• by George Simpson , Featured Contributor, March 7, 2008

Earlier this week The New York Times reported on a study that found, perhaps not so surprisingly, that a higher price can create the impression of higher value. In this case, investigators had 82 men and women rate the pain caused by electric shocks applied to their wrists, before and after taking a pill. Half the participants had read that the pill, described as a newly approved prescription pain reliever, was priced at $2.50 per dose. The other half read that it had been discounted to 10 cents. In fact, both were dummy pills. More than eight in 10 of those using the expensive pills reported significant pain relief, compared with 61% on the cheaper pills. The investigators corrected for each person's individual level of pain tolerance.

There is a medical explanation for the "perceived value" in this test, provided by one of the MDs interviewed for the story: "When you're expecting pain relief, you're secreting your own opioids. When you get it on discount, you doubt it, and your body doesn't react as well."

Perhaps your body secretes its own opioids when you see a $755 Marc Jacobs cashmere crewneck or a $484,000 Porsche Carrera GT, but mine secretes adrenaline and acetylcholine, which induces an appropriate panic attack. I am not alone (not in the celestial metaphysical sense, but there are plenty more of us out here in consumerland for whom price IS an object.) And no amount of voodoo marketing will change that. "Luxury marketers" can take comfort in the latest missive from Forbes that tells us there are 1,125 billionaires in the world now. Unfortunately, that leaves 6.5 billion (depending how many drank and drove last night) or so of us who -- according to the unfailingly accurate Central Intelligence Agency -- have a global per capita income of $8,200 (if anyone is using the dollar as a benchmark anymore.)

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that Sierra Leone's $530 annual per capita incomes kinda brings down the class curve, until you read that in the tighty-whitey U.S. the average income is all of $37,500. I think my three earth-hating SUVs consume more than 37 grand worth of gas alone each year (well, if you throw in the oil changes and an occasional car wash).

But what does the coin in your pocket matter, when you have the marvel of modern marketing to help you perceive that you will get laid more if you Axe instead of Arm & Hammer Ultramax Deodorant -- or your kids will get into Harvard instead of the local community college if they use a Bee Smart, "a portable device that promotes Phonics and Spelling Skills" instead of learning the Fender Stratocaster color codes for the Rock Band version of "Gimme Shelter"?

Purists will argue that premium brands are not just about price, they are about quality. Certainly up to a point that is true. But how many Consumer Reports do you have to read to understand pretty clearly that the brands perceived to be "lower-tier" often outperform the premium brands? And face it, it is more about how you want others to perceive you than it is about the practicality of brands. I live in a town where people drive $100,000 cars to the train station. A Yugo (if you can still find one) can get you to the same parking lot (and you won't care as much when the earth-hating SUV sideswipes you because they are too f***ing big to be parked in a hurry by a guy who is about to miss the 7:09.)

Then again, you have the anxiety of wondering if the other women you think will be mightily impressed by your Versace are instead mumbling that you 1) "can't pull it off"; 2) "are nouveau-riche trash"; or 3)"rented it." Raise your hand if you don't think that the guy driving past in his Lamborghini is a dick.

Funny thing about perception. It cuts both ways.

The story you have just read is an attempt to blend fact and fiction in a manner that provokes thought, and on a good day, merriment. It would be ill-advised to take any of it literally. Take it, rather, with the same humor with which it is intended. Cut and paste or link to it at your own peril.