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Why eBay Means the World’s Going to Hell
By Mark Gardiner
Photos by CJ

A friend told me that he went to a swap meet a few months ago, where he saw a tach for his ‘60s-era Ducati AHRMA racer. He offered the seller a fair price, but was told “No way, one of these went for $900 on eBay last month.” And that, in a nutshell, is proof the world’s going to hell.

People used to buy and sell stuff face-to-face. Without delving into even freshman-level microeconomics, the value of any piece of stuff was what someone nearby was willing to pay for it. That kept prices low, but limited those searching for obscure stuff—like ‘60s-era mechanical tachometers—to their immediate vicinity.

In principle, eBay created a worldwide marketplace for stuff, so that a guy looking for that tach—or a whole Ducati single to mount it on, for that matter—no longer had to wait for one to show up at his regional swap meet. That would have been good. Except.

Except, the price for a piece of stuff on eBay is one dollar more than the amount the second-craziest eBayot anywhere on earth is willing to bid. Hence, “One of these went for $900 on eBay last month.” A pricing strategy that prompted my friend to retort, “Why don’t we hold an auction right here, right now, which would be the surest way of determining its value here?” (And eBayots aren’t just trading in vintage stuff; I have another friend who has rebuilt several crashed street bikes as track hacks. He gets lots of deals on eBay but warns, “You’d be amazed how much stuff is bid up to prices higher than retail.”)

But the fact is, when stuff “goes” for an inflated price on eBay, it often never actually went at all. First, there’s the whole “phantom bidder” phenomenon. At a real auction, you can be reasonably sure that you’re not bidding against the seller in disguise. And you’re probably not bidding against one of his friends who has no intention of actually buying whatever bit of stuff you fancy. That happens all the time on eBay, when phantom bidders miscalculate and actually “win”, lurking eBayots everywhere assume that bogus transaction has set the new standard for stuff pricing.

Then, there’s the fact that many times when someone overbids for a piece of stuff on eBay, they realize their irrational exuberance the next morning and simply ignore a series of increasingly frustrated emails from would be part-out millionaires. Another landmark transaction never actually takes place.

Oh, that’s not all that’s wrong with it, either. The fact is, a few digital photos and a loving description—even descriptions written with no intent to deceive—are often very deceptive. After scanning eBay offerings, you’d think that a mid-‘70s Honda XL250 was “worth” about $2,000. Some have “gone” for three. Now, a showroom version of one of those bikes—a true zero-miler—probably is worth three grand to some fanatic. But values plummet with even low miles. Sellers of legit low-milers—say, 100 miles per year or less—think, “No XL 250 is nicer than mine,” but they’re wrong. At the upper end of the price range for stuff, condition is everything. Condition that only an independent expert can be expected to ascertain. This is what real auctions are good for, and eBay sucks at.

The net effect of all this as that at swap meets everywhere, guys who would have turned over their inventory are now sitting on it, waiting to physically encounter the kind of eBayot who’ll fork over $900 for their particular piece of stuff because “that’s what one went for on eBay.” Sellers would’ve left with (admittedly less) cash in their pockets; buyers would have left with the last piece of stuff needed to put their pet project on the track… instead both leave frustrated.

“That Luddite,” you’re thinking now. “eBay is a godsend.” After all, without eBay, what would we do at work? There’s only so much time you can spend on myspace, match.com, or even roadracerx.com. You think I’m slamming eBay without ever having tried it. But I have tried it. In fact, thanks to eBay, I bought a motorcycle by accident.

You see, while I was forming my why-eBay-means-the-world’s-going-to-hell theory I knew that in the interests of journalistic integrity, I had to try it. I searched eBay for bikes within 200 miles of my house and placed a bid on a nice-looking, funky, complete (claimed), running (claimed) 1973 Suzuki TC125. A perfect pit bike or latte-getter. Five hours to go, and $500 top bid. Reserve met.

Playing amateur psychologist/riverboat gambler, I put in a bid of $802.

The next morning, I had a “You’re the lucky wiener” email from eBay, as well as a note from some guy saying, “You beat me by $2. If you don’t want it, please contact me.”

I didn’t think I’d actually win the auction. I didn’t have $802. What I did have was a rush of buyer’s remorse. Did they even have a title for it? I went back and looked at the photos again. It looked complete, but I’m mechanically inept; I wouldn’t know what to look for in the metal, to say nothing of pixels.

I had an immediate vision of backing out of the purchase, then being slandered on the internet for years, badmouthed in chat rooms I didn’t even know existed. I seriously thought about giving the seller the second bidder’s email address and two bucks to make up the difference.

Instead, I screwed up my courage and went to look at the bike. Riding up alone, I foresaw hulking, tattooed hillbillies. With my mind’s leg, I felt a kickstarter swishing through empty cases. Clem and Cletus, I knew, would follow me to the ATM, then beat me senseless if I couldn’t fork over the full eight C, plus deuce. Rape was a given.

The seller was, in fact, the spitting image of the comic book guy on The Simpsons (but without the attitude). He lived with his mom. In fact, the title was in her name. The bike was pretty much as advertised and though it wouldn’t fire when I kicked it, I could hear that it wanted to start. I left him with my last $250 and a promise to return with a truck and a credit card advance in a coupla’ weeks. He was cool with that.

I’ve since picked it up—and with a can of Gumout and a shove, got it to fire. Riding it made me feel like I was in high school again. It’s not perfect. The chain is knackered and it’s missing its air filter. I called my friend (the guy who had the argument about the Ducati speedo) to tell him it was working but that the throttle was sticking—at least partly because the throttle cable needed replacement.

“No problem,” he said. “You’ll easily find one on eBay.”