Seven thousand dollar Signs

A really good friend called me yesterday to brainstorm business ideas. He’s 47, thinking about moving back in with his parents in Homestead to reboot his life. I’ll keep his reasons private, but our conversation has been bouncing around in my head ever since.

He sent me samples by stablished providers of the products he wants to make—custom wooden signs, hand‑crafted in “’Merica” with top‑tier customer service. The craftsmanship looked immaculate, but the prices stopped me cold. Seven thousand dollars for a single sign?

I kept reading: “ultimate quality,” “heirloom‑grade,” “limited edition.” All true, but where does the extra six‑thousand‑nine‑hundred come from?

My father once told me, “Price has something to do with cost… but only something.” At the time, that cryptic line felt like an odd footnote. Now I see it points to an ugly wart on modern society’s face: we pay not just for materials and labor, but for status.

A quick tangent:

Back in 2010, the iPhone was the ultimate status symbol. Its price towered over every other smartphone, yet everyone with a job chased it—proof they’d “made it.” On the brand‑new App Store, someone even sold a single diamond icon for $1,000. It did nothing. It was literally just a sparkle on your home screen, so strangers would know you could afford a $1,000 icon.

That memory came rushing back as Manuel (my friend) sent more product links. Finally I blurted out the obvious: artisans often “make up” prices to sell reputation, bragging rights, and that coveted “cork‑sniffer” approval. You’re not just buying wood—you’re buying the story that you can.

I told Manuel what I really thought. I work with my hands—I know how long it takes to build stuff. Even a complex wooden sign can be finished in two solid days—let’s say ten hours. Material cost? Maybe $100 in lumber, stain, hardware. So at $7,000, that’s $690 an hour—more than O.J. Simpson’s defense lawyers charged per hour back in the day. Greedy, in my book.

Still, I confessed to Manuel (and to you) that everyone’s free to price however they like. If your heart’s in it, charge what feels right. I just couldn’t do it myself—it’d feel like selling timeshares to retirees. I’d rather sleep with a clean conscience.

Manuel admitted he wouldn’t charge seven grand either. He wants fairness and balance. But then it hit me: we occupy a strange middle ground where we’re too expensive for ordinary buyers—who’ll choose cheaper, mass‑produced signs from China—yet not expensive enough to serve as elite status symbols. We’re effectively invisible.

I fear I didn’t help Manuel much. That wasn’t my intention—I wanted to fan his sails, not block the wind. But this puzzle remains unsolved. Perhaps it’s just another symptom of what people call late‑stage capitalism: a world where price often reflects prestige more than cost or craft.

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