By Christopher Giang
Wearing a thousand-dollar jacket got very dangerous this winter. What do we take from that?
Sleek, stylish, Canada Goose brand parkas are a common sight at GW every winter. Their distinct furred hoods and shoulder patches are unmistakable, and seeing one on a fellow student is a good sign to start wearing more layers. That’s because they’re incredibly warm, which is how they became so popular— right?
You probably know how the rest of this goes. Such good quality doesn’t come cheap—new Canada Goose coats can cost anywhere from $1,000 to $2,000, and those prices will probably rise even more by next year. So it was no shock when local news outlets began to report mugging after mugging earlier this month, all of which targeted the coats specifically. Seeing the whole situation unfold had alarmed me, but it also led me to question how these coats became so popular to begin with. Is it really worth all the hassle?
The jackets are expensive for a reason—they remain in high demand and require rare, first-rate materials to make. But you also pay for the prestige of obtaining a luxury branded product itself. A brand name conveys expectations of high quality and status (or lack thereof) to the consumer, and won’t easily lose the connotations it builds up. I imagine the Canada Goose company could maintain their high sales and good reputation even after a quality drop, all because of the successful brand image they’ve managed to craft.
But the power of the brand image has become exactly what alienates me from any feelings of prestige, ironically. It’s become too easy for me to see the product for what it represents, rather than what it is. The coats may be toasty, comfy, and well-made, but that will always come second to whatever qualities the brand name dictates: classy, upper-crust, high-value. I don’t doubt that my Canada Goose-clad peers aren’t basking in winter warmth, but it’s clear that isn’t why they sell so well. I feel like an attraction to a brand—a vague concept that might not always deliver to your expectations—can’t always be the way we form our tastes and preferences.
With temperatures starting to rise, I don’t expect to see the coats much again this year. But I’d like to face this spring with a new perspective on the things I own, or might want to own someday. Do I like this because of what I think it gives me, or what it actually gives me? Making the distinction can be hard, but I have no doubt it’ll reward me in the end.
