The belt was stiff, thick, and smelled like real leather should. Not the overly-processed, factory-tanned stuff you find in designer boutiques. This was the kind of leather that still had life in it. You could see the imperfections, the tiny scars from whatever steer had once worn it. It wasn’t polished, wasn’t sleek, and wasn’t “elegant,” as the shop owner put it.
I was in Chacabuco, a small town in Argentina’s countryside, a few hours from Buenos Aires. I had come for a wedding, and, as usual, had forgotten something—a belt this time.
The woman at the shop apologized. “I’m sorry, we only have rural leather. Nothing luxurious.”
She said it with a tinge of regret, as if she assumed I wanted something stitched with gold thread and embossed with a logo. But the belt was perfect.
Handmade, solid, built to last.
It made me wonder—when did we start apologizing for things that are real?
The Illusion of Luxury
Luxury is a funny thing. People chase it, spend fortunes on it, try to surround themselves with it. But so much of what is sold as “luxury” today is just marketing dressed up in fine leather and good lighting.
Someone gifted me a pair of expensive jeans recently. Really expensive. The kind you’d find in some boutique in Paris or New York, stacked neatly on minimalist wooden shelves. The denim was fantastic, the fit precise. But do you know what they didn’t think about?
The leather tag on the back.
It started shrinking, like a slug in salt. Pulling the fabric, warping the shape. I had to undo the stitches just to make the damn things wearable.
That’s the problem with modern luxury. They charge for the illusion, not the execution. Somewhere along the way, it became less about craftsmanship and more about perception. A game of signaling rather than substance.
And now? Has the market finally caught on?
The Value That Never Leaves
Right now, luxury sales are dropping. People are realizing that their closets are full, but their wallets are empty. Maybe they bought too many handbags. Maybe they bought too many $300 T-shirts that fell apart after a season.
The luxury market is feeling it—profit margins are slipping, with top brands seeing earnings fall to 18%-19%, down from 21% just a couple of years ago.
People aren’t necessarily spending less. They’re just spending differently.
Experiences over excess. A well-chosen meal over another logo.
In Buenos Aires, you see the same story. Prices are creeping up toward New York levels, but the quality? It’s not always there. You pay a premium for a meal that was better when it cost half as much.
But the things that last still hold their value.
The restaurants that don’t cut corners. The theaters with history in their walls. The vineyards in the mountains, where the winemakers still wake up before dawn to walk the vines. They are still there—and people return to them after spending too long living in a nimbus of shrimp foam and liquid nitrogen ice cream.
You wonder—do they know something I don’t? Or are they missing something I still see?
Paris, New York, Buenos Aires—no matter how many cycles of booms and busts they go through, the architecture, the culture, the gastronomy—they don’t vanish. They just wait for the ones who appreciate them to come back.
And Chacabuco? Same story.
Some storefronts were empty. Some old buildings needed repair. The town had seen better days, sure. But the coffee shops? Packed. The plaza? Lively. The land? Still rich with grain.
The economy shifts. The people who chase trends leave. But the things that matter? They stay.
That night, at the wedding in Chacabuco, the table stretched long under the warm glow of hanging lights. Plates of grilled meats, fresh bread, bottles of wine passed between hands. It was the kind of table where conversations stretched deep into the night, where glasses were never empty, where time slowed just enough to remind you what matters.
My belt did its job. It held my pants up. And as long as I don’t let too many good meals get the better of me, it’ll be with me for years.
Some things stay with you—a well-made belt, a great meal, a night spent at a long table with good friends.
I hope the wines from our latest Argentine collection do the same. That they’re not just bottles, but part of something bigger—a moment, a memory, something worth savoring.
Some of you have already started sharing your photos—pairings, tables filled with food and wine, moments worth holding onto. In the end, that’s where wine belongs—at a long table, surrounded by people who know how to enjoy it.
And yet—these bottles don’t carry a three-figure price tag. They’re underpriced for what they are.
Because real value isn’t about cost. It’s about what lasts.
If you’ve already received your bottles, I’d love to see what you’re pairing them with. Send your photos my way.
Until next time,
Diego
