THE MOST overused word in sales and marketing must surely be ‘luxury’, which is odd given its background.
In Middle English, it denoted lechery and at its point of origin in 1340 it meant ‘lasciviousness, sinful self-indulgence’ or simply ‘excess’.
The current meaning of ‘indulgence in what is choice or costly’ emerged 300 years later, although it wasn’t used as an adjective - in the sense of ‘luxury’ goods - until 1930, which is relatively recently.
A quick scan of emails sent to me by PRs recently reveals the word’s adjectival use in: luxury watches; luxury travel; the luxury ski market; luxury cars; luxury teas; luxury swimwear; luxury handbags; and - unlikely as it may seem - luxury socks.
Clearly, the word can now be lazily applied to anything to supply instant caché. Welcome, then, to my ‘luxury’ blog.
I'm being whimsical, of course. The problem is that there are few usable synonyms: Collins suggests opulence, extravagance or simply pleasure. None quite do the work that luxury does - opulent teas and extravagant socks are faintly ridiculous. Merriem Webster includes Babylonian, Lucullian and plushy, none of which help either.
Expensive is closer to the truth - expensive cars, expensive handbags, expensive watches - but it is probably a little too honest for that species of marketeers I think of as Promo Sapiens. Extravagant and excessive fall into the same category: luxury is not usually a pejorative, extravagant is.
Luxury is also deliciously vague. One can ‘luxuriate’ in a hot bath and one can enjoy the luxury of resting in a battered old leather chair. Neither cost as much as a Bugatti Chiron or the Himalayan crocodile Birkin handbag sold to a French fashion house for £284,000.
One might argue that - at some level - the purchase of luxury items like a six-figure handbag is a prime example of consumerism run riot, as well as an ostentatious display of disposable income. But, once again, truth is relative to where you happen to be standing.
Years ago, I was trying to explain the concept of brand value to a team of building contractors. I noticed the CEO was using a Mont Blanc fountain pen, and - in an inspired moment - I used it as part of my explanation.
The CEO’s writing implement had cost £350. My shiny metal Cross fibre tip cost £20. Both did the same job of applying ink to paper, both were refillable, both had clips to attach them to clothing. The reason the Mont Blanc was so expensive, I argued, is that the very brand gives it additional value, and allows the CEO to demonstrate his wealth in a quiet way.
The CEO thought for a while and then, looking at his pen, said: “Yes, Erik, but relative to what I earn and what you earn, my Mont Blanc is cheaper than your Cross.”
A multi-millionaire who bought horses as ‘living statues’ for the grounds of his vast home, he was, of course, dead right - and while I might rail against inequality in a world that harbours both billionaires and starving children, I recognise I have no right to advise a wealthy man on what he should or should not spend his presumably hard-earned cash on.
So, I’ll just return to the issue of the language and the words the growing army of Promo Sapiens uses to describe relatively ordinary products and respectfully suggest that there are options to the word ‘luxury’, some of which might be more compelling.
Personally, I would be much more likely to buy ‘comfortable socks’ and leave the luxury socks on the shelf for other suckers. And I’d prefer my tea to be refreshing rather than luxurious, thanks.
Still, it's interesting to note that the word that originally meant excess, is now itself used excessively.