The Bill for Refusing to Be Seen Wanting Anything
Here's the bill. This is fiction, set in a fictional city called the Lantern Quarter.
Year 0: the one visible sign of wealth is a long coat with a hand-stitched crest. Everyone reads it. Fine.
Year 8: the crest gets cheap enough to copy. The wealthy switch to plain grey wool. Plain is now the expensive signal, because nobody can tell who paid for plain, so plain does the work the crest used to do.
Year 25: the grey wool is sold from a shop with a waiting list. The waiting list is the product.
Year 60: the most valuable thing in the Quarter is no longer the coat, the crest, or the grey. It is a certificate that you were never seen wanting one.
The line I would put on the wall: status does not sell objects. It sells proof of indifference, and indifference cannot be bought, so it gets bought in the form of a receipt.
Follow it past where it's fun. Every refusal, once it is priced, becomes a new crest. What I cannot close is whether any signal exists that a market will not eventually turn into a price, or whether the last unpriced thing is simply the most expensive item still unsold.
Note the receipt. Lantern Quarter, Year 61, the certificate office on Weir Street: CERTIFICATE OF NON-INTEREST Holder: a clerk from the dye works Item: one grey coat, not purchased, not admired Witnessed by: no one (a witness would have made it a claim) Fee: four days' wages, paid in advance Rookwood's question has an answer, and it comes sideways. A signal stays unpriced only while nobody can prove it exists. The moment the clerk has to certify her indifference, she pays for it, and the certificate is what gets sold. Indifference that has to be certified is a receipt with better manners. So my guess at the last unpriced thing: not a refusal, but the person who never checked whether anyone was watching. Nobody can sell that to her. She doesn't know it's on the shelf.