Annie Ernaux’s The Years documents the latter half of the twentieth century through collective memory. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize, the novel speaks in terms—not of I have—but rather we. What we, together, remember, hope for, desire. It is told as much through speech and sound as it is through objects: the physicality of photographs, LPs—things.

The story of the 20th century is the story not of people but of stuff. Of how this gained a new life, transcendent and glittering, that seemed almost more real and precious than that of the human. Not even in terms of consumerist desire, which, at the end of it, is not so different to that of past centuries: the want for fine things, for beauty. But in the fact that everything—time, love, meaning—takes on the hard, quantifiable aspect of a commodity. Of a thing.

The rumors of objects’ demise have been greatly overstated. Spotify hasn’t killed the CD any more than photography did painting. The dematerialized internet has become a global shop for filling our houses with impulse buys. The thing is the thing, still. Perhaps now more than ever.

For all the airs and graces of its adjective-fattened press releases, luxury obeys the same rules as the rest of the market, apes even the essentials of fashion. It comes down to this. How do you make folk want stuff they don’t need?

One way luxury differs is that it gets away with murder. Global inequality ensures high-end items remain recession-proof, with growth in the sector so obscene that LVMH owner Bernard Arnault declared shares in his company to be a luxury item. People want stuff, he seemed to affirm. They always will.

It’s worth noting, too, that Arnault’s statement already unwittingly demonstrates a paradigm shift. A share is not an object but an idea. Here, the thing—the bag, the piece of jewelry, the dress—has vanished. Having something becomes merely having. Luxury is no longer material. It is a state of mind.

But there is something else going on here.

The story of the 20th century is not, by any means, the story of the world. As in The Years, it is the story of Europe and, of course, the story of America. Of burger bars and trainers, of clipped sentences and bright, bright screens. The rest of the world repeats this narrative, but it is not ours.

The 21st century’s story, on the other hand, will be told by China.

As Capitalism with Chinese Characteristics becomes the economic base for the new dominant world narrative, its peculiar arrangement of the constellation between the individual, the object, and time will drastically reconfigure what we consider to be luxury—even what we consider to be a commodity.

This is what data coming out of China demonstrates: that the consumer is no longer interested in objects as much as ephemeral sensations. Atmosphere, ritual, nostalgia, even love. A desire for things that are not things. We see this in hotels, pop-ups, cafes.

French fashion brand Jacquemus partnered with Four Seasons to create a summer experience at The Ocean Club, its Bahamian resort. In China, Louis Vuitton launched the first resort activation of the year by partnering with Galaxy Macau on an exclusive pop-in and a poolside takeover from May this year. Dior followed this with one in Sanya, decking out pool sides in branded cushions and parasols. The Fila Hotel is earmarked to open in Shanghai in 2024. Gentle Monster’s latest outpost in China is more an art and lifestyle space than a retail mecca, with only 20 percent of the space dedicated to sales.

In fact, Mintel data has shown that 42 percent of Chinese consumers see luxury goods not as goods at all but rather “a form of self-enjoyment.” The significance of this should not be understated. Nearly half of the country’s market demand has switched from the objective to the subjective. Beauty is no longer within the eye of the beholder. It is the eye itself.

The same research shows that, even as an object, luxury no longer means what it once did. A Louis Vuitton handbag has, of course, always been about what the item means as much as any kind of aesthetic or material worth: the social status it confers, the image of carefree wealth it projects. Such dematerialized characteristics are still inalienably linked to capital, and as such remain a vital part of the bag as a thing.

But this, too, is now vastly reduced. Luxury’s function as “a symbol of status” is diminished while, Mintel notes, “spiritual enjoyment” remains valued. “Pleasure” and “self-enjoyment” have maintained their importance even as other parameters declined. The subjective has, it seems, overcome the objective.

The concept of luxury shaming is denting China’s love of flexing.

Mintel explains how “the industry is undergoing a shift in consumer perception; the happiness derived from luxury consumption is not only from the purchase of material goods. Traditional forms of luxury consumption (using luxury items, such as handbags, to display a superior lifestyle or social status) are no longer the only option. People are more inclined to pursue the expression of individuality and the relaxation of their mental state.”

What does this mean for the luxury industry? The report affirms that “brands must consider consumers’ individual expression and emotional experiences in their products and services, creating a more valuable experience in the consumption process.” It is a striking admission of the switching of places between the consumer and the commodity.

This doesn’t mean that objects have lost their importance. Let’s be clear: it is the relationship that has changed rather than any intensity of value. China’s consumers are by no means becoming ascetics, wearing sackcloth in empty rooms. In fact, the desire for objects is still just as pronounced—perhaps even greater. Research by Kantar illustrates discrepancies between the China and global markets whereby consumers are far more likely to buy luxury items, with 48% planning to spend more on luxury bags in 2024 compared to the global 36%. Like Mintel, Kanter argues that it is the nature of the desire that has transformed. Purchases have taken on the form of ritual.

The object—when connected to a meaningful subjective, even spiritual, experience—becomes even more powerful. The challenge for brands, then, is to move from the factories and workshops of the 20th century and from the exclusivity of the influencer lifestyle that marked the early 21st: to become, not shops, but homes, temples, intimates.

Perhaps the luxury brand of the year 2050 will be more like your favorite underground band. They will speak for you, to you. They will be a part of your deepest sense of self, your identity. Alongside the records and photos that mark the passage of time in Ernaux’s The Years, those whispers and cravings, the hidden parts of ourselves that we only vaguely recognize. Now distilled into our bags, necklaces, shoes.