I've been wanting a Bottega Veneta Andiamo to mark ten years of my career in 2024, which has been relatively successful, I would say. Ten years building not only sustainable career, but thriving in essential oils, dealing with French customers, learning how to talk about both commerce and conservation in the same breath. A decade feels like it should mean something, you know? Something you can hold. Something that whispers you've earned this when you grab it in the morning.
The Andiamo seemed perfect for this. That buttery leather, the way it holds its shape, the sheer, the quiet luxury of it (Astaghfirullah, I hate that phrase but it's accurate). I've saved the Instagram and Pinterest posts. I've tried it on twice at the store. I know exactly which color and size I want.
But then I actually look at my wardrobe and I see: my Longchamp Le Pliage from Barcelona 2018, still going strong. The Samsonite backpack my husband gave me in 2022 that has been traveling the world with me since. That Marc Jacobs crossbody from our wedding in 2020, still makes me smile when I use it. Kate Spade Hobo from 2022. None of them broken. None of them wrong.
Just none of them Bottega Veneta.
And here's where my brain won't shut up.
The math that ruins everything
So here's what nobody talks about when we're all drooling over luxury bags on Instagram, the margins are absolutely insane.
A luxury handbag typically costs about USD 200 to make (Tanner Leather reference). Maybe USD 300 if it's particularly complex. Materials, labor, quality control, the whole thing. That same bag? Retails for USD 2,500. Sometimes USD 3,800. Sometimes more. That's a 10-12x markup, minimum. For brands like Hermès or Chanel, it can hit 20x.
We're not paying for leather and stitching. We're paying for the brand name, the marketing budget, those gorgeous flagship stores, the ad campaigns with Margot Robbie or whoever, and let's be honest the private jets that Bernard Arnault uses to fly between his various properties.
The numbers get worse when you zoom out. The luxury goods market was worth about USD 354 billion in 2023, heading toward USD 450 billion by 2025. LVMH (that's Louis Vuitton, Dior, Fendi, and like 70 other brands) made EUR 86.2 billion in 2023. Bernard Arnault, the CEO, is literally the richest or second-richest person on the planet depending on which day you check, with about USD 200 billion. Kering, which owns Bottega Veneta, posted EUR 20.4 billion.
These are not small family businesses that need my support. These are empires.
And then because apparently the universe wants me to feel even worse about wanting nice things, there's Gaza. Over 2 million people displaced as of 2024. And where are these luxury conglomerates? Silent. Or worse, invested in Israeli tech startups (looking at you, LVMH), tangled up in supply chains and systems that enable what's happening there. Meanwhile they're very vocal about other social issues when it's good for marketing.
When I think about the actual price tag, the Andiamo costs between USD 3,500 and USD 6,000, which translates to roughly IDR 60 million to IDR 100 million and my entire perspective shifts. This isn't just "a lot of money." This figure is equivalent to the full annual salary for one, maybe two workers earning the minimum wage (UMR) in Jakarta, even many more for those who works in informal sector. That money carries an immense moral weight. That single purchase could cover the registration fees and a full year of tuition at a decent private elementary school here in Indonesia. Alternatively, it represents enough capital to commission 20 to 60 custom bags from leather artisans in places like Garut or Yogyakarta, securing their income for over a year. It's capital that, if directed differently, possesses immense transformative power.
The bag is gorgeous. The alternative is not being complicit.
And I hate that I even have to think about this. I hate that wanting something beautiful has to come with this much moral calculation.
But why do I want it so badly? (the uncomfortable part)
Look, I'm not going to pretend this is about vanity alone, because it's not. Though it's definitely partially about vanity, let's be real.
There's actual psychology behind why we want luxury stuff. They're what sociologists call "positional goods" things that are valuable partly because other people can't have them. The scarcity is the point. And when you buy luxury items, your brain literally releases dopamine, the same chemical involved in addiction. So yes, part of this is my brain being hijacked by evolutionary reward systems that weren't designed for modern capitalism.
But there's also this other thing, and it's harder to admit, these bags feel like proof.
Proof that I've made it. Proof that ten years of work means something. Proof that I belong in certain rooms, certain conversations. For women especially and I know this is going to sound like I'm making excuses, there's something about a designer bag that functions as professional armor. It's a visible signal in a language that business understands, I'm successful enough to be here.
