Why Buy Classic Furniture Designs New When They Resell at 50%?

MY HUSBAND recently set up his home office in a separate, private building—formerly known as our garage—so he could Zoom loudly and with abandon.

As far as I knew, everything was going well until one day he appeared in the house during working hours.

“There’s something I’m afraid we are going to have to talk about,” he said somberly. “I’ve been dreading this conversation for a long time.”

I composed myself. And then he said: “I want a new desk chair.”

I was shocked. After all, we have been married more than 30 years, and for much of that time he was very happy with the beige upholstered armchair that used to be in our living room—even if it had let itself go a little after three kids and a succession of dogs and cats who took up residence on it.

“You always said you loved that chair,” I said.

“People change,” he said. “We grow, sometimes in mysterious ways. I want an Aeron chair—”

I gasped.

“—and it costs US$1,645.”

He had a specific configuration in mind. After visiting Design Within Reach (an authorised retailer of the moulded-plastic office chair by Herman Miller that transformed the aesthetic of ergonomic furniture when it debuted in 1994), he fell for a fully loaded model with adjustable back support, movable arms, tilt control and casters designed to glide effortlessly across carpet.

Was it worth US$1,645?

After all, plenty of preowned Aeron chairs are available with lower price tags, like many other iconic 20th-century furniture designs that remain in production decades after their introduction, including the Eames leather lounger, the Saarinen tulip table and the George Nelson marshmallow settee. Once-loved used and vintage models on the secondary market “usually are going to be 50% off the retail price,” said Noel Fahden Briceño, vice president of merchandising at online furnishings marketplace Chairish.

So why would anyone ever buy a new version of an original design?

“My friends ask me the same question,” said Ben Watson, president of Herman Miller. “Buy vintage if you’re a real student of design and have the knowledge to weed out knockoffs or scammers or something repaired poorly. But if you want to specify exactly the furniture you want—with a specific leather or fabric or veneer—buy a new one if your budget can afford it.”

Interior designers say that when buying furniture for clients, they choose between preowned and new on a case-by-case basis.

“I’m not a fan of vintage Eames chairs because I don’t like the way the tufting ages,” said Jessica Maros, an interior designer in Dallas. “But I’m obsessed with vintage Togo leather sofas designed by Michel Ducaroy for Ligne Roset. You can even throw red wine on that leather and somehow it just develops a patina that gets better and better.”

Of course, one buyer’s wine-soaked patina is another’s hygiene nightmare. “What many people don’t realize is that the patina develops from oils from the body on older aniline leathers. The color gets darker because you sit on the sofa,” said Simone Vingerhoets-Ziesmann, executive vice president of Ligne Roset USA, where new versions of Togo styles that debuted in the 1970s cost from $2,905 to $12,670, depending on size and fabric choice.

Wear and tear is usually worse on upholstered pieces than on categories such as lighting, coffee tables and artwork, which tend to age gracefully, said Shannon Eddings, an interior designer in Austin, Texas. “Most of our completed designs feature at least one vintage or antique item from those categories.”

“Why would I advise anyone not to buy the new ones?” Luca Fuso, chief executive of Italian furniture company Cassina, told me. I couldn’t tell if he was offended by the suggestion or just passionate about his inventory. “Because we manufacture the new ones, we have no reason whatsoever to recommend vintage items.”

Manufacturers say that in some cases production processes have improved in the decades since a design was introduced. “The finishings are lasting much longer, and the materials are more reliable,” said Mr. Fuso, of Cassina, which since 1965 has owned the rights to produce the iconic chrome-framed Le Corbusier armchairs introduced in 1928.

Given all the pros and cons, would my husband be happy with a preowned Aeron chair?

After all, the version he tested at Design Within Reach was a Remastered model introduced with great fanfare in 2016, with improved spinal support and more fully adjustable armrests.

“I need the spinal support,” he assured me.

“Fine,” I said. “But before we decide, let’s drive over to this office-furniture liquidator I found alongside the highway in Silicon Valley.”

