Women thrive on novelty and are easy meat for the commerce of

The words of Anthony Burgess, “Women thrive on novelty and are easy meat for the commerce of fashion. Men prefer old pipes and torn jackets,” reveal not only his wit, but also his keen eye for the eternal dance between change and constancy in human nature. Beneath their humorous surface lies a meditation on the different ways men and women, or indeed all people, relate to desire, comfort, and identity. Burgess, the author of A Clockwork Orange, was no stranger to exploring the contradictions of the human spirit—how we are drawn both to tradition and to transformation. In this quote, he playfully contrasts the restless appetite for novelty with the tranquil satisfaction of familiarity, suggesting that within each of us lies this duality, though it manifests differently across lives and temperaments.

When Burgess says that “women thrive on novelty,” he is not merely speaking of fashion, but of the creative impulse that seeks renewal. To thrive on novelty is to hunger for what is fresh, to chase the shimmer of the new horizon. It is the spirit that drives invention, art, and adaptation—the force that keeps the world alive and moving. Yet Burgess warns that this same impulse, when left untamed, becomes vulnerable to manipulation. The “commerce of fashion” does not merely sell clothing—it sells identity, feeding on insecurity and the endless promise of transformation. Thus, he exposes a deeper truth about society: that the craving for renewal, when misdirected, becomes a tool of control. The new thing is never enough; the next thing is already waiting.

In contrast, Burgess’s “men prefer old pipes and torn jackets” stands as a symbol of comfort in continuity. The pipe, worn smooth by years of use, represents stability, memory, and affection for the familiar. The torn jacket, though frayed, holds the scent of experience. Men, in his view, cling to the things that bear their history, that tell the story of who they are. It is a portrait of the soul at rest, content not with perfection but with authenticity. Yet here too lies a subtle warning: the same loyalty to the familiar that brings peace can also breed stagnation. Just as women may be consumed by the pursuit of change, men may be trapped by their devotion to the past.

To understand Burgess’s reflection, we must see it not as a commentary on gender alone, but as a parable of balance. Humanity advances through novelty but finds meaning in continuity. The world needs both—the restless dreamer and the steadfast craftsman, the one who imagines and the one who preserves. In ancient Greece, this duality was embodied by the goddesses Aphrodite and Hestia—one ruling desire and beauty, the other guarding the hearth. Civilization, the ancients believed, required both fire and flame: the passion for change and the peace of home. Burgess, in his modern way, echoes this wisdom: that neither novelty nor tradition alone can sustain us.

History itself bears witness to this eternal truth. Consider the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, who combined both impulses in harmony. She adorned herself in the grandeur of fashion and spectacle, yet ruled with caution and steadiness of purpose. Her court was filled with color and music, but her mind was as disciplined as steel. In her, novelty and endurance became allies, not enemies. She understood that the beauty of appearance could serve the power of stability—that the new, when guided by wisdom, could strengthen the old. Such figures stand as reminders that mastery in life is not found in choosing one side of the duality, but in holding both within the same heart.

Burgess’s words also invite reflection on the spiritual cost of consumerism. To be “easy meat for the commerce of fashion” is to forget one’s essence—to let the world dictate what is beautiful, valuable, or necessary. In every era, the merchants of vanity whisper the same promise: that the next possession will finally bring fulfillment. Yet the wise know that peace lies not in abundance, but in understanding oneself. The man with his old jacket is content because he sees value not in appearance, but in memory. The woman who learns to seek novelty not in objects, but in ideas—in art, kindness, and experience—transcends the trap Burgess warns of.

So let this teaching be passed down: cherish both the old and the new, but let neither rule you. The novelty of life should awaken wonder, not emptiness; the comfort of habit should bring peace, not dullness. To thrive is to renew oneself without forgetting one’s roots, to walk forward without despising the road behind. As Anthony Burgess reminds us, the human heart is caught between fashion and faith, change and constancy. Wisdom lies in knowing when to let go and when to hold fast. For in that delicate balance—between the torn jacket and the new garment, between the old pipe and the spark of invention—life finds its enduring grace.