I had to purchase a new pair of bluejeans recently. They are the only jeans I own. My previous pair, tattered after two years of literal wear and tear, were beyond repair. Soon, the boots I’ve been wearing since age 29 (the above photo is from 2011, a year into their tenure), now sole-less and scuffed from 12 seasons of use, will need to be replaced. I plan on ordering a new pair this week.
The bluejeans were $100, the boots $300. Full Price, both of them.
You see, I avoid Sale Price whenever I can, opting instead to pay Full Price. Plus, even though I don’t earn a lot of money, I tend to purchase higher quality items, not for their brand names (I don’t wear clothes with logos), but because I’m willing to pay more for things that look good, work well, and last longer.
Because I’m responsible with money, the higher priced, higher quality items actually cost less in the long run—I use them till they’re finished. (I wore my jeans roughly 700 times, my boots 1,000; ergo, I paid only 14¢ every time I pulled on my pants, 30¢ each time I stepped into my shoes.)
The reason I avoid Sale Price, though, has less to do with quality or money and more to do with my own impulses. I prefer to pay Full Price because it makes me question the purchase a great deal. When I discover something I want to buy, I must think it over and spend time budgeting for it, all the while questioning whether the new possession will add real value to my life.
Conversely, Sale Price is the compulsory price, a fool’s price. Not long ago, I played the fool. Repeatedly. I fell for all the tropes of Sale Price: Act now! Limited time only! While supplies Last! But much like Pavlov’s bell, these clever stratagems incite a false sense of scarcity that clouds our perception of reality, prodding us to act on impulse. Sure, you might save 70% off that clearance-rack dress you sort of like, but you’ll save 100% if you just leave the store without it.
When I pay…. [Read the rest of the post on The Minimalists]