We're All Maximizers Now
The unintended, and exhausting, effects of always buying better.
I first discovered I was a “maximizer” when I moved in with my wife, then girlfriend, after an enervating, year-long apartment search that included a demoralizing, and costly, rejection from a co-op board. So we decided to just call it and take an apartment we’d earlier passed on. It was recently remodeled, adjacent to a neighborhood we really liked, and most importantly, available. The day we moved in something immediately felt wrong. In my jumbled recollection of StreetEasy pics and rushed open house appointments I was sure we faced the street, when what we got was an interior courtyard view of the opposite building. Perhaps not the biggest dealbreaker in New York, but when you only had a view of a brick wall and a sliver of sky for the previous 17 years (my old apartment, not prison), it was a massive disappointment. That night I was devastated, and a moment that should have been a cause for celebration curdled with my anxiety and regret.
“Everybody wants to make good choices, of course. But maximizers aren't content with the good; they want only the best, and they're willing to go through an exhaustive (and exhausting) search to get it,” wrote Psychology Today in a 2011 article entitled, “Field Guide to the Maximizer.” Finding that piece explained so much, especially when it came to my shopping habits. There’s wasn’t a cart I wouldn’t abandon in the search for something better, cooler, more “perfect.” I saw so much of myself in the maximizer trait, and so much of trait in menswear’s Merz b. Schwanen obsession.
When FX’s hit show “The Bear” debuted it was lauded for its unflinching depiction of the hospitality industry, and in the corners of the internet I dwell, its menswear Easter eggs, none bigger than the white tees Jeremy Allen White’s character wore. Taut, optically white (despite all that au jus splatter), and as beefy as its wearer, the tee set off a Banksy-level of speculation until it was finally identified as being from the Berlin-based brand Merz b. Schwanen. Suddenly, menswear had a new ne plus ultra garment, even if it was just a white t-shirt, albeit one that would run you $90.
There was a time in menswear when the mantra “buy less, buy better” seemed to provide an ethical framework to navigate our culture of limitless consumerism. But I’d argue it’s now twisted into “buy better, and better than that, and then better than that one.” To help understand this need to acquire the platonic ideal of everything, even the humble tee, I reached out to Kosta Malkov from
, who writes an ongoing series of meticulous tee shirt reviews.“I think the first factor is just with any other piece of clothing, you want to be sure that it's made in good, ethical working conditions,” he told me of his personal criteria. “You want to know by whom and how it's made. So it's not only about the country of origin, but basically the brand story. And we tend to trust smaller brands because we kind of believe the story of their founders.” The stories behind our clothes are clearly important to us, as just last night I complemented someone on their suit, only to have them reply, somewhat apologetically, “I wish I had a better story, but it’s from Suitsupply” (as if a great looking suit wasn’t enough). But beyond a good story, the right fit for you, and some degree of quality, how much more do we need? If Merz b. once felt like the high end The Row now sells a 100% cotton t-shirt for $1,650—that has to be dry cleaned.
“Once I have the quality, I know how it's made, I love the brand, and it fits me, then I stop,” stated Malkov. “I don't [need a] grail. You don't need to keep going.” And yet keep going menswear has, with innumerable brands touting “the perfect ____.” No longer content to just switch to Supima cotton, upgrade to shell buttons, or stitch flat felled seams, menswear seems embroiled in an arms race to create ever more luxurious takes on the same perennial workwear, hunting, and sportswear styles. What a.PRESSE, Evan Kinori, Stòffa, and other likeminded labels seem to be doing is elevating to an extreme where functionality is sacrificed to pure aesthetic sensualism. To wit, this passage from a Highsnobiety profile of a.PRESSE:
That bomber that looks like it’s made of cotton but feels like something extraordinary? It’s actually made of washed silk. The blazer that looks rather unassuming on the hanger is made of supersoft cashmere and transforms on your body. There is a trucker jacket made of Spanish leather — all of a.PRESSE’s fabrics are developed in Japan, with the exception of leather — that feels like butter.
“It’s almost like an exercise in styling [that] you can't accomplish with clothes that already exist out in the ether,” observes Jeffrey Gaudette. Gaudette is an ecommerce expert I met while working at Billy Reid, he’s also what I affectionately refer to as “The Kapital King,” for his extensive collection of the beloved Japanese brand. So when he casually dropped recently that he was “over fashion” I wanted to know why.
“I'm tired of every piece of clothing being precious,” he explained. “Look, clothes are made to live.” Gaudette admits that having toddler twins has influenced this shift (“They're getting dirt on 'em. They're getting bumped into things… The world's pretty dirty”), but beyond just wanting to account for Cheddar Bunnies stains he doesn’t want his wardrobe to be a source of stress, investment pieces included (“I hate investment clothing being an ‘investment.’ A house is an investment”).
But maybe you aren’t juggling toddlers, maybe vicuña-lined barn coats are your thing and who the hell am I to tell you what to do with your money? This is where I worry about coming off like some personal finance scold warning you that you’ll never enjoy home ownership because of your luxury menswear habits (although it is possible). My beef isn’t with that, or with small brands trying to push the industry forward and make a living while doing it, as it’s sure as hell better than Zara. It’s with the normalization of $400 oxford shirts and the impulse to luxury-ify everything in our closets.
“Being nerdy in menswear has gotten too mainstream,” says Gaudette. “It's just like the AI brain rot. It’s no different than an overcooked, super pixelated meme.”
Lately, whenever I find myself in Soho, I’m both shocked at how stylish every man is now and how cut-and-paste from SSENSE or END or wherever it all looks. The fits are constructed from all the right brands, absolutely spotless, and completely uninspiring. Malkov, who recently moved to London, sees it as a symptom of geography. “In cities like Paris or New York or London, whatever you're into, you will just walk out the door and will meet a person who is a hundred times more into this. Like, you thought you discovered this small brand, but there is a person in the whole outfit of this brand already. It's basically a kill joy for me because it's not challenging anymore. The battle is already lost.”
“At some point I just realized that I don't need more stuff,” he says, “I have everything that I need. And it was a good feeling.”
“Buy less, buy better” kinda gave people an excuse to buy better things. But people don’t buy better things not to buy more things in future. We buy whatever things because they want them now.
Same wave. Every old head I know is retiring from the race. The algos flattened everything and hyper accelerated the brain rot