Hello, I’m Yves. In today’s fast-paced world, it seems timely to discuss how people have increasingly transformed into consumers eager to acquire new and pristine items.
During my time on Wall Street and in consulting, working with high-powered executives and billionaires, I admit I often succumbed to the mentality described below. It was less about personal desires and more about understanding how others perceived worn items. I was acutely aware of the messages my clothing, jewelry, shoes, and bags communicated. This is especially pronounced in Thailand, where consumer debt often stems from the pressure to maintain one’s image through clothing and, notably, vehicles.
However, whenever I am off duty—in fact, even more so now—I adopt a much more frugal, no-nonsense approach. I often forgo makeup and prefer well-worn jeans and sweatshirts, complemented by budget-friendly outerwear. There’s something quintessentially New England about using things until they are no longer functional.
Take, for example, my old ostrich leather wallet. I bought it on sale two decades ago. Yes, it’s showing its age, but I continue to use it. Despite its status as a negative marker in terms of wealth, I relish my comfortably worn wallet. I believe that if anyone should notice it, they might assume I lack the finances worth exploiting—especially useful while traveling.
This philosophy extends to my wardrobe as well; I wear turtlenecks that have loosened over time, along with other clean but slightly worn clothes. My daily cell phone is an iPhone 8, a device I only replaced after my other one was stolen. And contrary to what one might expect, when my housekeeper accidentally chipped a cherished Snow Leopard coffee mug, I continued to use it daily after he repaired it.
The Japanese practice of kintsugi embodies the New England mindset of “don’t discard something useful.” According to Wikipedia:
Kintsugi (Japanese: [kɪnˈtsuːɡi] or [kʲint͡sɯɡʲi]; Japanese: 金継ぎ, lit. ’golden joinery’), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, “golden repair”), is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer mixed or dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. This method is akin to the maki-e technique. Philosophically, it embraces the concept of breakage and repair as part of an object’s history, rather than something to hide.
One reason I clench tightly to my possessions is my aversion to shopping. As such, I don’t conform to the usual consumer expectations.
That said, I am indeed meticulous when it comes to the few pieces of fine art and crafts I possess. I would feel saddened if they were damaged but would not dispose of them. In fact, I’d likely try to hide the damage or have them restored—something that’s relatively easy to do in NYC but not so much elsewhere.
All this brings to mind an interesting question: Can you relate to the sentiments expressed in the piece below? Is this phenomenon tied to age, urban versus rural living, or the social implications tied to wealth status? Or is it partly profession-related—especially in fields like fashion or art, or during my time on Wall Street with affluent clientele? For instance, my observations indicate that this tendency is particularly strong among female real estate agents.
By Rebecca Walker Reczek, Professor of Marketing, The Ohio State University, Aprajita Gautam, Assistant Professor of Marketing, Texas A&M University, and Rajagopal Raghunathan, Professor of Marketing, The University of Texas at Austin. Originally published at The Conversation
Consider a bag you genuinely love. When you first purchased it, it felt like “the one.”
As time passes, it begins to show signs of wear. There are scratches and scuffs, yet the bag functions perfectly. However, once you notice these imperfections, the inclination to replace it starts to creep in.
This is a common behavior among consumers. They swap out functioning phones for newer models, replace scratched furniture, and discard sweaters with minor snags. Often, the shift occurs due to changing perceptions of these items.
As researchers studying consumer behavior, we have observed this obsession with perfection. Our exploration began when one of our team members, Aprajita Gautam, moved from India to the U.S. in 2019. She was struck by the cultural differences in buying and owning items between the two countries.
In our research paper, published in August 2026 in the Journal of Consumer Research, we identified a key reason: some individuals are far more driven by the pursuit of flawless items than others. We refer to this tendency as a desire for perfect products.
Not the Same as Perfectionism
We started our research by interviewing 17 individuals in Austin, Texas, in 2023. This group included real estate agents, entrepreneurs, stay-at-home parents, and staff from a nonprofit focused on reuse. We asked them about their possessions and what criteria made something feel perfect or imperfect. Following these conversations, we surveyed around 540 additional participants, both online and in a lab setting.
