Because if you’re going to do anything other than put it in a safe place and resell it in a few months for double the original price, you are wasting your money.
It’s not just the price that seems to have been set by Martin Shkreli, though it makes little sense that interlocking bits of plastic should cost more than a smartphone.
Siri can answer thousands of questions. An $800 Star Wars model can only answer one: “Hey LEGO, did I just make a terrible financial decision?”
This comes from a guy who freely admits a history of awkward LEGO purchases.
My latest was the Disney Castle, a 4,080-piece model that retailed for a hard-to-justify $350. It joined my LEGO French restaurant and Simpson’s LEGO Quik-E-Mart in a shrine to selfish, ill-advised buys.
The sets were ordered without any thought to their fragility. I knocked off one of the castle turrets while vacuuming. A staircase gave way when I fumbled the French restaurant while attempting to dust it. The Quik-E-Mart lacks several shelves as well as a functioning Dumpster, thanks to shoddy construction.
When it comes time to move, I fear each model will return to its natural state as a pile of stunningly overpriced plastic.
Let’s apply these lessons to the $799.99, 7,541-piece Millennium Falcon, once it is constructed over a period of days, weeks or months, depending on your obsessiveness.
Are there young children in your house? A LEGO starship is a kid magnet, one cradled by tiny hands attached to a clumsy body. Bits of wreckage will be sucked up by the vacuum for months.
Adults are capable of inadvertent damage as well, since LEGOS are as brittle as Darth Vader’s humility. Repairs are complicated, even if you kept the instructions. After a few months of haphazard treatment, your Millennium Falcon will resemble a cubist sculpture.
Then again, you can approach it like a LEGO Master Builder. These Yodas of the Locking Brick rely on adhesives as they build. It’s like completing a Sudoku puzzle on a stone tablet using hammer and chisel.
I’ve seen LEGO empires rise and fall. Each year, my son received sets for birthdays and Christmases. There were cars and ships and various military vehicles. Star Wars was well represented.
And when he moved out, he left behind a large plastic tub filled with interconnecting blocks of various shapes and colors, destined for a spot on Goodwill’s shelves. It was expected, part of the circle of LEGO life.
But $800? That’s taking plastic bricks to the dark side.