It's a limit, not a target
“Oh hello darling,” my mother said, kissing the air in the general direction of my cheek, last time I visited. “Lovely to see you. I can’t talk, I’m about to be sanctioned.”
“Oh hello darling,” my mother said, kissing the air in the general direction of my cheek, last time I visited. “Lovely to see you. I can’t talk, I’m about to be sanctioned.”
“Sanctioned, Mummy? What have you done, missed your job centre appointment?”
“Darling, this is not the time to attempt humour.”
My fathers voice came from the study: “Darling.”
My mother muttered “damn” and made a dash for the stairs. She was a few steps up when the study door opened, revealing my father.
“Oh there you are darling, glad I caught you. Could we have a word?”
My mother narrowed her eyes. “I’m rather pushed for time.”
“It won’t take long.”
She paused. Considered different escape options, sighed and descended like someone humouring a particularly clingy houseguest.
Naturally, I followed. I was well into this drama, whatever it was.
She sat in a wing chair and my father handed her Amex statements. “Darling, take a look at these”
She nonchalantly glanced at them.
“Do you see the number in the top right?”
She looked at him, expression unchanged, the sort of look one reserves for people who talk to pigeons and hug trees.
“That, darling, is a limit. Not a target.”
“And since you appear to be so target-driven, I’m putting you on a budget.”
There was silence. Cold, still, and faintly radioactive.
“A what?” The threat was unmistakable.
“A budget, darling.” For such an intelligent man, my father's sense of self-preservation is distinctly lacking. He handed her another sheet.
She studied it. Eyes narrowed. Lips tightened.
“I can’t live on this,” she said dismissively, as though speaking to a lunatic.
Without missing a beat “Why not? Cyprus does.”
She lit a cigarette and asked him if he had completely lost his mind.
The number was completely outrageous by any sane standard. But it didn’t belong to her reality, and that’s interesting, psychologically.
It's what so many people who work in luxury forget. They see the price through their own lens, and flinch. I call it price embarrassment. They apologise, over-explain and try to minimise it.
But a number is only shocking if you’re using the wrong lens. If you're talking to someone who thinks £7,000 is perfectly reasonable for a handbag, then it's your discomfort that needs adjustment. Not the number.
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PS. Hideous CTA incoming. If your team suffer from price embarrassment then Luxury Academy training can help.