An hour later, we were standing in Better Source, a warehouse in San Mateo, Calif., filled with rows of office cubicles, credenzas and conference-room chairs. The Aerons were lined up right by the entrance—dozens if not scores—like a vast army of spinal support. Three other prospective buyers were already sitting in the chairs—rocking back and forth in them, adjusting the tilt angle, testing the spinal support.

Prices ranged from $565 to $980.

“These chairs look new,” I said to salesman Bob Callaway while my husband started rolling around in one.

“Since the pandemic started, we’ve been getting a lot that companies ordered in 2019,” the salesman said. “In some cases, they are from offices where people still haven’t gone back to work.”

The work-from-home revolution has caused a glut of surplus office furniture. Where once Better Source would get 10 calls a week from potential sellers, “now we’re getting 10 a day,” Mr. Callaway said. “Sometimes, like, 400 chairs in one lot.” In fact, the building we were standing in is a fraction of the size of the main warehouse 25 miles away in Hayward, he said.

“Look at this,” my husband said excitedly. “Here’s one that looks just like the one at Design Within Reach.” Sure enough, it was a Remastered model. The cost: $980.

An hour later, the old beige armchair was back in the living room. The dogs were thrilled.

Vintage vs. From-the-Factory

The Eero Saarinen Dining Table, still in production by Knoll, was introduced in 1957. It costs $2,899 from Design Plus Consignment Gallery and US$4,027 new from Knoll.

The George Nelson Marshmallow Sofa, manufactured from 1956 to ‘61, was re-introduced as part of the Herman Miller Classics collection in the ‘80s and remains in production today. It sells for US$3,250 at resale site Social Objects and US$5,285 from Design Within Reach.

The 699 Superleggera chair by Gio Ponti with cane seat, in production for more than six decades, has a price tag of US$2,197.82 on Archiproducts; 1stDibs is asking US$1,725.55.

In our 20s, my new husband and I took a year off from our fledgling careers to travel in Southeast Asia. Equipped with paper maps, we began in China and improvised each day’s “itinerary” on the go. A gap year for grown-ups, I called it, although I scarcely qualified as one.

Nearly 40 years later, we are new retirees with the same wanderlust. We wondered: Could we recapture the thrill of winging it, enduring rough roads and cheap hotels?

We could and did, but for 2½ months instead of 12. We mapped out a route that would take us up Africa’s east coast and then—who knows where? Here’s how we rolled and five important lessons we learned on a 6,000-mile trip.

Kenya: Live large by day

Our first stop was the tiny, car-free island of Lamu, well-known for its high-profile visitors, from Kate Moss to the Obamas. This low-key getaway offered white-sand beaches, dhows — boats you can rent for day cruises and snorkelling — and lots of donkeys, the main mode of transport.

We considered the beachside Peponi Hotel in Shela, a hot spot since the 1960s (Mick Jagger bunked there). But room rates start at $250, far above our per-night budget of $70 or less. When contemplating almost 100 nights of travel, price matters.

So we chose a villa in the dunes called Amani Lamu, $61 per night for an en suite room with a private terrace and shared plunge pool.

We still had a cool Peponi moment come sunset: On the hotel’s whitewashed veranda, we sipped Pepotinis and plotted our next day’s interlude at the Majlis, Lamu’s fanciest resort (from $580).
With a $20 day pass, we could lounge around its pools and beach bars like proper resort habitués.

Lesson learned: Live like billionaires by day and frugal backpackers by night.
Must-go: Across the bay on Manda Island, bunk a night in a thatched-roof bungalow on stilts at Nyla’s Guest House and Kitchen (from $48 with breakfast).
After a dinner of doro wat, a spicy Ethiopian chicken stew and rice, the sound of waves will lull you asleep.

Egypt: Ask. Politely.

From Lamu, we flew to Aswan in Egypt. Our “plan”: Cruise down the Nile to Luxor, then take a train to Cairo, and venture to Giza’s pyramids.

Turns out it’s the kind of thing one really should book in advance. But at our Aswan hostel, the proprietor, who treated us like guests deserving white-glove service, secured a felucca, a vessel manned by a navigator and captain-cum-cook. Since we’d booked fewer than 24 hours in advance and there were no other takers, we were its sole passengers for the three-day trip.

