Alo Yoga, the Los Angeles activewear label best known for its $120 leggings and Pilates-core lifestyle, has made its boldest leap yet: a collection of Italian-made handbags, priced between $1,200 and $3,600. The debut trio, available online and in select flagships, marks Alo’s first step into hard luxury. Ambitious? Certainly. Surprising? Hardly.
The brand has spent the last several years subtly shifting its image. Once synonymous with yoga studios and influencer-led Pilates flows, Alo has opened sleek flagships in Beverly Hills and Aspen, expanded into footwear and supplements, and styled itself less as a workout brand than as an aspirational lifestyle. A handbag line was less a pivot than an inevitability.
What’s telling is not Alo’s ambition, but that consumers created the conditions for it. We’ve already normalised $120 leggings as wardrobe staples. We’ve accepted Zara coats creeping towards $600. Gymshark can debut at Selfridges and call it premium athleisure without backlash. Brands only climb the price ladder when shoppers are willing to follow.
And the appetite is there. 65% of global consumers say they’ll pay more for quality or exclusivity. Among millennials, that figure rises to 80. Nearly half of all luxury fashion sales now come from “aspirational buyers”—those with middle incomes who save, stretch, or sacrifice to access prestige. Once you’ve rationalised Alo leggings as a wellness essential, a $3,000 handbag doesn’t feel like a splurge—it feels like the next step up.
But here lies the tension: who’s driving this escalation? Brands, for testing how far they can push? Or consumers, for rewarding every hike with their wallets? In truth, it’s both. Premiumisation isn’t a top-down strategy—it’s a feedback loop.
Consider Chanel. In 2019, a classic flap bag cost under $5,000. Today, it hovers near $10,000. The increases have been so aggressively yet sales continue to soar. That success sends a clear signal: if the product carries enough status, shoppers will endure almost any price. That success sends a clear message to the rest of the market: consumers will tolerate almost anything if the product carries the right status.
Mass-market brands are simply reading the room. If TikTok has normalised “come with me to get my first Birkin” videos, then a $3,000 yoga brand bag—seen on enough of the right shoulders—suddenly makes sense. Consumers are now conditioned to expect relentless price climbs, and many still line up to pay them.
The paradox is this: we say we want fashion to be democratic, but the items that generate the most hype are those just beyond reach. Stanley cups, Apple AirPods, $30 Erewhon smoothies—none are true necessities, yet all function as cultural currency. Scarcity, not accessibility, is what makes them irresistible.
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