Here’s the weird question of the day. What happens to the emotional brand content once our acquisitions are chucked in the dumpster and headed to landfill?  Brand stewards spend minor fortunes to create brand equity, working hard to forge emotional and benefit bonds that ratchet up consumer loyalty. Then, what? I have this vision of the molecular – or maybe atomic — make-up of what marketing guru Kevin Roberts, former CEO of Saatchi & Saatchi termed “lovemark” brands slowly eroding in waste bins and on garbage barges. Infinitesimal sparks of joy flying away or decaying invisibly.

The emotional content of our brands serves as the mile markers on our life’s journey and the paths we chose. If we jettison those route signs, we may be at a certain risk. If we ignore the value of what we have purchased during our lives, it may be at our own cost. If we trash our brand meanings, perhaps we lose a bit of ourselves.

Gone and Not Forgotten

My lovemark brands that are distant memories but still have emotional resonance:

• That Snickers bar we had to have because its emotional nourishment is still redolent of those hand-held trips to the store with dad when he was still young and alive and eager to introduce us to the sublime glories of chocolate and nuts.
• That first Chanel suit we spied on the triple markdown rack at Bergdorf’s; its fit was perfect for the first major business presentation and client dinner afterwards.
• That team jersey we snagged one carefree fall afternoon when our side won, and goodness and virtue seemed triumphant.
• The fabulous rock group’s fabulous T-shirt that still reeks of euphoria, after hundreds of hot water cycles and snags that make it perfect only as sleepwear.

And yet. The magic that brands carry with them decomposes according to a law of physics we don’t study at business school: The half-life of brand meaning. Said another way: Once the cash register rings, do brand stewards care anymore? Or more to the point, which transactions don’t end at acquisition but rather increase in emotional value day-over-day, year-over year? And even more to the point, is it possible to predict the return-on-emotional-investment through a metric which tracks the after-market valuation and thus encourages giving passionate voice to the significance of consumer products post purchase.

Beyond products like watches, jewelry, designer handbags and luxury automobiles, what I search for is a mechanism brands can use to recognize and perhaps ultimately manage the after-market value of their marks in a manner which renews and revitalizes the entire portfolio.

Brand Values

At Nike they used to worry some kid somewhere would taunt another kid with the accusation, “Your mother wears Nikes.” No more. Now it’s part of the mission to ensure your grandmother sports the brand proudly on her Fitbit/Apple Smart Watch monitored walk. This is an observation, not a critique. Brands have to evolve with their customer bases.

Grand too that Tommy makes shirts in XXXL to stretch across even the most massive logo-conscious physique. Fabulous that even if you can’t afford red-carpet couture, you can spritz the star’s parfum and get a whiff of the brand’s emotional persona. But in reverse meaningfulness, the price of entry to a celebrity-aligned endorsement is lowered when the knock-off version is sold on the street corner.

Easy Come, Quickly Go

Coveted objects and knockoffs are both at the whim of a consumer’s freedom to toss the one-time beloved purchase into the dustbin of aspirational history. We live in a consumer reality that is disposable. But that transitory mentality is slowly, and relentlessly becoming an artifact of a thoughtless past. We are now in an era demanding a more conscious consumerism enabled by recycled retailing. Just as we begin to weep crocodile tears for the brands denuding themselves of meaning in the name of this quarter’s return and next Christmas’s bonuses, we head over to Depop, the buy-it-again site for previously loved, had-to-have-it wardrobe choices, and … buy it again.

And yes, The Real Real and others of its ilk showcase second-chance lusts. We remember the glory days of eBay when a first edition of Voltaire’s Candide was on offer among the family’s vintage silver service and original oil paintings. We now consider the beckoning subway ads for Chairish and AptDeco, which are spectacular curations of other people’s once desired but now unwanted furniture. To simplify the argument, the emotional quotient of a brand or object is also subject to recycling.

