What's It Worth To You? The Pottery Barn Teen Desk Experiment

Brands mean something. To sell an object, sell an idea, the promise of "A Lifestyle."

Thirsting for Life? (and by "Life" I mean a NJ suburban marriage to a WWII GI with PTSD)
Drink Coke!

Consider the now less-than-ultracool Abercrombie & Fitch. Back in the early 2000s, one of my students succinctly summed up their Lifestyle Promise:

"They don't sell clothes. They sell the promise of sex in your friend's poolhouse while his parents are away." Bam, Baby. That there is a future marketing genius talking.

As you may know, I'm a craigslist hustler who resells curb finds for their "Use Value" --$15 for an end table, $5 a chair, $25 a desk.... Generally, my goal is to MOVE THE STUFF, since there will always, always, always be more on the curbs of Westchester County. 

But, every now and then, a friend gives me an interesting item, one whose brand name outstrips its use value so much that it begs for a craigslist experiment.

Consider, if you will, this Pottery Barn Teen Desk.





It retails for upwards of $1,100. Solidly made, with wainscotting on the side panels, pull out writing tables, four drawers, and modest amounts of visible storage.

Pottery Barn's promise, as it lounges, politely louche, in the corridors of malls across America, seems to be this: "When friends hint at your finances, say, 'We're Comfortable.' They'll either nod sagely (if in same tax bracket) or smile and seethe inwardly (if in lower tax bracket)."

To obfuscate this promise, Pottery Barn posts this cryptic paraphrase on their own website: "We believe that your home should be a haven. It's a place where you play, dine, work, sleep and dream. In short, it's where your life takes place."

I want to be a smartass and say, "Ohhhh, so I should be LIVING in my home. Like, sleeping and eating there, too? That's revolutionary, man." But my shame is not so deep when I confess that I like their stuff, too.

And, as most parents know, I'm not saying anything shocking when I note that this five year old desk was in almost flawless condition, since no matter your dream and budget, Mom, your kid's still going to refuse to use a desk and will instead plague you in the kitchen or develop back problems by working on the bed.

It's not the place I'd write my dissertation, but then again, no place is.

These are the actual craigslist post pics. Can't you just imagine your child tucking
away her precious belongings in these drawers...and promptly forgetting both where she put them
 and that she had the things at all, so that you need to go out and buy them all again? I sure can!

Can you make out that patch of crackled, or "crazed" glaze?
That 6-inch patch of paint made me crazed, too.

If I were doing my usual Badger thing, I'd have put a $120 price on this desk. But, I thought I'd be ambitious and ask for $250. I figured it'd sell in a week and I'd make some mama  grateful for the deal of a lifetime.

What I got instead were a string of New Jersey housewives who sneered at the tiny patch of crazed paint, looked me dead in the eye and declared, "I have to refinish the WHOLE THING. I'll pay you $150 for it."

I was raised by an Arabic Mama who bargained with Liberty House department managers over pulled sweater threads, sighing disappointedly when they gave her an extra 10% off. When they turned away, no doubt wondering what had happened to their life's dreams, she'd look us dead in the eye, too: "That's how you do it."

So, yeah, I got their game, but it gave me perverse pleasure to say, "Sorry, there's a lot of interest in this item. The price stays." By the third Housewife, I actually waved as she left, "Good luck with that Tappan Zee Bridge traffic! The construction is adding at least an hour to people's commutes!"

What the heck was going on? Three weeks, and still this thing sat in my house, taking up space I don't have to spare in our two-bedroom apartment.

Magda, my shrewd mama friend and eBay master, saw the problem: "Your price is appealing to the bitchy bargain hunters. Raise it a hundred and you'll be fine."

Well, yes, she was right.

I raised the price to $350, and that lovely Pottery barn desk found a new home in three days, to a local mama who was openly grateful for the deal of a lifetime.

Waving a fond farewell to the PB desk and holding a sheaf of fresh bills, I decided to try the higher-price-equals-sales-success model on my other craigslist items.

I have sold NOTHING for three months.
NOW who wants to act like a New Jersey Housewife?

copyright 2015, Tanya Monier