Last weekend, I attended Smith College's annual debate tournament, the first of the year for my debate team. Unfortunately, amidst all the debating hubbub, a large quantity of grease managed to find its way onto the collar of my coat. It was annoying, but I figured I would be able to wash the coat and remove the unsightly grime. Not a big deal.

Thus, I checked my coat's pockets for important documents, pens and currency, looked at the care tag and put it into the washing machine. In retrospect, it would have made a lot of sense for me to remove the coat's belt before putting it into the washing machine. But, mostly borne of my strong desire not to stare at a huge grease spot on my coat's collar, I just threw the it into the machine and hoped for the best.

An hour or so later, I removed the coat in question from the washing machine. To my great relief the disgusting gunk was gone. Unfortunately, however, I also noticed that one of the buttons had come off.

While the coat came with an assortment of replacement buttons, I have neither the thread, needle or sewing prowess to replace the long lost button. What's more, even if I had those three missing pieces of the puzzle, my coat's belt is constructed in such a way that the buttons on the belt are sewn to one of the two layers of gaberdine. So, even if I were to attempt the seemingly impossible, my handiwork would look really weird. The telltale signs of stitching would be visible on the back of the belt for one button and not the other. Living with such asymmetry would be unthinkable!

Then I thought about computers. I love computers, gadgets, technology and just about anything related to them, aside perhaps from the toxic electronic waste created by technology's rapid replacement cycle. Anyway, it occurred to me that, when my computer goes south, I can always send it back to the manufacturer to have it repaired. So, I thought, why don't clothing companies do the same thing?

As the cost of manufactured goods continues to fall, thanks to free trade and ever-improving manufacturing technology, companies of all sorts must rely more and more on the services provided with their products to stay in the black. BMW doesn't just sell you a car. They throw in free maintenance and roadside assistance too. Panasonic doesn't just sell you a plasma TV. They throw in a Concierge service, just in case the mess of buttons on the remote is overwhelming.

Especially with the rise of these so-called "fast fashion" chains, such as H&M and Forever 21, who offer designer-"inspired" wares before the designers have finished their final stitching, high-end designer brands — like the one responsible for making my coat — need something to differentiate themselves, aside from tastefully sparse boutiques and steep price tags. After all, it's not just starving artists and penny pinching college students shopping at those stores. I have no doubt that the some of the same people snapping up armfuls of merchandise at H&M's rock-bottom prices will walk three blocks to Saks and do the same.

If some brand decided to launch a complementary "garment support hotline," with complementary repairs, both by mail and in retail stores à la Apple's Genius Bars, they would have my business in a heartbeat.