You might be addicted to discounts, and it’s probably not your fault.
Over the past several decades, the consumer machine has trained us to feel an aversion to paying full price. Buying something from a new-to-you website? You swiftly enter your email and/or phone number for the 15% welcome discount, knowing you’ll hit unsubscribe or text back STOP sometime tomorrow. Considering a full price purchase? Chances are you’d only have to wait a week or two for a holiday markdown, nevermind the non-logic behind Memorial Day = 30% off pants (??).
Our cultural of perpetual discounts has given us collective shopping brain rot. “Off price” chains like TJ Maxx and Nordstrom Rack are greatly outperforming their full-price counterparts, regardless of the fact that so much of their inventory is just low quality merchandise produced specifically to create the illusion of a discount. Big box stores have been caught intentionally marking up items before pretending to slash prices (especially for Black Friday), a practice called “fictitious pricing.” Mass market retailers manufacture with sale prices built into their bottom line, overproducing with the intent to offload a large portion of brand new inventory at a so-called “discount.”
Beyond just getting tricked into buying trash, discount delusion has sent shoppers into the world expecting to pay less anywhere they go. We’re so addicted to “getting a deal” that we’re offended by the thought of giving a small business the $40 they’re asking for an item, instead of the $30 we smugly feel we should be paying. Most of the time it isn’t even about that $10, it’s about the principal of “never paying full price.”
I’m over it.
Call it a hot take, but I don’t think it’s ever really appropriate to ask for a discount in an independently owned brick and mortar. Unless I’m given an explicit invitation to haggle from a shopkeeper, or see a big sign that says “make me a deal!” I find it strange to question the set prices of a small business that’s more than likely already barely squeaking by.
People did a lot of weird shit when I worked at GAP and Anthropologie back in the day, but I never had a single customer approach me with a garment and ask “can you do a better price on this?” But working in vintage, I hear it 10 times a day. For some strange reason, even the incredibly steep prices at Sandy Liang or Bode aren’t called into question at the register, but secondhand (even squeaky-clean, archival designer with weighty printed hang tags) always means “would you take less for this?”
With all of the kindness I can muster: the answer is no. Prices are firm, and for good reason.
If you’re running a (smart) business, the prices of your items aren’t assigned randomly. In curated vintage, the up front cost often includes more than just the price paid for the item: add dry cleaning, visits to the cobbler, and buying things like era-accurate replacement buttons and leather conditioner. Then factor in the labor involved in sourcing, researching, mending, stain treatment, and the hours spent on your knees over a tub hand washing delicates.
It’s impossible to mentally log all of the individual costs invested into hundreds of one-of-one items, which makes it really hard to calculate margins on the spot. The price marked on my tags are carefully decided in front of a spreadsheet, often after extensive research on era and style and value, all of which can be very hard to recall weeks (or months) later when someone is insisting on paying 30% less than the number I very thoughtfully decided on.
If you’re the owner of the store, your sales have to cover overhead costs like rent, payroll, insurance, decor, and all of the little things that need endless replacements like bags and tissue paper and hangers. If you aren’t the owner, you’re likely still paying rent for your space, giving up a cut of your sales, or (as is common practice in most vintage collectives in NYC) a little bit of both.
Now despite my bitching, I love to haggle.
I’ve taught many friends the art of the flea market deal over the years, as first taught to me by my mom. I always wait for the inevitable follow-up offer email before I purchase anything in my eBay cart, and I’ve successfully lowballed (sorry) on Poshmark. But the thing about haggling is that there is absolutely a right and a wrong way to do it. The right way is fun, respectful, and a win-win for buyers and sellers. The wrong way is rude, entitled, and typically unsuccessful. As someone who’s now spent years wheeling and dealing from both sides, here are my rules:
