Gold Peanut Butter

Cashmere toilet paper. Golden peanut butter. A seven-meter inflatable slide. Snoop Dogg decided these needed to exist and decided he’d be the one to make them. I respect that.

The collection came through some payment partnership with Klarna, but the actual story is just the products. They’re not trying to be practical or traditionally aspirational—just aggressively, unapologetically extra. You don’t buy cashmere toilet paper because it improves anything. You buy it to have bought cashmere toilet paper. Same with the gold peanut butter, the silk robe, the inflatable slide for your yard.

Snoop’s always had the kind of confidence where he doesn’t need to convince anyone he’s cool. He already is, and it’s been understood long enough that it’s automatic. So when he decides to sell you absurd luxury goods, there’s no desperation, no reaching. It’s just I made some stupid shit, buy it or don’t. The audacity of 115 euros for toilet paper. 2,500 for the slide. He knows what he’s doing.

There’s something I like about luxury items that don’t pretend to be anything but conspicuous consumption. They’re not elegant or refined—just expensive and absurd. The gold peanut butter doesn’t taste better. The cashmere won’t make your bathroom transcendent. You’re paying for the sheer ridiculousness, the fact it exists, the right to own it. That’s honest in a weird way.

I wouldn’t buy any of it. Probably not. But I’m not mad at Snoop for making it or at whoever does buy it. In a world constantly asking you to perform taste and restraint, there’s something liberating about just saying fuck it and buying gold peanut butter.