In the polite society of Succession, less really is more – a memo that Greg’s date did not receive. Like a bull in a bloodlessly-decorated china shop, the Burberry-toting victime de la mode fell face first into scornful side-eyes from the otherwise welcome guests of Logan’s birthday party.
The offending accessory in question? A conspicuous tote currently listed on Harrods’ website as the “medium” size. Modest, it was not, but as bags go, this was no it-bag. However, the fact remained: Greg’s date had crossed a line sacred to the 0.001%. Their disgust lay not in the check’s chequered history in British class structures, but instead, its gauche association with high fashion, and therefore, flashiness. She was all too much.
“I hear you’ve made another faux-pas, and everyone’s laughing up their sleeves about your date,” Tom says, deriding Greg, before the camera pans to the date’s bag. “What, why?” Greg barters. “Why? Because she’s brought a ludicrously capacious bag. What’s even in there, huh? Flat shoes for the subway? Her lunch pail? I mean, Greg, it’s monstrous, it’s gargantuan. You could take it camping,” responds Tom.
Harsh words, but not wholly unwarranted. After all, hasn’t she heard?! If there’s one thing the stinking rich do best, it’s hide the stink – whether it’s in offshore funds or sartorial subtlety. Understated, elegant and timeless: in. Directional, widely recognisable or, heaven forbid, logoed: out.
In fact, even the fash-pack has caught wind of this rich-kid etiquette, muting drama on the runways for AW23 in a return to reduction. For all the reasons touted, rising inflation and a cost-of-living crisis were the most popular, and it’s easy to see why. If the proletariat shouts “Eat the rich”, wearing a Gucci GG jacquard suit is the quickest way to blow your cover.
Enter: “quiet luxury”, a distinctly beige offshoot of fashion used to camouflage those whose social pedigree means they not only own the means of production, but also every channel and platform a smartphone or MacBook can house. Here, guys do dress-down Fridays in a Tom Ford lyocell cotton-blend jersey tee (so a plain t-shirt, basically), a concrete-grey bomber and non-descript jeans, finished with billionaire outfitter Loro Piana’s exquisitely unbranded cashmere baseball cap and Jacques Marie Mage shades with a price tag nearing four figures. From afar, it’s giving middle-class suburban dad, but for those that know, it reads of rich and ready to stockpile obscene proportions of the world’s shared wealth.
For ladies of this ilk, there’s a little more leeway. By all means, add flourish with the odd pearl, but yours better be an heirloom or it’s game over. As for your threads, err on the austere side, choosing tailoring or merino-wool dresses in lieu of bias cuts and anything leggy – think Gabriela Hearst or The Row – and it goes without saying, a bag shouldn’t be a statement, but rather a dinky Valextra or Delvaux staple whose premium credentials are visible only on closer inspection.
While this penchant for prim and (seemingly) prosaic might sound unique, it’s a dynamic not all that different from the IYKYK trend. The main difference, though, is the sort of people that do know. Whereas the Maison Margiela Tabi shopper buys her boots in the hope of copping awe-filled glances from CSM students on the tube, the bore-core buyer shops with the intention of floating well below their radar, attired in only the finest Loro Piana viçuna wool or Zegna’s Oasi cashmere, which means very little to anyone with a bank balance below nine figures.
In essence, it’s another social field where choice objects assign your validity to other group members. Naturally, the rules are ever-changing. Even the Bottega Veneta belt, complete with a visible intrecciato weave, that Roman wears, grazes the limits of quiet luxury as a once-understated design technique becomes a de facto piece of branding. Gauche? Not yet, but Roman should tread carefully. As the sociologist Pierre Bourdieu explained, a social field is a matrix of economic capital (what you have), social capital (who you know), and, importantly, cultural capital (what you know). Skimp on the latter, and you’ll get outed as a phony, or worse, nouveau riche. For now, here’s a shortcut: if you want to look rich, you won’t.