By John Boothman
We’ve been living through an age of ideology. Conservatism was a dominant theme of 20th century politics. Communism, fascism and Nazism came and (mostly) went. Liberalism gave way to socialism, which in turn is being supplanted by environmentalism. Capitalism, though under assault, has hung on. Western imperialism retreated, only for a more muscular version to reappear in China and Russia. Pacificism held sway for a time, but has faded; nationalism and militarism are resurgent. In fact, if you approached modern history through ‘the prism of the isms’ you wouldn’t go far wrong.
One of these isms, however, has had less attention than it deserves, given its importance in driving political and economic change. Consumerism has been described as ‘the protection or promotion of consumers’ interests’, and also (less flatteringly) ‘the preoccupation of society with the acquisition of consumer goods’. It is a relatively recent expression: the word does not appear in my 1965 edition of Chambers. Yet the movement itself, however defined, has had a longer and larger impact on the modern world than many of its more celebrated rivals.
The notion of buying and selling goods stretches back to ancient times, but it was the Victorians who discovered that – as economic growth gradually raised wages – there were enormous new markets to be tapped. Industrialisation delivered not just the products themselves but the means to buy them – the start of a virtuous circle, creating a common commitment by governments of all stripes to rising living standards and economic advancement.
With its vast internal market and wealth of natural resources it was America, not Britain, that took consumerism to the next level. Mass production meant manufacturing costs could be lowered so dramatically that goods once reserved for the wealthy could be bought by ordinary folk. Iconic among these was the Model T Ford: launched in 1908 at a price of $850, by 1916 it was being offered for just $360. By the time production ended in 1927 more than 15 million had been sold.
On both sides of the Atlantic brand development, product proliferation, advertising, cost control and intense price competition all favoured shoppers between the wars. Consumerism took a back seat during the 1940s, as strict rationing curtailed the availability and choice of goods even for the wealthy; but it returned with a vengeance in the 1950s and 60s.
Advertising became slicker and better targeted. The rise of supermarkets created more choice, narrower margins and stronger buying power: food was of higher quality, fresher, more affordable and more abundant. Retail price-setting by manufacturers was abolished, ushering in discount shopping. Clothing came down in price and fashion garments became accessible for those of modest means.
New consumer goods including household appliances, furnishings, TV sets and even cars could be bought on hire-purchase, or ‘the never-never’ as it became known. Package holidays brought foreign travel within the reach of middle- and lower-income families. Credit cards further elasticated the link between personal savings and expenditure.
As other countries industrialised in the 1960s, 70s and 80s, and began producing goods of equal quality at lower cost, few shoppers gave a thought to the displacement of manufacturing jobs at home caused by import substitution, and the ultimate decimation of the industries on which those jobs depended. Products flowed into Europe from around the world. The customer was king or queen as the case might be, and any attempt to impede their buying power or freedom of choice would meet a frosty response.
Our small island played its own part in the consumer revolution of the post-war years. A walk along King Street and Queen Street takes you past the branches of UK chains including Boots, Next, Marks & Spencer and W H Smith, all with deep roots in Island life (though Woolworths and BHS are long since gone).
Mingled with these are the well-stocked department stores of de Gruchy and Voisin, and a plethora of smaller shops both locally and nationally owned. There are covered markets for those attracted to tradition and authenticity, and a further array of outlets throughout St Helier, as well as in the other parishes.
If that abundance of merchandise doesn’t provide sufficient choice, there is internet shopping, which offers seemingly unlimited scope to the dedicated buyer while posing a formidable challenge to local retailers, as it does around the world. And if the item purchased falls short of expectations, back it goes for a refund – no questions asked.
Taxes on personal incomes and business profits are taken for granted, but when in 2008 the States introduced a sales tax (initially at the modest rate of 3%) the outcry could be heard from Les Landes to La Rocque. How dare politicians interfere with the sacred right of Jersey consumers to shop as cheaply as possible? The GST proposal scraped through, but subsequent attempts to edge the rate up towards the UK level of 20% have been stoutly resisted.
Businesses (including producers and retailers) today operate within a network of rules and regulations that they break at their peril. These extend from staff holiday and sickness entitlements through pay determination, dismissal processes, discrimination, health and safety to competition and price collusion. The consumer, by contrast, has no such obligations. If he or she takes offence at some harried shop assistant, no explanation or excuse is required to go elsewhere. Few modern freedoms are more deeply entrenched than the customer’s right to walk away. Meanwhile workers are caught up in an increasingly tense debate with employers about their right to work from home. No one would dare question the consumer’s right to shop from home.
The consumer society – the notion that each of us has an innate entitlement to acquire all the goods and services we want, when, where and how we want them, at prices we can afford – has endured over many decades. But today there are new headwinds that could throw this into reverse.
Economic growth has become anaemic in the West (and non-existent in Jersey). The blow struck by the pandemic was followed by aftershocks. Price inflation is outpacing wage inflation. War and the threat of war are disrupting the global flows of capital and goods on which consumerism depends.
Soaring energy prices and mortgage rates are gobbling up disposable income. Manufacturers are retrenching; so are retailers. Credit is tightening, supply chains are buckling. Empty supermarket shelves are becoming a fact of life. Climate change and resource depletion mean that consumer rights, though still largely intact, are likely to diminish as governments grapple with unprecedented challenges on the way to carbon neutrality. (Electric cars are a lot costlier than conventional cars, and also less practical.) Many young people already turn up their noses at the endless accumulation of ‘stuff’ and the future, of course, belongs to them.
I’m sure there will be thriving retailers in the Jersey of tomorrow, but probably fewer of them with less bountiful stock. Our houses and garages will be emptier. We won’t have so many clothes, and those we buy will last longer. Food will cost more and we’ll throw less of it away. We won’t eat strawberries in January. The golden age of the consumer, here as elsewhere, is slowly drawing to a close. Enjoy it while it lasts.