One day, we stopped to tour ancient temples and visit a bustling camel fair, but otherwise, we remained on board watching the sunbaked desert slide by. We slept on futons on the deck under the stars. The cost: about $100 per night per person, including three meals.

Lesson learned: Ask for help. We found Egyptians kind and unfazed by our haplessness, especially when we greeted them respectfully with assalamu alaikum (“Peace to you”).
Must-go: For buys from carpets to kebabs, don’t miss Cairo’s massive Khan el-Khalili bazaar, in business since 1382. We loved the babouche, cute leather slippers, but resisted as our packs were full.

Turkey: Heed weather reports

Next stop Tunisia, via a cheap flight on EgyptAir. We loved Tunisia, but left after six days because the weather got chilly.

Fair enough, it was January. We hopped continents by plane and landed in Istanbul, where it snowed. Fortunately, two of Istanbul’s main pleasures involve hot water. We indulged in daily hammams, or Turkish baths, ranging from $30 to $60 for services that included, variously, a massage, a scrub-down and a soak.

Beneath soaring ceilings at the temple-like Kılıç Ali Paşa Halamı, brisk workers sternly wielded linen sacks to dowse my body in a cloud of hot foam.
In between visits to Ottoman-era mosques and the city’s spice markets, we staved off the chill by drinking fruity pomegranate tea and sampling Turkish delight and baklava at tea salons.

A favourite salon: Sekerci Cafer Erol in Kadıköy, a ferry-ride away on the “Asian” side of Istanbul, where the city adjoins Asia.

Lesson learned: Pay attention to the weather gods. We foolishly took the concept of travelling off-season too far.
Must-go: Don’t miss the Istanbul Modern, the Renzo Piano-designed art museum in the historic Beyoğlu district.

Cambodia: Chill out

After a long flight from Istanbul, we spent two weeks in Laos and then hopped another plane to Cambodia, specifically Koh Rong Sanloem, another car-free island.

Like vagabonds, we lolled by the warm, super-blue water of Sunset Beach, steps from our bungalow at Sleeping Trees (from $54 per night).
A caveat: You have to sweat to get to this island paradise. We took a bus, a ferry and then hiked for 40 minutes up and down a steep hill and through a jungle. You’ll find only a handful of “resorts”—simple bungalow complexes like ours. There’s nothing much to do. I’ll be back.

Lesson learned: Until our week in Cambodia, we’d been travelling too much and too fast, prioritising exploration over relaxation. This island taught us the pleasures of stasis.
Must-go: Spend one day in Cambodia’s capital city, Phnom Penh, to delve into its sobering history. Tour the Choeung Ek Genocidal Centre, site of a Killing Field, where nearly 9,000 Cambodians died.

Thailand: Be a frugal hedonist

We spent our last two weeks on the island of Ko Samui, where season three of “The White Lotus” was shot.

We went there for its astounding beauty, not the luxury resort experience that comes with too many boisterous lads on vacation, snake farms and traffic jams in town.

Truth be told, we flouted our budget rules to book an Airbnb with a pool (from $300) in the hills of Lipa Noi on the island’s quiet side. We joined the nearby Gravity Movement Gym to work out, but cooked our own meals to keep our final tabulation of expenses within reach.

Lesson learned: Pinching pennies feels restrictive, no matter how lush the surroundings. And it leads to bickering, as partners tally up who squandered how much on what.
With the end in sight, we splurged on the villa and even bought souvenirs, knowing we’d lug them for days, not weeks.
Must-go: Take the 30-minute ferry to sister island Ko Pha Ngan for its peace, love and yoga vibe and, once a month, full-moon parties.
Via Airbnb, we bunked at a Thai house called Baan Nuit, run by the Dear Phangan restaurant proprietors.

We sampled steamed dumplings, white fish in a Thai basil sauce and spicy noodles for a mere $15 apiece.
Hey, indulge in that “White Lotus” moment if you dare!