Ephemerality Valley
⏲ 5-minute read
I have a theory that when you’re the owner of something new:
- Your attachment is high.
- Over an intermediate period your attachment wanes.
- Later after that, your attachment goes back up.
The valley in the graph where attachment wanes, I call ephemerality valley. The graph looks something like this:
Take the following scenario:
Initial Attachment
You finally have the thing. It's brand new. Maybe it's got the best camera money can buy. Or - maybe you've been saving for it for a while, your parents helped you buy it, or it was a very thoughtful gift.
Intuitively, you feel protective of your new object. Like a mother bear guarding its young from the perils of the outside world - you feel you must treat this new thing with special care and attention. Recklessness will not be accepted.
You even opted for some insurance. It will help avoid the heartbreak of a sudden loss1, a loss that you would consider too soon. It also has a warranty from the manufacturer, for a loss that they would consider too soon. It's safe. You're safe.
And back to the features of this new thing: now is the time to revel in all their advertised glory. They're yours. It's what you've been waiting for.
Feel the acceleration you were promised! Look at the detail in the photos! Catch others' glances, how they silently say "How stylish, how cool". You like being stylish, and cool.
Your new thing has done this for you, has done this to you.
Ephemerality Valley
After many careful months, your new thing finally gets its first scratch. You knew this day would come, but you didn't think it would be so soon.
A few months later you notice more, but somehow these scratches seem less painful than the first ones. When did you stop noticing?
It's nothing serious. It's still perfectly functional, but no longer pristine. Your insurance expires next week, and you question if you should pay for the extended coverage. After all, if you get a new one it comes with a new warranty.
"That's something to consider", you tell yourself.
Walking outside, you see a passerby with the newer version. It looks nice, she looks happy. Look at the joy in her eyes.
You shoot her the glance you remember others shooting you, when you were in her shoes. You sit for a moment, close your eyes, and remember what that experience felt like.
"The new features are something I could use..." you say to yourself, the tone not entirely convincing. "It would be a completely justified purchase, most certainly," you say again with a bit more gumption, and this time you feel a little more convinced.
A little.
Nostalgic Revival
Time marches on, and it's been a few more years now. You never fully convinced yourself of getting something new, but you seem to care less these days about the latest version of things. You like what you have.
The memory of brand new is faded now. A vivid memory, but one visited many times alongside the other memories with your thing (which is now certainly classified as old).
Remember that time you lost it. You thought it was gone, but then it turned up the next day unexpectedly? What joy. Or that other time that it absolutely should have stopped working based on what you did to it, but jeez, it is really well-built.
As you look down, you appreciate the craftsmanship. Each scratch, a story; every nick, a memory. You realize it's been so long, that you wonder how much longer it reasonably should last.
Out of that small curiosity, you make an unspoken bet with yourself to hang on to it. You'll be faithful to it, as it has been to you, through all these years.
Natural Attachment & Exploitation of the Curve
I think the above scenario is accurate for much of what we buy. Given some time for attachment, we naturally have an appreciation for the old2.
- Museums
- Historic districts
- Classic cars
- Antiquing
- Family heirlooms
- Heritage sites
- Vinyl records
- Ancient ruins
- Classic board games
- Time capsules
- Vintage clothes
These, and countless other social norms and institutions chronicling objects of value share a common theme: time.
But, we live in an age of crisis. Modern consumerism's success stems from intercepting us at the trough, in ephemerality valley. By interrupting us when natural attachment is in its infancy, when we're most susceptible to wanting new, we are exploited. The more successful companies are at getting us to buy new, the fewer objects that make it to old, and into the realms of cultural appreciation.
Legacy
We're creating a future for ourselves emptied of the rich history old stuff provides. While there will always be some things that stand the test of time, I fear their creation and retention are becoming boutique artistic choices of the few, not default intentions of the many. And that is a tragic loss.
This problem reeks of collective action's issues, but also its solutions. Which is to say, individual choice plays a role. We can choose to hang on; we can fight our way through the valley.
Plus, it's not so often we can see such a direct result of participating in the solution: the satisfaction of carrying a thing forward to be appreciated by your future self. And perhaps with enough care - many others, too.
Interestingly, some credit cards have this as built-in protection, called "Purchase Security", so it seems like at least some people agree with me. From one of the cardholder agreements "Purchase Security protects new retail purchases made with Your eligible Account and/or rewards programs associated with Your covered Account within the first ninety (90) days from the date of purchase....Purchase Security covers Eligible items of personal property purchased with Your Account and/or rewards program associated with Your covered Account are covered for damage or theft".↩
Maybe there really is some sort of spiritual energy that things accumulate over time we have yet to find a way to measure or accept, at least in the West.↩