And I like material things. I'm not going to apologize for that anymore. I also wanted an LV Neverfull in damier with red inner, you know, the classic work tote that every corporate woman seems to have but it feels kinda tacky to me now? Like everyone and their mother has one at the airport. Which is probably snobby of me to say, but if I'm being honest about my contradictions, there it is. I want luxury, but I also want it to feel special, not ubiquitous.
There's real pleasure in quality, in good leather that gets better with age, in a zipper that glides perfectly every single time, the every shine hardware, in the weight of something well-made in your hands. The Bottega intrecciato weave is genuinely beautiful, the result of actual craftsmanship by people who've spent years perfecting the technique.
So when I admire these bags, I'm admiring human skill. Real artistry.
Here's the contradiction I can't escape, I can appreciate the craftsmanship while hating the system that produces it.
Because those Italian artisans hand-weaving the leather? They're skilled, yes. They're paid better than fast fashion workers, absolutely. But they're making maybe EUR 1,800-2,500 a month. Which is fine, which is decent, but it's not proportional to that 10-12x markup. Most of that money isn't going to the people actually making the thing.
It's going to shareholders. Executives. Marketing teams. The entire architecture of wealth flowing upward, which it does with depressing efficiency.
So who am I really supporting when I buy that bag? Not the artisan. The artisan gets their salary either way. I'm supporting Pinault Family's next yacht. I'm supporting a system that's really, really good at taking money from people like me and concentrating it in the hands of people who already have more money than they could spend in ten lifetimes.
And I can't unknow this.
So what now?
At the end of the day, this is my opinion and my opinion is, I'm not spending money where it's unethical.
But let me be more honest, it's not ethical for me. I'm not trying to be morally superior to anyone who buys designer bags. We're all participating in capitalism at various levels of hypocrisy. I'm typing this on a device made with conflict minerals. I drink coffee that probably exploited someone somewhere along the supply chain. Ethical consumption under capitalism is basically impossible if you want to examine everything closely enough.
But we all draw our lines somewhere, right? And this is mine.
I can't carry a Bottega Veneta knowing the margin structure, knowing where that money ends up (billionaires' pockets) and where it doesn't end up (people who actually need it). I can't unsee LVMH's investments in Israeli tech while Gaza burns. I can't justify the opportunity cost, what that USD 3,800 could do somewhere else versus the dopamine hit I'd get from finally owning that bag.
The pleasure would be poisoned for me. Every time I'd use it, I'd think about this. And that defeats the entire point of buying something beautiful.
So what's the alternative? Not deprivation. Redirection.
Indonesia has incredible leather craftspeople, artisans in Yogyakarta, in Bandung, Garut, Bali, who can make custom bags that are genuinely beautiful for maybe USD 100-300. When I pay them, more of my money actually reaches the person doing the work. I get something unique, something with a real story that doesn't involve shareholder dividends. There are independent designers making gorgeous things without the weight of conglomerate complicity.
Or maybe I just... use what I already have? Which sounds boring but also kind of makes sense?
That Longchamp has been with me for seven years, through dozens of countries with small hole in its corner but it's still fine. The Marc Jacobs still makes me think of my wedding. These bags already have stories attached to them. They've done their job.
I don't know. Part of me feels like opting out is somehow meaningful, like saying "I could, but I won't" is its own kind of statement. But another part of me knows that's probably just me trying to feel better about denying myself something I want.
Ten years should mean something, I still think that. Just maybe not a USD 3,800 bag that makes Kering Group richer. Maybe I donate some of that money. Maybe I find a local craftsperson. Maybe I do nothing and just sit with the fact that I wanted something and chose not to get it, which is also fine?
The Andiamo is still beautiful. I'm not pretending I've suddenly stopped wanting it. I still save posts of it on Instagram like a creep. I probably always will want it a little bit. But there's a difference between wanting and buying, and right now the math ain't mathing, not the financial math, the moral math.
So my wardrobe still has few bags. None of them Bottega Veneta. One of them a slightly saggy Hermès dupe from Bali that makes me smile. And I guess that's just... how it is for now.
I don't have a neat conclusion here. I'm just not buying the bag. That's it. We'll see if I feel differently in a year, or if I find some ethical loophole my brain can live with, or if I just learn to be okay with wanting things I don't buy.
For now, not buying it is the only thing that doesn't make me feel gross. So that's what I'm doing.
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