This year, nearly 5,000 new plants hit an ever- expanding marketplace. Many were launched with much fanfare at the RHS Chelsea and Hampton Court flower shows. A plethora of roses, hostas, pelargoniums and petunias were added to a canon of plants that is already stuffed to the gunwales.

To the untrained eye — and by that I mean anybody not actively involved in developing new varieties — the differences can seem minuscule; it is rare indeed to breed or discover something truly unique. Genuine firsts such as Rosa ‘Constance Spry’ and Papaver ‘Patty’s Plum’ are few and far between.

Do we really need another unexceptional pink rose with tolerable disease resistance and a pleasant-enough perfume, when there are currently hundreds answering to that description on the market? Probably not, yet I count myself among those who can’t wait to see the latest introductions. I scan the catalogues and a mountain of press cuttings for a hint of what is to come, making a beeline at the shows for the nurseries with the most promising offerings.

What is this fascination with the latest thing? Why do we crave novelty? After all, what’s “in” this year, is bound to be “out” by the next. It would seem that gardeners are not immune to a very human failing, that of being enraptured by the thought of possessing something new or different. The scarcity of a new plant may be part of its appeal. Growing something unusual can be a form of one-upmanship, and having this season’s must-have plant is a badge of honour for those who pride themselves on keeping up with the latest news, not to mention the Joneses over the garden wall.

Fashion aside, although one might be reluctant to be dazzled by the hype, there are plenty of good reasons to search out the newest plants. It may be the sheer beauty of a new colour break (though I am still to be convinced of the necessity to develop a red delphinium or iris), exceptional foliage, or truly improved performance and resistance to disease. Many new varieties supersede their ancestors and add greatly to the planting palette. It is the sheer number of them that is intimidating.

How does one navigate this ever-increasing minefield? The RHS Plant Finder, a hefty tome crammed with more than 73,000 plants and where to buy them, is the key, and the only way to keep up to date. The 2004-2005 edition lists more than 4,000 new plants — a number that does not even encompass vast quantities of annuals, orchids, cacti and vegetables.

For professional growers, plant-breeders and nurserymen, the task of making their new introduction stand out from the crowd is an uphill struggle. Consumers are presented with scores of contenders grappling for their attention, and marketing skills are now as highly valued in modern horticulture as knowing how to propagate and prune. A once gentle art has become cut-throat big business, which involves applying for Plant Breeders’ Rights (a sort of copyright for new plants) to protect the investment made in terms of both time and money while developing new varieties. For smaller independent nurseries the pressure to perform in such a competitive marketplace can take much of the joy out of what is often begun as a labour of love.

Though there is undoubtedly still tremendous individual skill, devotion, even passion, involved in the painstaking quest for the new, I wonder what happens to the many hundreds of new plants that fail to live up to their early promise? Somewhere there is a graveyard for newish plants. Many new introductions cease to be widely available for sale just a few short years after their launch — between 3,000 and 3,500 plants are dropped from the Plant Finder annually. Others may only persist in national collections or specialist nurseries.

After the initial flush of excitement, many of us stick with the plants we know and love: familiarity rarely breeds contempt. Despite the plethora of tempting new goodies on offer, we doggedly continue to grow ropey old varieties of disease-prone, single- flowering roses, for example. This would seem mystifying when you can have shiny new ones that glow with good health, have neat growth habits and repeat-flower until the cows come home.

Yet the varieties we grew up with and cut our horticultural teeth on have their own unassailable charm. They may not be perfect, but they are evocative; they appeal to the romantic within all of us — a quality as rare and valuable as any amount of repeat-flowering.

Ultimately, what matters is not how new or old a plant is. Fashionability is an elusive and, by its very nature, transient thing. If a new plant is good enough, it will quickly become established as a classic and thereby transcend the fickle world of fashion. Good plants earn their keep, and word travels remarkably fast. They generally do so on merit; if they’re not good doers, reliable, and relatively easy to care for, looks alone are unlikely to save them. Finding that new “ classic” may be rare, but when it does happen the rewards are huge. As for me, I await news of next year’s introductions with bated breath.

Recent introductions worth growing:

Caryopteris x clandonensis ‘Summer Sorbet’ (Burncoose Nurseries, £8.50): startling mid and lime-green variegated leaves contrast vividly with clear blue flowers. Caryopteris are excellent shrubs for late summer-to-autumn flowering, but variegated foliage arouses surprisingly strong feelings. You’ll either love it or hate it.

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