Once upon a time, a ‘special edition’ meant something extraordinary. Maybe it was a deluxe anniversary release of a beloved album, or a book with gilded pages commemorating a milestone. These editions were rare, thoughtful, and, most importantly, meaningful.
Today, it feels like everything is a special edition. Every new book, vinyl record, or video game is accompanied by an array of ‘exclusive’ versions, each promising something unique. But with this overabundance, the magic of a special edition has faded; when everything is labeled as special, nothing truly is.
Take books, for example. It’s no longer enough to have one beautifully crafted edition. Instead, a single text might have ten: a version with sprayed edges, one with alternate covers, another with exclusive bonus chapters, and yet another with gold embossing. For fans, especially those who enjoy collecting, the temptation to own them all can be overwhelming.
After a while, one must wonder if all this excessive marketing of special editions is less about offering a better product and more about leveraging consumer loyalty to maximize profits.
It isn’t just exclusive to books, either. Vinyl records, which are currently going through a resurgence in popularity, are facing a similar phenomenon. Albums now come in five different pressings, each a different color or with the addition of one or two new songs. Even video games aren’t immune, with many having several different editions, each with their own set of bonus in-game content or physical collectibles. This avalanche of options doesn’t make the product more appealing — it makes it exhausting.
This push for more editions feels exploitative, as if it’s preying on fans’ fear of missing out. Companies know their audiences well; they have teams of people dedicated to market research. They know readers will pay extra for a bonus epilogue, as will gamers for exclusive skins, and vinyl enthusiasts will splurge for a rare pressing.
The result? Consumers are left with a sense of endless dissatisfaction and feel pressured to spend money they may not have budgeted, all to ensure they don’t miss out.
Last year, Bloomsbury Publishing announced five bonus chapters for exclusive editions of House of Flame and Shadow by Sarah J. Maas. To acquire every bonus chapter, a person must purchase five different versions of the same book. The ‘Indigo Exclusive Edition’ of the book, which currently retails for $42 at Indigo Books & Music, contains only one out of the five available bonus chapters. For the dedicated collector, gathering all five versions can easily become an expensive quest.
In a similar vein, Taylor Swift’s Midnights album was released in multiple versions, some notable ones being five different coloured vinyl variants, a ‘3am Edition’ with extra songs, and a rare ‘Late Night Edition’ CD that was sold at select concert dates of the Eras Tour. Aside from the financial impact, this approach undoubtedly makes collecting all the music for the complete experience a challenge.
When everything seems to be an advertisement and overconsumption is encouraged, it feels as though fandoms have been turned into cash cows where passion is monetized instead of celebrated.
The environmental impact of producing multiple versions of the same product is also significant. Extra materials, packaging, and shipping contribute to waste, all for items that often feel redundant and might only serve the purpose of room decor.
As consumers, we shouldn’t have to choose between feeling left out and feeling exploited. Companies could focus on creating fewer, more meaningful editions that genuinely enhance the experience, rather than milking fandoms for every possible dollar.
It’s time to reconsider what “special” really means. Special editions should bring the collector joy, while celebrating artistry and craftsmanship. Right now, they feel more like a marketing gimmick — and I’m not buying it.
