Participants in a 12-step programme generally identify a point of no return where things have become so bad that they must seek help. That moment should have come when I accidentally bought the emerald ring. Yet nothing seems to temper my addiction to online auctions.
As a woman who likes the occasional flutter, it’s easy to get carried away during the actual bidding
For the blissfully unafflicted, the-saleroom.com is a site that lists hundreds of thousands of lots, up at auction at houses all over the UK and Ireland. In other words, anyone can engage in online bidding wars without having to jump in the car and drive to a draughty warehouse. Only Sotheby’s and Christie’s seem not to list on the site, presumably because they consider themselves too high-brow, which is just as well (my kingdom for Princess Diana’s sheep jumper, currently up for sale at Sotheby’s).
The website is full of quite amazing bargains; everything appears to be a steal, everything a glorious treasure that will elevate your personal style and impress your friends. There are so many charming objects. It turns out, I need a signed Norman Hartnell sketch just as much as I need an almost complete dinner service set from the 1930s.
What’s even worse for the addict is that new lots are added all the time. I recently received a very friendly, personalised email from glamorous Eastbourne encouraging me to peruse yet more gemstones. The good people at the auction houses kindly place their wares within your grasp and allow you to filter estimates from low to high. This is a particularly dangerous feature. Only recently have I begun to suspect that their motives may not be totally honourable and that these low prices are designed to lure you in. Nothing ever goes for the suggestively low estimates.
It’s not just me who has benefitted from this passion. I bought my long-suffering mother a sofa as a gift. I then persuaded my uncle to haul it across three counties as a surprise, only to receive the feedback that although yes, the size and shape are very good but that the condition of the upholstery is such that it must be covered with a rug and cannot be shown to visitors. ‘I think, darling, in future, you have to view it in person.’
As a woman who likes the occasional flutter, it’s easy to get carried away during the actual bidding. I’m not sure whether the anonymity of the site abets this or, if I saw an enemy bidder in the room, I’d bet my life earnings to try to defeat them. Either way, as the suspense mounts, all stern talking-tos about sticking to budgets invariably go out the reclaimed 18th-century sash window. This isn’t a hobby. This isn’t shopping. This is a battle to the death with some scoundrel who wants the pair of reproduction prints that I have already decided are mine. It is time-consuming, it plays on your nerves and it almost always ends in disappointment. Even I can see that the mink coats listed for a tenner on the Saleroom are probably too good to be true.
Auction houses are notorious for slapping a ‘buyer’s premium’ on the hammer price. You can quite often find yourself being asked to cough up an additional 35 per cent on top of what you’re already paying for the lot you’ve won. And that’s not to mention the shipping. Those hoping to get something packaged up and sent halfway across the country find themselves at the mercy of some anonymous regional auctioneer, keen to make an extra buck on the courier fees.
Most people would concede that you don’t need a lot of money to have good taste. Indeed, you can be like me and have wonderful taste and no money. But the real trick of these auction sites is to lull you into the belief that you can replicate expensive taste for less than four figures. Sure, the furniture is the same price as Ikea, but for all you lose in originality, an Askvoll bed won’t arrive riddled with woodworm. Almost all of my auction excursions have ended in remorse. Although, as I look down at my fingers as I type this, I can’t help but think that I might need just one more emerald ring.
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