Most Americans are spending money like drunken sailors on leave. American credit card debt has now risen to levels not seen since the turn of the century.
My wife calls it “retail therapy.” But to save money, people are opting for lower-quality, lower-cost items that give the impression of exclusivity. The advertising world knows this as premium mediocrity. Venkatesh Rao is the godfather of premium mediocrity, which he describes as “creating an aura of exclusivity—without actually excluding anyone.”
Premium mediocrity is all about the illusion of exclusivity. Critics might argue that my writing is premium mediocrity. There’s an aura of exclusivity—and it’s sometimes mediocre. According to Rao, “Premium Mediocrity is the finest bottle of wine at Olive Garden. Premium Mediocrity is ‘truffle’ oil on anything fried and extra-leg-room seats in Economy.”
Today, if you have a mediocre product, you can try to create a viral social media campaign. Or you can simply hire Beyoncé. She will endorse your mediocre product for a cool $1 million per Instagram post. She’ll do a personal appearance for $4 million. In comparison, Kim Kardashian will endorse your mediocre product for only $200,000 per post. So that makes Kim Kardashian the premium mediocre option.
So why do we do this? Why do we buy stuff we can’t afford to impress people we may never meet? Because we inexplicably crave the admiration of total strangers. We do it because we are on a hedonic treadmill, pursuing one pleasure after another—even if it’s an illusion. And lastly, we do it because social media has turned all of us into Pavlov’s dogs.
To continue, premium mediocrity is any kind of furniture that comes in a box and requires you to put it together with an enclosed Allen wrench. It’s furniture that looks better in the store than it does in your place. You know it’ll wobble and won’t survive your next move, but you buy it anyway. Premium mediocrity is any Uber category that is less expensive than the black car. Not to sound snobby, but the extra six bucks is worth not having to sit on an old french fry and wonder if the car owner has ever replaced her brake fluid. Premium mediocrity is ordering the live Maine lobster (with the bib) at Red Lobster. Because, as we all know, lobster is simply a delivery system for drawn butter. And when you really think about it, lobsters can’t swim. It’s basically the world’s largest cockroach crawling on the floor of the planet’s largest toilet bowl. Hard pass. Premium mediocrity is any product sold by Gwyneth Paltrow. And certainly any scented candle that smells like a body part. Because nothing says rest and relaxation like the calming aroma of a human body part on fire. You know the one I’m talking about.
Premium mediocrity is any wine or special craft cocktail sold on an airplane. Because nothing says exclusivity more than an $11 cocktail in a 4-ounce plastic cup at 35,000 feet. If it somehow raises money for a charity, that’s super premium mediocrity. Premium mediocrity is any cabin on an airplane that charges you more for something you should have received for free. The airlines love this move. Simply moving the passenger closer to the first-class cabin but not into the first-class cabin is the ultimate premium mediocrity flex. Premium mediocrity is any kind of salt that doesn’t come in a round blue box with a girl holding an umbrella. That includes premium Himalayan pink salt, Hawaiian black salt, gray salt, truffle salt, etc. I hate to break it to you, but there is nothing premium about salt. Premium mediocrity is any product that labels itself “meat” but didn’t originate from an animal with lips. I don’t want any pea protein isolate, expeller-pressed canola oil or sawdust in my burger. Hopefully, the whole “fake meat” craze is over. Seriously, that stuff can’t be good for you.
Premium mediocrity is grocery store sushi and gas station fried chicken. Seriously, just go visit Colonel Sanders at the big chicken. Premium mediocrity is organic fruits and vegetables. They cost twice as much as the regular stuff, and they look half as good. I think the organic stuff is just the banged-up stuff they’re about to throw away. Premium mediocrity is any pillow sold on television. Lastly, I hate to say it, but the Atlanta Falcons are as premium mediocre as it gets.
OK, that’s all I’ve got. What about you? I bet you already have a mental list of things I missed. If so, shoot me an email at [email protected]. I’ll give you a premium mediocre response.
