Once upon a time, 'luxury' seemed a world away.
Well, for me, anyway.
An aspirational fantasy of private jets, penthouses, Birkin bags and dental care.
Ah, still no affordable dental care. Coolcoolcool.
This is the rise of snackable luxury. And it's turning the world of exclusivity on its head.
On one hand, it's made high-end, highly coveted brands more accessible to mere mortals like me. On the other, it begs the question: is this a brilliant evolution or the beginning of the end for exclusivity?
The allure has always been about what you can't have-a waiting list for that Hermès Birkin, the whispered exclusivity of a Patek Philippe watch.
But by offering entry-level products, brands tap into a younger, aspirational audience without completely alienating their core base.
It's genius, like the gateway drug of luxury, a calculated first step into a lifetime of high-end loyalty.
However, there is a catch.
If everyone has that $800 Gucci belt, is it even Gucci anymore? The balance then lies in creating a product that feels attainable yet still carries the weight of luxury.
So what if you can't afford to be dripped out in Coco all the time?
At least you can remove your drugstore makeup with embossed Chanel cotton pads for just $25 a pop at Saks Fifth Avenue. And they're wrapped in the same air of luxury as the Chanel 2.55 on your shoulder.
This goes to show that affordable doesn't have to mean cheap.
Luxury brands that succeed in this space don't just sell products, they sell experiences.
Every snackable product should feel like a natural extension of the brand. Chanel's nail polishes are quintessentially Chanel: classic, elegant, and always a little iconic. It's a small luxury that doesn't feel like a departure from the mothership.
Dior's limited-edition beauty drops or Hermès' wildly coveted Twilly scarves tap into the exclusivity factor without breaking the bank. Scarcity keeps the product desirable and prevents oversaturation.
Packaging, marketing, and even unboxing should feel premium. That $40 candle should make you feel like a Rockefeller lighting up their mansion.
Brands like Cartier (with its Love Rings) and Louis Vuitton (mini leather goods) have shown that entry-level luxury can boost brand perception when done thoughtfully.
Supreme was once the king of exclusivity. Then came the endless collabs-Oreos, lawn chairs, crowbars-and now the brand kind of feel more gimmicky than exclusive. Too much 'attainable' can dilute the very essence of luxury.
If the affordable product becomes the face of your brand, the true luxury offering can get lost. Ask any Gen Z shopper what they associate with Coach, and chances are they'll mention an outlet tote-not the sleek, high-end designs the brand wants to be known for.
When luxury starts to feel like a commodity, it loses its lustre. The goal is to balance desire with attainability-not to flood the market.
This shift is a reflection of how we define luxury in the social media age.
Millennials and Gen Z have redefined aspirational living, prioritising experiences over material possessions. They want brands that fit into their lives, not ones they have to climb into.
Social media has also democratised taste, making luxury a status symbol for anyone with a Wi-Fi connection. A single Dior Lip Glow in a carefully curated Instagram flat lay or cutesy TikTok carries just as much clout as a $3,000 handbag.
It's less about the price tag and more about the emotional resonance.
As these cultural shifts take root, luxury brands are adapting, crafting accessible products to maintain relevance while holding onto their aspirational core. But it's a tightrope act-one wrong move, and the house of cards collapses.
The smartest brands understand this, weaving their story into every touchpoint, from perfumes to couture.
In a world of democratised aspiration, the real challenge isn't just staying exclusive-it's staying unforgettable.
