturing may have forced many brands to hike their prices to make a profit—and, in turn, to shift their focus away from aspirational shoppers and toward the kind of super-wealthy customer whose spending habits are not directly dictated by the economy. Chanel, for example, typically reviews the prices of its handbags twice a year (as do many similar companies), a process that generally results in a small increase, but its classic quilted flap bag now retails for more than $10,000—nearly twice as much as it cost five years ago.
Not that any of this is stopping people from buying, though—in fact, Chanel is reportedly opening private stores intended solely for these top clients. “The definition of luxury, to me, is exclusivity,” says stylist Amanda Murray. “It’s why people spend all of this money—because they don’t want to walk down the street and see someone else wearing the same thing.”
High-end brands have long been aware that a higher price tag could actually make an item even more desirable. “Over the last couple of years, we’ve found that higher price-point items sell the best,” says Sherri McMullen, founder of the McMullen boutique in Oakland, which carries quiet-luxury brands like Khaite and The Row along with lesser-known designers and artisans. (Of course, when you’re paying $10,000 for a bag, you’re probably not shouting about it from the rooftops, but then again, you don’t need to: Such a piece carries its own stealthy signaling to a smaller and self-selecting audience.)
On the other hand, many shoppers find current prices to be almost offensively high. “No one wants to feel like they’re being duped,” says Malinsky, who finds herself wondering: “Are these brands just pushing the limit to see how much I will spend?” As a personal shopper and stylist, she sees clients rethinking their investments. “Even when funds are unlimited, there comes a point where people are like, How many things do I want to buy when I could redo my bathroom for the same price?”
Last October, when Phoebe Philo finally dropped her first solo collection after years of anticipation, the overwhelming public reaction was one of rapturous excitement—followed by some woeful eye-watering at the sight of the prices: On the low side, customers could find a pair of $450 sunglasses—but shoes ran anywhere from $1,100 to $1,750; trousers $1,400 to $2,400; knits $3,600 to $4,800; and handbags $3,500 to $8,500. The highest-priced item was a $25,000 shearling coat, followed by a $19,000 sequined dress.
To be fair, Philo is far from alone with these kinds of numbers. Visit almost any luxury store, or sort from high to low on any designer website, and you’ll likely find something similar—and someone pulling out their credit card or filling up their virtual shopping cart. (Philo’s drops, which are small-batch to minimize waste, sell out almost instantly.) Meanwhile, a pair of jeans from Hedi Slimane’s Celine can cost upwards of $1,150; a Khaite Fair Isle cashmere sweater, $3,400; and an intricately embroidered Prada mini skirt, $6,500.
Just because numbers are higher across the board, though, doesn’t mean that everyone—or even big spenders—can adjust accordingly. “I’m a big Prada girl—I usually buy two pairs of shoes every season, and maybe a runway look,” Murray says. “But now I look at the price point and it’s just: Wow—that skirt with the flowers on it is $11,000. Obviously, it’s so beautiful—but it’s clearly not for me; it’s for someone else.”
In the face of such numbers, price-conscious shoppers are simply buying fewer big-ticket items—and when they do decide to take out their wallets, they’re being much smarter about it. “I’m always asking: What is the material? Where is it from?” says Marlowe Granados, a writer and filmmaker whose style I’ve long admired. “I would understand a price that accounts for craftsmanship, and for materials—but when it’s a viscose blend, I’m like: What are we actually paying for?”