About scarcity, perceived value & the secret benefits of love
It’s simple to sell something you love.
Maybe not to let go of it. But finding the selling point is pretty straightforward:
You just take all your emotions concerning the object and put them on paper.
Easy-peasy.
This was my experience firsthand when I recently sold my favorite vintage guitar — a 1966 Fender Jazzmaster.
It had served me faithfully when I still fancied myself a musician, but in later years been reduced to a nostalgic piece of wall decoration… sentimentally dear but much more valuable in actual money.
One night, after a few beers in good company, I was inspired to sit down and write an advert for it.
It was like writing a review for a former lover — but without the bitterness of a broken heart. What made this relationship unique and magical? And how could the magic translate to interested buyers?
I quite liked how the copy came out (at least enough to write this blog post about it).
And I’m only rarely allowed to write about the work I do for clients — but in this case, I’m my own client and can do whatever I want!
So, here’s how I sold an old guitar, and why love is the answer.
My Friend the Convert
There’s a suggestion in almost every copywriting book I’ve read, from David Ogilvy to Luke Sullivan to Joseph Sugarman:
Write your copy as if you are writing a letter to a friend. Once finished, simply remove “Dear friend” and you will have a piece of persuasive long copy.
The night I decided to sell the guitar, I had gone out for drinks with an old college buddy and former colleague. In the 20 years I had known him, he had been a true punk-rocker with a hardcore DIY ethos and an admirably idealistic outlook. Which was why I was surprised by his reaction when I told him I was considering parting with the instrument:
“No, Troels! Don’t you dare! It’s too dear!”
It was weird.
When I bought the guitar a decade earlier, his reaction had been the contrarian opposite:
“No, Troels! Why spend all that money? It’s empty snobbery! Surely a €5000 guitar isn’t 10 times better than its €500 equivalent.”
And to be fair, he was right back then: an old and rare collectible will not produce a single note that sounds multiple times “better” than a brand-new factory-made model.
So why bother?
10 years earlier, I couldn’t give him a meaningful answer. Maybe I talked about “aura” or “magic”… which only makes sense to believers. With skeptics, you have to demonstrate the magic. And even then, it’s an awful lot of money to spend on something that doesn’t turn lead into gold… or bad guitarists like myself into good ones.
However, my friend had become a believer without me knowing. He had borrowed his brother-in-law’s old Fender Jaguar, experienced the magic firsthand, and converted. Gone was the guy who had championed the ideology of “budget rock” and in his place was someone who offered no better reasons than my own:
“I dunno, Troels. There’s a kind of magic in it.”
Confused and amused, I returned home with a clear mission for my guitar ad: I wanted to prove to the younger, skeptical version of my friend why the magic of vintage is real.
Here’s what I wrote (translated from Danish):
Two scientifically good reasons to buy a vintage guitar
1: Scarcity + originality = Increased value over time
2: Magic
The magic isn’t in the tone from back when the world still had plenty of Brazilian rosewood. Or back when the pickups still roared like the lion Leo Fender himself. The tone is amazing but the magic is somewhere else.
And it’s not in the fact that your vintage guitar is entirely unique, and sounds and feels like nothing else — including your buddy’s axe of the same year and model. You can forever discuss which is better (spoiler: yours) but it’s not the magic.
The magic of vintage is conjured because you get a costly lover with a mysterious past.
An alluring stranger at a bar in Monaco.
What stages did she conquer, what stories can she tell?
It’s not playwear.
It’s a glamorous femme fatale with a scar on her cheek.
What roads did she travel, and where will she take you?
You are drawn by the beautiful instrument because you want to explore and possess it. Because you desire it…
And that’s the magic:
The fanciful illusion that’ll trick, cheat and fool you into playing more.
Magic is the deceptive fantasy that makes you turn off Netflix and ignore your phone to explore the tone.
It’s the clever mirage that makes you play 20% more — so you have a 20% better chance of writing the riff that will start the song that changes everything.
20% increased hit potential + exclusive musical love affair?
That’s mathematically magical…
And almost makes the sensible investment in vintage seem like a minor bonus.
Magic isn’t rocket science.
Find it in an old guitar.
Flashback: My favorite guitar through my second-favorite amp
Scarcity: Magic & Science
Admittedly, I enjoyed writing the ad because… when do you get to write creative long copy these days?
But hopefully, I managed to break down the magic for non-believers without spoiling the fun for the vintage faithful.
Instead, I’ll spoil it here:
Scarcity is one of the most important psychological levers in advertising.
A 2012 experiment from McGill University found that purchase intent was rated 37% higher when an item came with a scarcity message (“Exclusive limited edition. Hurry, limited stocks”) rather than a plentiful message (“New edition. Many items in stock”).
Perceived scarcity is an instantly powerful trigger that can prompt the instinctive brain to desire something.
Actual rarity, on the other hand, can use the same trick of the primitive mind to improve the overall perception and user experience over time.
Collectors already know the tangible value of vintage instruments.
But logical economics doesn’t explain the psychological alchemy of vintage.
From the Jazzmaster launch in 1958.
Costly goods and luxury items have the inherent benefit of letting consumers nerd out in great detail — because they are allowed to trust that great detail has been put into the product by its creator.
Paying a premium for something is itself a sacrifice that gives the object more symbolic value. A ridiculously expensive stereo with gold wiring may not sound better than a moderately priced alternative — but it can turn the table underneath it into a shrine. The experience around the object is improved because the intangible value is made manifest by the sacrifice.
Bluntly speaking, your faith is forced because you paid a stupid amount of resources. Psychological consistency makes it hard to go back on costly decisions. And in turn, forces a perspective to justify those decisions. That’s how the ridiculously expensive stereo becomes the centerpiece of the nerd cave — and why expensive vintage instruments hold more magic than cheaper ones.
History is a sentimental tool to invoke a shared narrative that can mean more or less whatever. But it’s also a reminder of exclusivity over time. Somewhere between history, scarcity and costliness is genuine vintage magic.
When I wrote my guitar ad, I wanted to reveal the trick without ruining it. Kinda like Derren Brown in the video above. Explaining the magic without breaking the illusion.
Understanding consumer behavior is valuable, and the power of scarcity can not be underestimated.
But if truth in advertising matters, this is the consequence:
Scarcity must be meaningful — full of meaning — to be truly valuable.
Behavioral psychology can easily manipulate basic desires in the monkey mind… but it takes empathy, insight, and care to make the perceived value last.
In that regard, it really is simple to sell something you love.
If only you love what you sell.
