A universal condition

Dr Fahim Chand | Monday February 9, 2026 09:54

Every street promises history, or, failing that, a truly persuasive cannoli, a fact my wife Shabana will happily confirm, usually with flaky pastry on her fingers and zero regret.

We drift past churches older than my country and shops selling sumptuous leather with existential confidence. Time collapses.

Hunger appears. Somehow, inevitably, we end up on Via Frattina, nose pressed to the Louis Vuitton window. Centuries of empire, art, and philosophy behind me; a monogrammed wallet ahead, priced like a da Vinci masterpiece. Caesar conquered Gaul. Might I consider conquering my credit limit.

We buy Louis Vuitton and Gucci not because a bag can carry our souls more safely, but because it can carry a logo large enough to announce that our souls are doing just fine, thank you very much. Luxury fashion is less about fabric and more about reassurance, an external validation stitched in monogram canvas.

At its core, the transaction is psychological. We hand over obscene sums of money not merely for craftsmanship, but for comfort. The logo whispers what we fear to say aloud: I matter. I belong.

I have arrived. In a world obsessed with ranking; followers, titles, net worth, luxury brands function as wearable résumés. No interview required. Of course, we dress this impulse up in nobler language.

We speak of heritage, artisanal excellence, and timeless design. And sometimes that’s even true. But if we’re honest, a plain leather bag that does the same job without announcing itself feels suspiciously inadequate. It doesn’t signal. It doesn’t elevate. It doesn’t scream softly at strangers in airport lounges.

There is also a quietly absurd irony at play. In trying to look unique, we join a very exclusive club of millions who all bought the same thing. Individuality, mass-produced. Rebellion, pre-approved by Milan.

And yet, let’s be gentle with ourselves. Insecurity is a universal human condition. From shiny stones to sports cars to handbags that cost more than rent, we’ve always decorated our fragility. Luxury fashion is just our era’s version. Beautiful, overpriced armour against the quiet terror of being ordinary.

If nothing else, at least it comes with a dust bag. While cheerfully exploiting our paper-thin psyches, these impeccably dressed merchants of desire have long laughed all the way to the bank.

And why not? In a world that relentlessly assaults our cognitive resolve at warp speed, insecurity should be a growth industry. One would assume luxury profits would rise endlessly, like hemlines in a fashion cycle.

The once-brilliant strategy of perpetual price hikes by Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Chanel and friends worked, until it very much didn’t. A cocktail of overpricing, mass-produced “luxury,” and a newly price-sensitive Chinese market has taken the shine off the monogram.

Gucci’s parent, Kering, slumped to a seven-year low; LVMH shed nine percent of its share price; and Burberry was politely escorted out of the FTSE 100 after a 15-year residency. In only the third such moment in three decades, the global luxury industry has posted revenue declines for two consecutive years.

Analysts blame cautious middle-income buyers, China’s slowdown, and a growing distaste for paying Ferrari prices for factory-line handbags.

Consumers, it seems, are whispering instead of shouting, gravitating toward “quiet luxury” brands like Hermès, where craftsmanship, sustainability and scarcity matter more than logo volume. As a result, brand value is sliding not just on balance sheets, but in the collective imagination.

So are we finally maturing, sobered by economic reality? Predicting the human psyche remains a fool’s errand. We may sensibly embrace value-for-money bags from Coach or Charles & Keith, right up until the economy blinks, at which point our credit cards will once again sprint toward Louis Vuitton, proving that growth may slow, but temptation never goes out of fashion.