A Short History of Consumerism

Josiah Wedgwood: the modern salesman in the making

Arguably an inevitable thought that has crossed through the average person’s mind: “when did all of this start becoming normal?” has struck many historians and social scientists alike. Consumerism is nowadays so proliferated as to seem ordinary to many generations and can be projected to remain so in the coming decades. One can’t help but wonder who invented the modern salesman while they’re walking past an employee at a department store frantically advertising their perfume samples in their direction or when they’re online shopping for a last minute dress hoping that it will fit but being comforted by the “guaranteed money back!” pop-up (“I wonder what genius thought of this!”) I have a simple yet illustrious story that began with one man: Josiah Wedgwood. 

Born in 1730, Wedgwood came from a modest background, a family of potters, no less. After his father’s death in 1739, Josiah became a thrower (you know those spinning wheels you see cool people using in their studios). Later he had his leg amputated. Subsequently, his older brother rejected his participation in the family business and Wedgwood split from the pack. He began experimenting with clay and creating some of his own works, which later earned reputable recognition from the queen of England. The queen’s extol lended him to the world of business. 

Josiah studied his crowd, considering the, at the time rapidly emerging, middle-class and their extended hand for a show of their class and style, needing a cheaper alternative to the pricey porcelain that was well-reserved for the upper-class aristocrats and royalty. Simultaneously, the accessibility of manufactured materials derived from the triangular trade system and paid for by an increase in disposable income (partially as a result of the disease that swept through the population in 18th century England) contributed to the influx of the show and tell, buy and sell business. What better time for creative marketing strategies to emerge and exploit consumers as a medium? By luck or desperation, Wedgwood noticed the nascent trend and made the decision that would in modern days equate to buying a house in 2008. He was making something of himself and of his business. At some point, a lucrative name brand was born from his hitherto fruitless efforts. He was called on to compete with other potters for the queen’s approval. He won, undoubtedly, and in 1762 became “Her Majesty’s Potter.” Taking advantage of the queen’s social influence and prospective implications of individual royal acclaim, Wedgwood began putting ads for his production in the paper and capitalized on the crowd’s collective envy of her lifestyle, marking the beginning of an era. He eventually opened an exclusive showroom in a bustling metropolis. Trade took off, and he adopted practices that eerily reflected the modern principles of contemporary marketing. For instance, he would tempt anyone who walked into his store with a glimpse of his works–small frames of products, color swatches, pattern designs, etc– and hide the actual pottery in a back room, imitating an air of exclusivity notorious in modern designer retail stores. 

A sample of Wedgwood’s various experiments with pigments, chemicals, and colors (The House of Wedgwood)

In his designation of the monetary value of his works, one could observe a predictable oscillation in the framework of his salesmanship; he would place a price only a select elite could reach, and once the rich lost interest, he would lower the price so as to expand to a wider population of middle-class aspirationalists. Very conspicuous resemblance to what marketers now call “price skimming” and subsequent “price penetration”. He eventually expanded internationally, with not a one American colony out of stock of his stylish sets. Crafty yet perpetual in his enticing of the consumer’s eye to the product under the spotlight, the modern salesman is a shadow from the light shone on Josiah Wedgwood in the 18th century. He invented the slate of a fluid and evolving luxury sales industry that still remains fixed in its nature and arguably corruptive in its influence. He pioneered practices that adapted to the unideal logistics of sale at the time. He promised his consumers money back guaranteed if unsatisfied or broken in transit, free delivery (and free return if broken), and fragments of the later practice of door-to-door sale to instigate demand. These tactics mirror what is now a normalized, and highly scrutinized, consumeristic marketing model. With the fortuitous rise of the industrial revolution on his side, Wedgwood created Etruria, his production factory, and instituted an insulated community for his staff, almost like a live-in nanny. The framework of the customer-salesman interrelationship finds its origins in a 18th century once-lost pottery thrower whose influence and avant-garde manifested into a revolutionary genre of consumerism and salesmanship. 

I was inspired by this story after unironically hyper fixating on the ideals and habits of modern consumers. Even further back, I watched Lucy on Netflix and was touched in an inspirational way. The only difference is that I was able to put a name to it: the contrivances of capitalist consumerism. Marketing practices inevitably emerged in the process, and as a history enthusiast I focused primarily on the subject of 18th century marketing: Josiah Wedgwood, the architect of the consumeristic doomsday clock. As shocking as his contrivances were, they served as a catalyst for changes to come. Nonetheless, his story was captivating and worthy of sharing.