My grandfather’s hammer was a post-war purchase, and well-used.
His son – my father – used it regularly in the 1950s, when he was responsible enough to avoid clipping off a fingernail, or wielding it as a weapon against his brothers.
Heavy, its leathered handle worn, but unbowed, after decades of use, the hammer recently found its way back to my father’s hands – and stoutly hammers as solidly as it always did.
Compared to modern hammers, it not only works as well as it did when it left a hardware store in Kimberley, circa 1945, but commands respect and a special place on the tool rack – as all well-made things do.
Not so most commercially-churned appliances and paraphernalia these days.
My folks bought their first TV, a Phillips, in the late '70s. You remember how we used to sit and watch the pattern until programmes started at what, 5pm?
That was a good TV, like most things made back then. After a decade or two of Dallas, Haas Das, Wielie Walie and later, The Thorn Birds and A-Team, our Phillips was given a decent send-off.
It was retired in favour of a new model with an actual remote, which meant that you didn’t have to get up off the couch to change channels or put the volume down.
Second TV
Problem is, the second TV my folks got – just like my first one, a trendy little screen for my flat – was a bit of a flash in the pan.
After two years, the fancy remote began shooting sparks and the screen developed a pink, vertical line during news broadcasts. And only during the news; we thought it was some kind of political conspiracy.
And since then, we’ve had so many TVs that I forget their names. The only brand – the only electronic family member, really – was the Phillips. Because it had staying power, long after the burn of the purchase had worn off.
You have found this happening to you too – with light bulbs, irons, cell phones, package deal iPads, irons, heaters and printer ink cartridges. It annoys you terribly and you don’t know why it happens.
I know why.
It’s called planned obsolescence – and it’s designed exclusively to make your light bulb break just as you’re popping to the loo after dark; switch off your cell phone for absolutely no reason and then refuse to switch it back on for a week; explode your iron just a day after its guarantee wears off.
Buy another one
Unless you’ve dropped an appliance in hot oil or the toilet bowl, it’s pretty darn probable that you’re the victim of a global manufacturing mafia which knows that even though you say you hate the brand that broke, you’ll end up buying another one anyway – and sooner than you’d expect.
Apparently, this practice has been widespread since the 1960s, which makes sense, given that stuff lasted ages in my gran’s generation.
The term basically means that a product is designed specifically to wear and tear faster, outlive its usefulness or just break after a certain period of time; sometimes just months.
The official list of "planned obsolescence" goodies includes textbooks, computer software, cars, video games and even fashion.
If black is the new green this summer, then pink becomes the new green next season.
That way, we’re always slightly behind, catching up on trends and neglecting yesterday’s maxi dress for tomorrow’s skinnies.
My consumer activist hat tells me that the only way forward is to use this design against its inventors. Armed with an official list of planned obsolescence suspects, we could simply stop buying them.
After all, if a light bulb is so easily and expensively replaced, it’s natural to conclude that no brand is irreplaceable, either.