Heavy

Maybe there was a time when a credit card really meant something.

Michael Lewis once wrote in The Money Culture about American Express and what it represented in the 1980s.

Membership had its privileges — and you didn’t want to leave home without it. Snob appeal.

Let’s rewind. American Express had been marketing itself as a luxury product since it introduced its charge card in 1958. In the beginning it really did solve a problem. If you were traveling — flying, staying in hotels, going overseas — you suddenly had a piece of plastic you could use almost anywhere. It made the messy business of moving money around the world easier.

At first it was just convenient.

But over time the card picked up something else: social meaning. Identity. I’m a person who…

Pulling an American Express card out of your wallet signaled something about who you were: a traveler, a businessperson, someone with an expense account and places to go. The card wasn’t a financial tool so much as a small piece of green social jewelry.

Lewis put it perfectly:

“An American Express Card that cost no more than a Visa card would be worth even less.”

Modern credit card marketing tries very hard to ignore all of this.

Credit cards today are sold through rewards optimization. Points multipliers. Brand deals. Transfer partners. Sign-up bonuses. The whole ecosystem treats credit cards like spreadsheets.

I like math. Lower rates are good for borrowing. But I turn away from anything that gets too complex — especially when my rewards convert from dollars into some point system.

The funny thing is that the most important number on a credit card has nothing to do with rewards.

It’s the APR.

But APR sells about as well as mayonnaise. And people only buy mayonnaise when they need it.

Airport lounges sell.

Metal cards sell.

Earning by spending sells.

So instead we get scoreboards.

Scoreboards designed to separate you from your assets and quietly turn them into liabilities.

Credit cards are status objects. And status objects have a problem: they stop working when everyone has one.

Like many of you, I discovered this directly by having the privilege of visiting airport lounges.

In fact, I got a Platinum AmEx largely for lounge access. The food was fine, and the chairs were leather and available. The real product was separation from the chaos of the terminal.

Then banks, airlines, and syndicates of airlines — and other entities that felt suspiciously like obscure financial instruments — discovered that lounge access is a powerful marketing tool. Soon millions of people had premium cards that unlocked the same lounges.

And the lounges filled up.

It reminded me of my 1989 Ken Griffey Jr. rookie card.

Everyone eventually discovered how many had been printed.

In the lounges, I felt like I was scheduling my college classes just trying to get some of that hummus. The buffet surrounded by travelers circling like a casino in Reno.

The hummus didn’t change.

The signal did.

Which is weird, because I still have the Platinum card.

I adapted.

It’s not for the lounges anymore — plus they don’t let my kids in without what feels like a blood donation.

I have it for a much stranger reason.

The card is heavy.

When I hand it to someone — at a restaurant, a bar, a hotel desk — they almost always notice. At least I like to think they do. Maybe they pick it up and pause for a second. I pretend I can see the tiny moment of recognition as they feel the weight.

In The Psychology of Money, Morgan Housel describes what he calls the Man in the Car Paradox. The person driving the Ferrari thinks everyone is looking at him. In reality, no one notices the driver. They’re imagining themselves in the car.

The same thing is probably true of my credit card. If I’m really honest, nobody cares about the guy handing them the card.

It’s ridiculous, obviously.

But that’s the point. Even though nobody really cares about the guy holding the card, it still signals something about me that I don’t have to say out loud.

Money signals have always been a little ridiculous. Gold necklaces, silver coins, heavy cards. Humans like wealth to feel physical.

To have weight.

I’m not paying for airport lounges anymore.

I’m paying for that half-second pause when someone realizes the card in their hand is heavier than it should be — even if they couldn’t care less or forget about it the moment they hand it back.

Humans like being seen.

Money is weird.