[Reflection] #20: Offshore Craftsmanship: between authenticity and economic logic

I was recently asked why I didn’t want to act as a middleman between Vietnamese artisans and French consumers, offering custom products comparable to those from luxury brands. On the surface, the idea seems noble: highlighting Vietnamese craftsmanship, building a bridge between two cultures, and encouraging more humane trade. Yet, this proposal makes me deeply uncomfortable.

Looking closer, this approach still fits within the classic frameworks of consumerism : it’s still purchasing power and value for money that guide buying decisions. If craftsmanship itself were truly at the heart of the matter, consumers would choose to support local artisans—in France, for example (incidentally, the technical skill of French artisans in leather goods, shoemaking, and bookbinding is far more advanced)—by accepting higher prices. But it’s not authenticity or artisanal origin that drives the purchase; it’s the chance to get a unique, well-crafted item at a lower cost.

Talk of authenticity and savoir-faire is often just a seductive veneer hiding a pursuit of economic optimization. And that’s exactly what bothers me: craftsmanship is brought in to fuel an unchanged market logic, without questioning power dynamics or underlying commercial trends. The consumer, for their part, hopes for a quality, personalized product worthy of luxury—but at Sandro prices.

You see the same logic in the made-to-measure system in tailoring. A seller based in France (who doesn’t even know how to sew) takes the client’s measurements, offers advice, picks fabrics, and personalizes options—but the manufacturing is then fully outsourced, often to Eastern Europe, sometimes even to China. This model is pitched as a compromise between craftsmanship, personalization, and affordability. Yet here again, the core of the craft—the sewing, assembly, and finishing—happens at the other end of the chain, under completely unknown conditions. The perceived value rests on local service and the image of bespoke, while the artisanal touch remains invisible.

Add to that another very concrete dimension: for me to actually make a living from this project, I’d need to pay myself at least the French minimum wage, which is about €11.65 gross per hour, excluding taxes and VAT. Let’s take an example: say an artisan sets the price of a custom bag at €200, and I only put in 5 hours of work (which is very little compared to what I usually spend on my own creations). My gross pay would then be €58, which is nearly €70 including tax to add to the bag’s price. The result: for me to earn at least minimum wage, the bag would need to sell for at least €270, without even factoring in logistics, delivery, or unexpected costs.

And yet, the artisan likely spent more hours on that bag than I did—for far lower pay. This imbalance deeply bothers me. Why should my role, peripheral to the making, be paid better than the manual, meticulous, often invisible work of the artisan? It reproduces a too-familiar pattern: the intermediary based in Europe captures most of the value, all while claiming to support fair trade and respect for artisanal labor.

This paradox is even more glaring when I suggest consumers order directly from the Vietnamese artisans I work with in full confidence, without any commission on my part—they almost always refuse. Too complicated, they say. Too much effort. And this despite effective translation tools and how easy online exchanges are. The consumer wants an ethical, personalized, affordable product—but without getting their hands dirty. Everything must be served up hassle-free.

That’s precisely the logic that holds me back and makes me not want to invest in this line of work. For my part, I’m instead trying to give my Vietnamese artisans marketing tools and visibility so they can find their own European clients and support them through custom projects. You’ll find a list of my favorite artisans here (Vietnamese and European alike).