The findings suggested that those who insisted on flawless items had more detailed notions of their ideal products and were particularly sensitive to even minor inconsistencies. Their standards also tended to rise over time; seeing an item better than what they owned would elevate their expectations further.
We developed a series of questions to gauge consumers’ attachment to flawless possessions, employing their responses to measure their desire for perfect products.
We also noted that this desire is related but distinct from perfectionism. While perfectionists set high, sometimes unattainable, standards for themselves, those with a craving for perfect products hold their acquisitions to lofty expectations. You might easily let go of a rough workday but may feel much less forgiving toward a scratch on your newly purchased coffee table.
For those who feel they must own perfect items, even the smallest defect can overshadow all the positive attributes of their belongings.
Finally, we conducted 12 experiments, engaging participants—including University of Texas at Austin students and online workers from crowdsourcing platforms—to examine the behavioral effects of the desire for perfect possessions.
It Can Affect How You Shop
In our first online experiment, we asked 402 consumers across the country to envision booking a hotel in Napa Valley, California, utilizing filters like those common on travel websites, such as star rating, Wi-Fi availability, or spa amenities.
Those who were particularly concerned about perfect products employed more filters and set higher thresholds, filtering out hotels that failed to meet their heightened standards.
The appeal of newness was palpable too.
In another online experiment involving 301 consumers, those who prioritized flawless products were faster to upgrade to the newest iPhone, even if the updated model offered minimal improvements over its predecessor.
This behavior can be financially burdensome, resulting in spending extra money on new items when perfectly functional ones are available, or investing more time searching for products that meet stringent, often unnecessary, criteria.
Makes People Less Open to Repairs
This preference also influences how individuals treat their existing belongings.
In our subsequent experiment, we presented 1,004 U.S. participants with two choices: an insulated coffee mug and an insulated water bottle. When informed that their chosen product had a small dent at the bottom, those who were highly affected by flaws were more inclined to switch to the other option.
A similar trend emerged with regard to repairs. In an online study involving 601 consumers, we found that those intent on owning perfect products showed less interest in repairing a broken keyboard if the replacement key didn’t match the color of the rest.
This highlights an often-overlooked challenge in discussions about sustainable consumption: fixing an item might restore its function but may not make it visually flawless.
A Factor for Donations
In an experiment conducted in a university behavioral lab, we enlisted 339 students to contribute to a “Clean Out Your Closet” initiative. They examined discarded clothing and sorted it into bins for donation or recycling.
Those who strongly preferred flawless belongings were less inclined to donate imperfect yet usable garments. This mindset can considerably shorten the lifecycle of products.
Such findings carry significant implications for sustainability. Much of the academic research surrounding sustainable consumption emphasizes purchasing behaviors. However, another effective way to reduce consumption is to extend the usability of products.
Yet, this becomes increasingly challenging if minor imperfections diminish the perceived value of otherwise functional items.
Learning to Value Imperfection
Our research suggests that individual reactions to flaws in possessions can vary based on personal interpretations of those flaws. We were partly inspired by the Japanese concept of wabi-sabi, which appreciates beauty and value in imperfection and transformation.
In our final online experiment, 1,203 consumers learned about hoodies showcasing subtle variations in color and patterns. When these variations were framed as making each hoodie unique, consumers who favored perfect products reacted less negatively to them.
A mark on a well-loved object might register as a flaw, but it can also tell a story. Choosing to replace items over minor imperfections can lead consumers to waste their resources.
None of this suggests that consumers should hold onto everything indefinitely. Mugs can break, and clothing and shoes can become worn out. Occasionally, the desire for something fresh is simply a part of life.
Yet considering that bag once more: its scuffs could indicate it’s no longer the flawless item you initially acquired, or they could symbolize hundreds of times you’ve used it because you truly enjoy it.
