The Culture Code (21 page)

Like so many of our Codes, shopping means something different in other cultures. Procter & Gamble asked me to do the same discovery in France, and I learned that the French Culture Code for shopping is
LEARNING
YOUR
CULTURE
. The French consider shopping an educational experience in which older family members pass knowledge down through the generations. A mother will take her daughter shopping, teach her how to buy things, and through this process teach her how the culture operates. She’ll explain why it is important to buy bread, wine, and cheese at the same time (because they will be consumed together) or why certain colors and textures go together while others do not. A key phrase in the French shopping experience is “
ça ne se fait pas,
” meaning “One isn’t supposed to do that.” French women learn the rules of life by shopping with their mothers and grandmothers, and they become acculturated as they do. Shopping is the school of the culture.

TAKING
THE
TIME
TO RECONNECT

From a business perspective, one is on Code whenever one underscores shopping as a joyful, life-affirming experience. Making shoppers feel that they can browse without pressure to make a buying decision is a very good thing, as is creating a space for them to linger (many bookstores have done this by adding cafés). Establishing a store as a place where people can gather and reconnect is definitely on Code. If you can include a setting where children (or, often,
husbands
and children) can play, this is even better. Children are focused on “now time,” which makes pleasurable shopping difficult. Anything that can distract them in a safe environment will enhance a mother’s shopping pleasure.

With the exception of convenience stores, emphasizing the efficiency with which the consumer can make purchases is off Code. While telling people they can get in and out of your store quickly seems to make sense at the cortical level, it flies directly in the face of the Code. Telling shoppers they can have a fast shopping experience in your store is a little bit like trying to sell a thirty-second massage or half a piece of chocolate.

For consumers, your new glasses can be very liberating. Maybe you feel guilty about how long you take to pick something out. Maybe your spouse gives you a hard time about being indecisive. It turns out that your behavior is on Code and his is not. Enjoy the experience. Reconnect with life. Don’t buy anything if you don’t feel like it. You can always come up with another alibi to get back to the store.

WHAT
A $5,000
REFRIGERATOR
AND
AN OFFICERS’
MESS
HAVE
IN COMMON

We are just as likely to have a practical alibi for purchasing luxury items. We need the fully loaded
SUV
because winter roads are difficult to navigate. We need the hand-tailored suit because it is important to make a good first impression on clients. We need to buy the oversized diamond for our fiancée because we want her to know how much we love her.

Indeed, most of our favorite luxury items are functional. Americans seek luxury in things they can use: huge homes, top-of-the-line automobiles, professional-quality kitchens, designer clothes, and the like. In a culture with such a strong bias for action, we even design our vacations to restore us so we can get back to work.

Other cultures find luxury in things that are less functional. The Italian culture—a culture imprinted strongly by its veneration of great patrons of the arts—defines luxury via an item’s artistic value. Something is luxurious if it is highly refined, elegant, and well designed. Luxury is a product created by an artist. The home of a wealthy person in Italy is filled with gorgeous pieces of art selected by the owner or his ancestors. A luxury item might be a necklace, or even a gorgeously designed handbag. It is not, however, a refrigerator.

As we have discussed elsewhere in this book, the French culture puts a premium on the attainment of pleasure. Luxury in France represents the freedom to do nothing and to own useless things—things that provide beauty and harmony, but have no practical function. A common French expression translates as “What is useless is what I cannot live without.” For example, a French woman will buy a very expensive scarf and then wear it draped on her shoulder. The scarf is useless (or, at the very least, redundant) in this position, but it is luxurious. To the French, luxury is something that offers the highest level of pleasure—the finest food, the most elegant clothing, the most refined fragrances. The French culture believes you are living a life of luxury if you can enjoy things that others (peasants, the working class, Americans) cannot enjoy.

The British use luxury to underscore their sense of detachment. They’ll join exclusive clubs where they can show one another how unimpressed they are with their own status. They’ll play polo matches, lose, and then tell everyone how sanguine they are about losing because winning wasn’t the point. Their aristocrats are notoriously unattractive and unadorned, their castles unheated, their chairs uncushioned.

When Richemont and Boeing wanted to crack the Code for luxury, Americans revealed that luxury could be had a number of ways:

One of the first things I had to do after getting my first corporate job was to buy a car. I was new in town and had no way to get around. I was living on a tight budget back then and definitely couldn’t afford anything fancy, but I test drove a couple of high-end automobiles anyway. I settled on a Honda back then, but a year ago, I got the promotion that put me over the top. One of the first things I did was buy the Jaguar I always wanted. The feeling in that car is just incredible and I know I deserve it.

—a forty-one-year-old man

My most powerful memory of luxury is the trip my husband and I took to Tuscany five years ago. We’d both been working incredibly long hours at our offices and the last few vacations were quickly thrown together and unsatisfying. This time, we set up our schedules right and then we looked at our bank balances and decided we could handle it. We stayed in amazing places—even a castle for three nights—and did everything top-of-the-line. It was the first time in years that I felt like I was getting something back for all of my hard work.

—a thirty-six-year-old woman

My wife does most of the cooking in our home, but I’m a primo grill chef and I take over during the summer. When our old grill gave out two years ago, I decided I wanted to go all-out. Hey, what’s the point in making the money if you can’t do something with it? I got this huge stainless-steel beauty and then decided I wanted to redo the whole patio setup to go around it. It cost us a ton, but when I’m making steaks, the whole neighborhood lines up for a taste.

—a fifty-four-year-old man

When I was in Aruba recently, I bought myself a beautiful thick gold bracelet. The prices were so good there that I decided to splurge. It’s the kind of thing my husband should buy for me, except I’m not married. I figured it was time to stop waiting and to get myself a big bauble.

