About 30 years ago, I tried to write a Swiftian satire. Nothing heavy, my target was designer jeans, which had become popular even though they used cheaper, thinner material than old-fashioned Levis, but charged more than 3 or 4 times their price. Did I say popular? Stores couldn’t keep them in stock.
So I made up a designer product that I thought was the ultimate in absurdity – jeans that had been worn by real cowboys, complete with patches, rips, and stains – sold at four times the price of Levis.