In a market awash in increasingly similar—even identical—goods, price is the ultimate arbiter; the lower, the better. I know this because I live it. I buy $10 bootleg watches from street vendors, repressing the suspicion that in six weeks’ time said timepiece is as likely to sprout wings as to tell time. I buy three-for-$15 underwear at Target, and discontinued glassware at the outlets. I graze the home section of discount stores to stock up on key chains and flashlights and “mini tool boxes” and other cool stuff too cheap to resist. Like almost everyone, I have a wobbly budget to balance and a torrent of bills every month. But thrift doesn’t explain this behavior. How thrifty is it to buy a watch with a two-month life span, or a Lilliputian hammer “just in case”? I would drive an extra mile to save a few pennies a gallon on gasoline but wouldn’t dream of driving any distance to retrieve a fallen quarter from the sidewalk. No, this isn’t about thrift. The craving for bargains springs from something much deeper.
