The Great Diminishment
Why things are getting worse but cost us more
My husband and I went to dinner at Metrograph recently with two of our friends. Over drinks, we were lamenting how everything feels so damn cheap nowadays. It’s not that we have limitless cash to blow on the really expensive stuff, but even if we did, so many of the “nicer brands” inundating our Instagram feeds are far too flimsy to justify the price tag. We recalled the mall brands of our youth, and how they pumped out higher quality clothing back then than we could find in the fancier parts of department stores now. Back in my day, the mall was the place to be, and J.Crew, Abercrombie & Fitch, and Diesel made good clothes. I guess you had to be there.
I still remember the Abercrombie corduroy jacket my parents bought me for Christmas in the early-2000s. That thing was built like a truck and I wore it every day for all of seventh grade. I still remember the tag inscription, written in cursive: “Abercrombie & Fitch | Authentic Quality.” It cost around $120 (a small fortune at the time), which translates to $188 today, adjusted for inflation. It would be literally impossible to find a jacket of that quality for under $200 at the mall today. (Those Aritzia coats might be the closest approximation, but they’re all over $300. And, sorry, I’ve owned an Aritzia coat, and the quality is just not there to justify the price. They look great out of the box, but quickly start to sag and look worn out.)
“Shop vintage” was basically the only answer we could come up with. And for clothing, that is the only way. You can “shop 90’s inspired denim” at the ironically-named Madewell for $138, or you can just buy the 90’s denim. It will be higher quality, cheaper, last longer, and perhaps most important: you’ll look better.
It’s not just fashion, of course. The Great Diminishment is happening in all the areas that make life worth living: entertainment, books, music, restaurants. Even things like furniture, architecture, and services like airline travel have gone downhill in the last two decades. I’m old enough to remember when airlines used to provide a hot meal on a domestic cross-country flight. Now they throw a single 70-calorie bag of Sunchips at you and expect your serf-like gratitude. Room & Board will gladly charge you nearly $4,000 for a wood veneer credenza. You almost have to admire the audacity.
Discerning millennials and older generations have pretty much resigned themselves to the fact that things are better when they’re older, or “vintage,” because they were made with craftsmanship and care. There used to be things of “Authentic Quality,” and you can still find them second-hand. It’s not at all pretentious to admit that film is far superior to an iPhone camera. (iPhones take bad photos… This is a conspiracy theory I am interested in…) Wired headphones have better sound quality than AirPods. Hardwood floors are infinitely better than slick, soul-crushing laminate imitations. Pre-war apartments are generally better than new construction. The Sopranos was one of the first great television series, and, arguably, has yet to be beaten.
Those of us who remember can look back and be nostalgic. We remember the pre-internet world. We can seek the old. We can say, “back in my day.”
But there’s a gap forming for Gen Z that depresses me. This is a generation that never knew anything but the way things are now. (A Gen Z colleague didn’t believe me when I told her about meals on cross-country flights.) This is a generation that’s being force-fed Dua Lipa blasting in their ears at an overpriced birria-tacos-and-ramen-mashup-pop-up spot, wondering why the world feels hollow. I want Gen Z to know that everything in life doesn’t have to feel flimsy, plastic, and grey. That’s The Great Diminishment at work. That’s not how life needs to be.