"This is why rich people don't buy Gucci or Louis Vuitton," says the intro to a TikTok video I just watched online. And if you've been frequenting the app in the last few weeks, then you'd know that this post in particular led me to an explainer on quiet luxury.
To be fair, the concept isn't really anything new. Phoebe Philo has been championing understated luxury since the 2010s with her signature clean lines. But if you're a little late to the party, quiet luxury—also referred to as stealth wealth—basically suggests foregoing flashy logos and overt displays of wealth in favor of a minimalist style that focuses on excellent craftsmanship and attention to detail. Quite the opposite of logomania, it's all about subtle and understated elegance without the need to show off. Case in point: Gywneth Paltrow's recent courtroom looks that were supposedly "a masterclass in quiet luxury" featuring $1200 Celine lace-up boots, $1400 Ralph Lauren velvet jacket, $2200 Prada cashmere shirt. All discreet and unassuming—but if you know, you know.
Mark Zuckerberg, whose everyday uniform is a $300 custom dove gray t-shirt from Brunello Cucinelli, has involuntarily become the poster child of the quiet luxury movement. Articles endlessly cite his personal style (or lack thereof) as an example of stealth wealth. Even Bernard Arnault, the richest person in the world and chairman of LVMH, has a signature go-to look: a dark navy blue suit with matching tie, a crisp white shirt, and a pair of black Berluti footwear. Straightforward and doesn't scream for attention. But again: If you know, you know.
Often linked to the discussion is the HBO drama Succession, which revolves around the wealthy and powerful Roy family that owns a global media empire. As the characters compete for control of the company and try to secure their own positions of power, the show becomes a touchstone for the whole quiet luxury movement underlining how the uber-rich prefer understated elegance and timeless designs versus ostentatious brand monograms that scream "look how much I spent here." The elite don't dress to get validation from other people, much less from measly commoners.
A scene that best exemplifies this is their now-viral episode featuring a "ludicrously capacious" bag that Tom Wambsgans mercilessly took a dig at. The designer bag in question that boasts of the much-recognizable vintage check print was carried by Bridget, Cousin Greg's date to Logan Roy's birthday soiree. “What’s even in there?” Tom sneers, making it quite obvious that she was an unwelcome guest at the intimate gathering of the one percent. “Flat shoes for the subway? Her lunch pail? It’s gargantuan. You could take it camping. You could slide it across the floor after a bank job." Never mind that it was a Burberry tote that actually costs almost $3000.
The aforementioned scene pretty much demonstrates how the truly wealthy often rejects the notion of loud luxury... But do they really?
As someone who works in fashion, I can't help but refute the notion that all the truly rich—whether old money or new—lead an ultra-minimalist lifestyle devoid of logos and monograms. Locally, we have society madames like Alice Eduardo with a massive walk-in closet brimming with widely recognizable Hermès arm candy, including not just one but multiple Himalayan Birkins that are often hailed as the ultimate status symbol. Even the young budding it girl Rocio Zobel has her fresh-off-the-runway Valentino and Prada-emblazoned favorites. Of course, it's impossible not to mention Dra. Vicki Belo and Jinkee Pacquiao—both celebrity billionaires in their own right—whose Instagram feeds are peppered with designer OOTDs that are essentially the antithesis of stealth wealth. Think Celine logo tees, monogrammed Louis Vuitton jackets, personalized Dior Book Totes, and Chanel bags in all possible designs and colorways. Throw in the Bulgari Serpenti sparklers and Cartier Love bracelets, and what do you get? Well, call it what you will, but it's certainly nothing quiet.
The discussion on quiet luxury has become so noisy, and in unison, it seems to make a mockery of people whose sartorial aesthetic is anything but subtle.
The fashion influencer in head-to-toe Gucci? "A hypocrite." That nouveau-riche socialite who features a new Chanel bag in her OOTD each time? "Trying hard to look like old money." That Facebook friend of yours who wears her Louis Vuitton belt with just about anything? "Ugh, so tacky."
These feed into the assumption that everyone who buys into logos and branded items is in it simply for the illusion of looking like they have money but in reality have lesser economic means compared to those who wear inconspicuous labels like The Row and Loro Piana that only the ultra-wealthy supposedly know about. But to generalize it as such is not only inaccurate but also irresponsibly ignorant.
Not to burst anyone's bubble, but the rich (or poor) has no standard "uniform." A person with just enough savings might buy a designer logo tee and pay for it in full on a whim, in the same way a middle income-earner might purchase a shirt from Brunello Cucinelli and settle it in installments. Regardless of one's current standing in the social hierarchy, what dictates their personal style is primarily taste; their bank account, although a crucial factor to access the finer things in life, only comes secondary. Because at the end of the day, fashion is a vehicle of self-expression, and if everyone had to dress a certain way according to their pay grade, that takes away the fun of it.
Glorifying quiet luxury to a fault reinforces harmful class distinctions that create an unrealistic standard of success that may be unattainable for many. The internet's newfound obsession for it seems to suggest that there is something inherently shameful about displaying one's little designer purchases or small wins when you're not a tech billionaire or a fashion empire bigwig. But it makes absolutely no sense to applaud powerful men at the top of the corporate pyramid who've lived their entire lives swathed in Armani and Zegna, and then ridicule a self-made woman who treats herself to a monogrammed purse after, say, a well-deserved promotion.
It's ridiculous how people come up with all sorts of reasons to police how everyone's supposed to dress. We should be able honor all forms of self-expression and individuality. We should be able to celebrate our small wins in however way we see fit. We should be free to do so with the arm candy of our own choosing—regardless if it's a monogrammed Gucci or a "ludicrously capacious" Burberry.
Why should one be modest about something they worked hard for? Why should one stifle their style to be intentionally quieter than billionaires in plain gray t-shirts? Forget quiet luxury. How about wearing whatever the hell it is you want to wear? Go ahead and show off that Gucci or Louis Vuitton like a badge of honor. Subtlety be damned.
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