My beloved 10-year-old black bra finally broke last Christmas. The elastic had some slack and it'd been fraying for a while, but its death sentence came when the underwire popped out the side. While it wasn't particularly special — just a normal T-shirt bra — it was comfortable and had clearly lasted a long time. So, I did what any sensible person who is afraid of change would do: bought the exact same thing, from the same brand, again.
I eagerly waited for my shipment of my new bras (in two trendy colorways!) to come in. When they arrived, I noticed that there were a few key differences: there was a new fourth clasp, the band was tighter, and the material was a whole lot softer. Certainly, these were improvements, I thought.
I was wrong.
Within a few washes, the hooks had become mangled, unable to neatly adhere themselves to the clasps. Instead, they would claw at my back. The straps frayed quicker than I expected. Nothing changed in my care; I had assumed that because I treated my previous bra carelessly throughout my teens and college years, these new versions could withstand similar conditions
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I felt unmoored for months. Why would the same item be worse years later? Shouldn't it be better? But here's the thing: My lackluster bra is far from the only consumer good that's faced a dip in comparative quality. All manner of things we wear, plus kitchen appliances, personal tech devices, and construction tools, are among the objects that have been stunted by a concerted effort to simultaneously expedite the rate of production while making it more difficult to easily repair what we already own, experts say.
In the 10 years since I bought that old bra, new design norms, shifting consumer expectations, and emboldened trend cycles have all coalesced into a monster of seemingly endless growth. We buy, buy, buy, and we've been tricked — for far longer than the last decade — into believing that buying more stuff, new stuff is the way. By swapping out slightly used items so frequently, we're barely pausing to consider if the replacement items are an upgrade, or if we even have the option to repair what we already have. Worse yet, we're playing into corporate narratives that undercut the labor that makes our items worth keeping.
"If you change the style regularly, people get tired of the style," says Matthew Bird, a professor of industrial design at the Rhode Island School of Design. "They start to treat cars like sweaters — it's become grossly accelerated. The pressure to make more stuff, of course, lowers the quality of what's being made, because the development and testing is just accelerated even more."
