Does Louis Vuitton have an overly favourable view of its reach? By Ray Zhang Louis Vuitton's chief executive Pietro Beccari told Financial Times in an interview just published online that "there is no household in the world that doesn't …
Does Louis Vuitton have an overly favourable view of its reach?
By Ray Zhang
Louis Vuitton's chief executive Pietro Beccari told Financial Times in an interview just published online that "there is no household in the world that doesn't have [contact with] Louis Vuitton products". I am not sure if that is hope, fact, or conceit. In addition to that claim, Mr Beccari added, to support his statement: "There are not a lot of brands that can say they enter the lives of people like we do." I have no doubt that LV sells massively, and to many people, but I am doubtful that that many respond to LV the way Mr Beccari thinks they have. It is not clear why FT needed to add the clarifier (in the square parenthesis). I am inclined to consider that Mr Beccari may have actually said he believes every household in the world owns LV products.
Is it possible that Mr Beccari thought too highly of the brand he is tasked to manage? Of course, he could have merely meant that LV is wildly popular, using hyperbole to drive home his point. But brand popularity is no indication of widespread adoption. Is LV really so desirable, as he hoped we will believe? I'd be the first to say that LV has not entered my life. Not my family's, not my friends'. I do not think of it. I do not desire to own a piece of it, even a tiny bit. I take some interest in LV products, not because I desire them, but because I am curious about the extent to which they can claim the cultural currency that brands—not just LV—use to supposedly connect with their fans. And, if LV taps consumers' material or intellectual wealth to enter lives. Also, I opine about them.
I'd be the first to say that LV has not entered my life. Not my family's, not my friends'. I do not think of it. I do not desire to own a piece of it, even a tiny bit
To be sure, I had bought a bag from LV before—in the very distant past, in Paris, where it was then sold in French francs. However, before it could be considered a part of my household, I got rid of it. The satchel did get through our airport, but it did not make it to my home. It went to a willing buyer before it could see the insides of my flat. Strangely, I did not feel a sense of loss at the time. I was, in fact, happy—even relieved—I would not be not using the LV bag—the Bastille messenger with the brand's too-recognisable Damier check. I had deliberately avoided their then already ubiquitous LV Monogram, but even the "more subtle" Damier, as my shopping companion described it, was not understated enough for me.
It was my sixth trip to Paris, I remember. I was with a friend, and she wanted very much to go to the LV store on Champs Elysées. She was already an LV bag user, but she wanted those scribbled with the Stephen Sprouse graffiti (I did say it was a long time ago), thanks to Marc Jacobs. She managed to secure one Keepall (the sole piece left, apparently) and a few other items that allowed the now 128-year-old LV monogram to be defaced. After she made her selection, she turned to me and urged me to get something. No Keepall as keepsake for me, I told her. The salesgirl, a Caucasian lass with an Asian bob, also tried to persuade me to make a purchase, without determining if I needed anything at all: "You can't come to Louis Vuitton without buying something."
It was my first time in an LV store in Paris. I guess I had to get a memento. Back then, there was no queue outside the store as there likely is today, everywhere. The store was busier than they would allow it to be now (some even require an appointment). And the service was a tad more attentive, more helpful. Yet, LV, in its Champs Elysées glory, was not a temptation. Realising that she wouldn't be able to entice me with the more gaudy of the LV bags, the salesgirl (SA, today's preferred initials, was not used then) showed me the Damier Bastille. It did not call out to me. It was a satchel of sadness, I had thought. A bag trying to be appealing without a vestige of appeal. I decided on it because, in hindsight, I pitied it. The thrill was in the transaction, but once completed, I did not want the bag, not an inch of it.
Among my closest friends, none own a single LV product, and their individual households have been untouched by the brand. I have nothing against those who adore LV. It is, however, sweeping for a senior LV executive to proclaim that many of us have some immediate proximity with their products or, by inference, use them. Walking past an LV window or being in the company of those who use LV products—however obviously—does not instantaneously indicate association, or how it would affect our lives. Even if the nearness occurred in a crowded MRT train. To be sure, I write about LV (and so, too, many others), but that does not mean I am even remotely connected to it.
Once, going to Fairprice, I forgot to bring a shopping bag. Outside the store, there was a standee on which carriers unwanted by their owners were hung to allow someone to give them another life. Right upfront was a paper bag in the unmistakable burnt orange known as "safran impérial" and the desirable text: Louis Vuitton. My brother, who was with me, cheekily told me to choose that bag. I picked an unmarked brown one below it. But as I had brushed the back of my right hand against the LV carrier while retrieving my pick, had I inadvertently come into contact with an LV product? Come to think of it, I might have. Pietro Beccari would likely think so. My carelessness had validated his passionate marketing speak.
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