There's a lifecycle to the knife consumer's activity. We see the knife, we want the knife, we decide whether or not to get the knife, we get the knife, we have that period where the knife is still in Schrodinger's sheath, it could be awesome, it could be crap, you might learn something new just by handling it, that thing you learn might be 'I overpaid for this knife' but you don't know until the package arrives.
You know the initial rush has worn off when you start setting the packages aside to open later in the day instead of beginning the process of opening the package as soon as it reaches your hands.
You open the package, you look at the knife. Sometimes you gotta wipe off the grease right away because there's an astonishing amount of it, sometimes it's shipped dry and clean. You register your first impression which usually turns into the backbone of your long term idea of what the knife is.
Sometimes your first impressions are right on, but a lot of the time values of the knife only become apparent with carry and use and your willingness to be a student of what you carry. If we buy too damn many knives we don't always give each knife that sort of true test of usage, but hey, at least there's more where that one came from right? Anyway then unless you really found one of your lifetime knives, it turns into something you own and pick back up every once in a while, or see in your big collection and smile that contented, dragon-with-a-hoard smile we get.
I can see it now, the future archaeologists digging through our ashes, deciding that some of the remains that some of us left behind are evidence of an early 21st century cult of knife worship.