Hush Money
Whispers and flashes surround celebrities when they sashay out clad in neutral shades and logo-less clothes. So, are they wearing Dollar Tree clothes like you and I do? Wouldn't be caught dead in those. We all know they are rich and can afford luxury clothes, especially since that dress that looks worth no more than 40 dollars is actually 2500 + shipping. So why gatekeep and hush-hush?
The KHAITE Runway Giving Quiet Luxury, KHAITE SS 23, KHAITE
Journalists, fashion critics, designers, editors, you, and I have been hearing about quiet luxury for a while now. In that short while, it has cemented itself in the fashion and lifestyle industry. A picture of grace, refined taste, and grandfather's estate that we are set to inherit, quiet luxury talks of wealth without actually screaming it. Think eternal staples—vintage loafers, neutral trench coats, beautifully tailored bottoms, and plain tees, all in classic black, pastel beige, and immaculate white. The cherry on top is the finest fabrics, like cashmere, silk, wool, and linen. Basically, to adopt the style, we would have to break our banks. There has been no doubt about who wears and kills it—the rich. The question has been, is it actually "quiet"? Quiet luxury looks like this facade of supposed affluence while a more insidious reality grows: quiet luxury is nothing more than a performative display by the generationally wealthy, designed to maintain a veneer of cultured exclusivity and assert their superiority over the nouveau riche, who are often attacked for their flashy displays of wealth.
Quiet luxury has cultivated an aesthetic of restraint that those with class and discerning taste appreciate. Brands that have marketed themselves as the thesis of the "old-money" aesthetic have exclusive stores filled with products characterized by their minimalist designs, high-quality materials, and meticulous craftsmanship. Cashmere sweaters and leather boots that talk for themselves without needing a logo to exude their presence are the promises these brands uphold.
Ironically, for all its subtlety, quiet luxury is deafening. It shrieks its expensive, exclusive, and out-of-reach existence to anyone who can hear. The basic premise of the trend is that these items are meant to be only recognized by those select few who can afford the exorbitant price tags. Brandless items can look simple to those who don't memorize runway lookbooks and luxury catalogs. Still, these items scream in the face of anyone who understands their actual cost. Birkin bags' silhouette alone leaves people in awe and envy, and the same goes for a Loro Piana coat or a pair of Tod's loafers. The absence of logos does not equate to modesty; it is a conscious decision to communicate affluence in a code only the wealthy can decipher.
The rise of quiet luxury is not just about aesthetics to add to our Pinterest mood boards. It's a social statement. It's a statement that has been carefully constructed by the generationally affluent to separate themselves from the nouveau riche. The latter crowd, often characterized by their love for logos and apparent consumption, is seen as gauche and unsophisticated. In contrast, the generationally wealthy are portrayed as having a more refined, "inherent" sense of style that doesn't need to rely on logos or overt displays of wealth, which reflects their cultured upbringing and sophisticated tastes.
This narrative serves a clear purpose: establishing and maintaining a social hierarchy. The generationally wealthy use quiet luxury to signal their belonging to an exclusive club that values discretion over display and heritage over novelty. In doing so, they create a barrier that separates them from those who lack the generational wealth and cultural capital to participate in this subtle form of luxury. By positioning themselves as the arbiters of taste, the generationally wealthy can look down on the nouveau riche, who, in their eyes, are mere wannabes. It's a way of saying, "We don't need to flaunt our wealth because we've always had it. We are cultured, and you are not."
The core of the concept that is quiet luxury is riddled with contradictions. On one hand, it claims to reject the vulgarity of conspicuous consumption; on the other, it thrives on the very same principles it claims to disdain. The hallmark products of the trend are not just expensive; they are often exorbitantly so, obtainable only to those who can afford to pay a premium for invisibility. Their exclusivity is what makes them desirable.
Moreover, quiet luxury brands often rely on the same marketing tactics as their louder peers. They use celebrity endorsements, influencer partnerships, and glossy magazine spreads to sell an image of understated classiness. The marketed idea that quiet luxury is about "quality over quantity" is misleading. It suggests that the rich are somehow more honorable in their consumption, picking fewer, better-made items rather than indulging in the surpluses of fast fashion. But this narrative ignores that these "better" items are priced far beyond the average consumer's reach, making quiet luxury just as deluxe and untouchable as any other luxury. But make no mistake: this is still extravagance, and it's still about making money. The only difference is that quiet luxury is marketed as something "better"—something more refined, sophisticated, and ultimately, elitist.
This trend serves to perpetuate the lore of the refined elite and, by extension, elitism. This narrative conveniently omits the fact that their ability to make such choices is rooted not in superior taste but in privilege. By aligning themselves with labels accentuating roots, craftsmanship, and timelessness, the generationally wealthy position themselves as arbiters of taste and culture, aestheticizing themselves. Results in aloof trends like let them eat cake. If you can't beat them, join them, amirite?
To suggest that quiet luxury reflects a deeper insight into culture and quality is to ignore the socio-economic factors that facilitate such preferences. Raymund Williams, a Welsh cultural theorist, among other things, wrote much about what culture is. A point highly related to this discourse is from an essay he wrote in 1958 about two extreme takes on culture—teashop vs. culture vulture. To paraphrase, teashop culture was an elitist view that labeled some as refined and cultured (sound familiar?). In contrast, vulture culture was a trend against the sanctimonious, ridiculing those who chose to familiarize themselves with arts or learning. Culture is whatever people do, whether in the poorest houses or the wealthiest bungalows.
Both these perspectives are equally as extreme as they are harmful. Ridiculing learning has its very obvious detrimental side effects (which I went through in a previous article—Navy Curtains, Dark Agendas #plug), and creating standards of culture based on wealth creates aims of an unattainable lifestyle and ostracizes different ones. The generationally wealthy are not more cultured or refined than the rest of society, now expert verified; they simply have the means to access and curate a lifestyle that aligns with these values.
IYKYK Who I Am Wearing, Bottega Veneta Summer 2023, Bottega Veneta
Another crucial thing to unpack is the concept of timelessness that the trend preaches. The notion is that these pieces that cost almost a liver and a limb are investments because they never go out of style. This myth (yes, myth) is perpetuated by those who don't have to repeat outfits or can update their wardrobes every season with high-quality items. The reality is that fashion, even at its most understated, is still subject to trends, and what is considered timeless today may not be seen as such tomorrow.
Moreover, the idea of investing in "timeless" pieces is itself a luxury. It assumes that one has the disposable income to spend on high-cost items with the expectation that they will last forever. But for many people, the concept of quiet luxury is understandably inaccessible, and spending thousands on a single item of clothing, no matter how "timeless," is simply unrealistic and unimaginable.
In the end, quiet luxury is not about rejecting materialism; it's about redefining it in a way that keeps the wealthy in their place—at the top of the social hierarchy. It's a reminder that, in the world of luxury, it's not just about what you wear, but about what your clothes say about who you are and who you aren't. And just like the emperor's new clothes, it is a concept that reveals itself as nothing more than an expensive facade when stripped of its illusions. In the world of quiet luxury, the loudest thing in the room isn't what you see—it's what they're trying to make you feel: that you'll never be part of their club. OUCH!