—a forty-two-year-old woman

My first memory of luxury was being the first kid I knew to get a PlayStation. My parents bought it for me for getting straight As. Of course, a year later, everyone in the world seemed to have one, but for a while all of my friends had to come to my house if they wanted to play and that made me feel pretty special. I felt especially good knowing that I had earned it.

—a twenty-two-year-old man

The third-hour stories were all over the place in terms of subject matter. Where one participant considered a car to represent luxury, another saw luxury as manifested in elegant jewelry and a third in a piece of hot new electronic equipment. The key phrases, though, were very consistent and created a pattern. “Just incredible and I know I deserve it.” “Getting something back for all my hard work.” “What’s the point in making the money if you can’t do something with it?” Whatever you’re buying, the point seems to be that you deserve it.

There is no noble class in America. We don’t have titles to indicate our station in society. This is not and has never been the American way. At the same time, though, we have an incredibly strong work ethic, an intense passion to succeed, and, because we are an adolescent culture, a powerful desire to let people know what we’ve done. Since no one is going to knight us when we make our mark, we need something else to indicate our rank in the world. In addition, since we believe that you are never finished growing, our rank should come in stages, reaching a higher level the more we accomplish.

The way we show our rank in American society is through our luxury items, and the American Culture Code for luxury is
MILITARY
STRIPES
.

In many ways, this Code is an extension of the Code for money. Military stripes are a form of proof, something you wear on your sleeve for all to respect. These Codes are very closely linked, not only because one needs money to buy luxury items but because when Americans attain the “proof” of money, they use luxury items to show it off.

With military stripes, though, there is the added notion of levels—the more stripes one has, the higher one’s rank. Indeed, there are levels of luxury, just as there are levels in the military. A Lexus is a luxury car, but so is a Maserati and so is a Bentley. Donna Karan designs luxury clothing, but Dolce & Gabbana and Escada are even more exclusive. Beachfront property in Florida states that you’ve arrived at a certain level. A mansion in Greenwich, Connecticut, suggests another and a penthouse on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan yet another. These levels indicate the “stripes” you’ve earned with your accomplishments.

What is the purpose of these stripes? Largely, it is recognition; not recognition of how much money you have, though, but of your goodness. At the unconscious level, Americans believe that good people succeed, that success is bestowed upon you by God. Your success demonstrates that God loves you.

When you attain this level of approval from your Maker, you want to be treated accordingly. Service is an important component of luxury. Again, there is a connection with the military. A military officer has certain privileges that lower-ranking soldiers don’t have. He has access to the officers’ mess; people salute him when he passes. Similarly, as we achieve higher rank in the civilian world, we expect privileges and services unavailable to the average American. We want a personal shopper at Saks. We want a black American Express card. We want a tuxedoed staff to wait on us at the best tables in the best restaurants. We want to skip the long lines at airports. In America, service is a luxury item and we are willing to pay exorbitant prices for it. We’ll spend $400 for a meal at Alain Ducasse because the restaurant treats us in a deluxe fashion. We’ll spend $4,000 for a first-class ticket from New York to Los Angeles because of the quality of the service while we are in the air.

Like the military, luxury comes not only in different ranks, but also in different “branches,” and the branch we choose says a good deal about how we want the world to perceive us. A Volvo, a safari vacation, and a large donation to the
NEA
send a message very different from that sent by a Suburban, a week at a stock-car-racing fantasy camp, and a big check to the
NRA
.

To succeed in marketing luxury items in America, a company needs to make it clear that it is selling “stripes.” Branding is extremely important. A luxury item has value only if others know how luxurious it is. Rolex has done a brilliant job of establishing its products as the signature luxury watches in America, with distinctive design and ceaseless marketing efforts announcing how valuable a Rolex watch is. Similarly, Ralph Lauren has done masterful work branding Polo. The logo of a polo player connects with everything from medieval class status (when nobility rode and everyone else walked) to the American cowboy mythos, and consumers can wear it like a blazon, announcing their ability to afford such a luxury item in a way that most Americans can understand.

Equally important in marketing luxury in America is the notion of progression. Because Americans equate health with movement, there is a strong belief in this culture that you are never finished growing, that as long as you are active, you are always in transition to your next big accomplishment. When we achieve a certain level of success, we rarely say “I’ve arrived; I’m done.” Most of us immediately think about achieving greater success. We regard our luxury items similarly. Now that we can afford the Lexus, we want to be in a position to afford the Bentley. A company that offers multiple levels of luxury has the opportunity to keep its customers as they ascend. Tiffany does this superbly. The “little blue box” is practically synonymous with luxury in America, but Tiffany offers its luxury at a variety of price points. You can get the distinctively designed silver earrings for a little more than $200; you can get the gold-and-diamond bracelet for a little more than $6,000; you can get the diamond-and-emerald ring for $2 million, or you can choose from a wide variety of levels in between. By offering customers the opportunity to experience Tiffany luxury at a relatively affordable level while showing them the loftier levels at the same time, the company builds a lifelong bond.

Of paramount importance to selling luxury in America is supplementing your product with luxury service. Treating your high-end customers as though they are members of an “officers’ club” is precisely on Code. Once an American has earned his stripes, he wants to be treated accordingly. He wants to be seen as someone who is actively involved in achieving significant things and he wants to know that you realize his time and presence are valuable. The Ritz-Carlton hotel chain was one of the first to do an excellent job with this, offering its Club Level guests a dedicated concierge staff, exclusive meal service, and a private lounge.