Emotional Brand Content at a Price

So, what happens to the emotional content of brands once they’re chucked in the dumpster and headed to landfill?  Pretty quickly we have come to understand that even if modern commerce primarily enables the wash-rinse-repeat cycle of buy, wear, and toss, not everything fits that mold. In many cases, what once would have been tossed is making a comeback claim that is far more valuable

Take the case of a company like Canada Goose for example, which triggers a powerful authorized secondary market for slighted used but still desirable and eminently functional outdoor wear. Planting this consumer impulse to upcycle is prominently featured on its website.

Second Life

In a recent conversation with a colleague, we shared the remarkable and newly rediscovered joy of returning a flickering nightlight to its former greatness. Having once purchased this antique ballerina lamp for a little girl’s bedroom, we were now in the process of walking said fixture to an actual repairman, four New York City streets away. The reverence with which the lamp healer perused the ancient item, his deliberations over the cord, the rickety fragility of the glass shade, and the worrisome loss of the on-and-off toggle all added layers of memory and meaning to the remarkable personal value of the object. The experience manifested powerful emotional value to the sad little lamp. His attention reminded us that the lamp had been worth purchasing. It had been a delight in use for 14 years of our daughter’s life. It was now being given a reincarnation.

There was palpable emotional equity embodied in the lamp. All the hopes that predated its arrival in our home – the artisan who created it, the first, second and perhaps third owners – are somehow also embedded in its memory. The dreams of the little girl whose nightlight kept the dark at bay. Even now as she is grown up and enjoys a more sophisticated design sensibility, this emotional object cries out to be cared for and cherished. But how many of us would just chuck it down the compactor chute without thinking about it  and search at Crate & Barrel for something new and suitable for a different purpose.

Rethinking the Material World

I submit that one brief tour around the average home reveals a world chock-a-block with the remarkable essence of what things mean. They have backstories and provenance. The once-coveted barber chair from ABC Carpet and Home. The decorative bedframe from that curious home design store near the railroad station in East Hampton. The china service for eight purchased from B. Altman’s before there was even room at home for a dining room table.

No, I’m not advocating a Snickers bar wrapper collection. But I do want to acknowledge that all the investment made by marketers and manufacturers striving for emotional significance infused into products should not be overlooked or undervalued. In our era, while we are searching and yearning for sustainability, we might trade off hand wringing over the supply chain and the hope for block chain magic for the sustainability of brand meaning, lovemarks and how we value what we buy.

The emotional content of our brands serves as the mile markers on our life’s journey and the paths we chose. If we jettison those route signs, we may be at a certain risk. If we ignore the value of what we have purchased during our lives, it may be at our own cost. If we trash our brand meanings, perhaps we lose a bit of ourselves.

Purpose-Driven Investment

Don’t believe me? Check out The Chernin Group, a private equity firm which describes itself as investing in “companies that define culture.” In May it bought a stake in Classic Football Shirts, a British company devoted to the purchase and resale of used soccer team jerseys, the kind fans buy and then leave in the drawer. The investment was $38.5 million to get a piece of the used shirt market, rather than – the company explained – put money into a team.

Think on that for a moment. Is the experience economy echo chamber about to be monetized by souvenirs that document “We were never there, but we wish we had been?”  This turns the emotional equation of what we invest in on its head. From a sustainability perspective, the motivation to buy the jerseys and keep them out of the waste stream is admirable. But from an emotional brand perspective, they become a detached investment-grade collection.

So, my weird question of the day is how the energy and creativity put into creating lovemark brands can be tasked to reorient a once fickle consumer society that feels no pain in tossing our purchases away instead of savoring their remembered joys, repurposing them to fit in a more conscious future, and helping a new audience reimagine them into their lives. Just ask all the people in Ghana who have to deal with our unwanted apparel or the sanitation crews outside our windows hurling the plastic packaging, broken folding chairs and unused food into the elephantine trucks we need to cart away our one-time lusts.