OSCAR Wilde famously defined a cynic as a man who knew “the price of everything and the value of nothing”. This may well have been true in the 19th century. But things have changed a lot since. And as the ongoing debate about rip-off Ireland illustrates, ignorance of the value of things, vis-à-vis their price, now extends to most of the population.
I’m a perfect example. Recently I had to buy a present for a young female relative. Taking all the known factors into account, I set myself a budgetary framework of €30 to €40. Like many men, however, I hate shopping at least as much as many women hate football. So I knew in advance that if meant bringing the whole miserable business to a quick end, I would happily err on the higher side of the price range.
After enduring three or four typically overheated retail premises, my will already sapped by fatigue and claustrophobia, the upper limit had slipped out to €50; and even that was now negotiable. Then I finally found something that might suit.And when I saw the price tag – €34.99 – I cried out loud: “Bingo!”. It was, I suddenly knew, the perfect gift.
When the assistant mentioned that the display model was the last one, and she had to go get a ladder to fetch it down – well, that was just icing on the cake. The question of whether the object was worth €34.99 did not even come into it. It probably cost only 99 cents to make, somewhere in south-east Asia. But being available here and now, it had a premium. The price was the price; and if so many other customers had decided it was worth it, who was I to disagree?
Feeling very pleased with myself, I handed over the credit card; and then the assistant ruined the whole thing. “That’ll be €14.99,” she said. I considered this plot-twist in silent consternation. Either the assistant was making a mistake now, in which case I should tell her; or the original price-tag was a mistake, in which case I should not expose myself to her as the sort of idiot who would think this piece of junk (already I was looking at it in a new light) was worth €34.99.
A third possibility arose, also embarrassing. Maybe there was a big sale sign in the window saying “60 per cent off everything”, and I had somehow missed it before falling for the item at its pre-sale price. In that case too, the female shop assistant would surely think me stupid. So rather than expose my weakness in what was, after all, an alien and hostile environment, I said nothing and left with my unwanted bargain.
Did I cut my gains at this point and pocket the windfall? I did not. The price was the price, as I had told myself before; and at €14.99, the gift was now irredeemably stigmatised. It would have to be complemented by something else, to bridge the gap even to the lower end of the original price range.
Thus I retraced my steps to an earlier shop where there was something else I liked, but that would have been too small and cheap on its own. This had been marked down from €18 to €15 and finally, according to the price tag, €10. I could add it too now, and the combination present would be more than acceptable. So I handed over my tenner, and then the assistant said: “That’ll be five euro, please.” I went home with two presents instead of one, but completely defeated in my attempts to spend even my minimum budget. That’s when I really knew there was a recession.
BEING, like most people, descended from a long line of male ancestors who could have been safely sent to market to buy a horse and not pay a penny more than it was worth, I’m inclined to berate myself for having lost these ancient skills.
Then again, my male ancestors would probably have been even more useless in a gift shop, trying to buy a present for a female relative, than I was. And besides, the only reliable way they had for testing anything’s value was to haggle over it until reaching a mutually acceptable compromise. This was something our forefathers and foremothers did every day of their lives. But most of the generations now alive have no experience of such commerce, except when on holidays in exotic countries where it’s part of the local culture. And even then we find it exhausting.
It’s apt that in our culture, shops use (or did until recently anyway) a thing called a “price gun”. For the transaction might as well be a hold-up, for all the discretion the customer has over what to pay. So when a gift-shop sticks a price-tag of €34.99 on something, however arbitrarily the figure was arrived at, it still acquires instant authority in most people’s eyes.
Now, it looks as if the lost art of haggling might be making a comeback; and it promises to be a steep learning curve for consumers. It’s a sign of how bad things are that the retailers – caterers in particular – are making the initiative. But it’s probably a shrewd move by that restaurateur in Killarney (news report yesterday) to invite customers to pay what they think his meal is worth.
Such is the fear most of us have of insulting others (especially people with access to meat-cleavers) that the instinct will be to overvalue the food, as is apparently already happening in a London restaurant making the same offer.
So personally, while I’m getting used to this new situation, I’d like chefs to meet me half-way. I don’t think I’m ready yet to go into a strange restaurant and make a bid for what I think their meal is worth. But I might go into one soon, offer the chef €50 or whatever, and express my confidence that whatever he comes up with at that price will not offend my sensibilities.