You will have heard, by now, about “quiet luxury”, which has (quietly) established itself as the dominant aesthetic* of 2023. (*Explainer: we don’t say “trend” any more. Aesthetic sounds a bit less … basic? Capitalist? But to be clear, in a fashion context it means pretty much the same thing.)
Quiet luxury is Gwyneth Paltrow defending her right to ski – something like that, the details elude me – cocooned in a creamy merino knit from The Row that costs more than a grand. (Like, how rich do you have to be to spend that on a sweater that isn’t even cashmere?) Quiet luxury is the subtle flex of Kendall Roy in an unbranded black baseball cap from Italian luxury house Loro Piana and Tom Ford sneakers. It is Mark Zuckerberg in his signature charcoal-grey T-shirt, which he orders from Brunello Cucinelli in Milan instead of buying from Gap.
Spending a fortune on quiet luxury is supposed to be dead classy, but actually I think it’s sort of gross. There is something vulgar about the dog-whistle of very rich people dressing in a code that only other very rich people will recognise. As if they don’t even care about how they look to people on the street, so long as people in the business-class lounge get it.
I appreciate the usefulness of a well-fitting navy blazer as much as anyone. Quiet luxury looks great. Soft neutral colours; a breathable, semi-skim silhouette that isn’t skintight; well-chosen simple pieces that aren’t gussied up with embroidery or slogans or sequins or logos: this is all excellent.
The only naff part of quiet luxury is the subtext of money, the subliminal flashing dollar signs of a wardrobe that is trying too hard to send the right signals to other rich people. Quiet luxury is way more chic when you rip that subtext right out.
The much, much classier way to do it is to forget all the ludicrous price tags and the in-the-know Italian heritage designer labels and embrace the trend – sorry, aesthetic – without paying through the nose for it. Throwing silly money at what are in essence ordinary clothes is for people with more money than sense.
Quiet luxury can be surprisingly practical. Take luggage, for example. Seriously rich people travel with soft holdalls rather than wheelie cases because when you get driven to the steps of your private jet, you don’t have to worry about a sweaty schlep through Gatwick’s south terminal. But the soft holdall is once again becoming the smart choice for us norms, since airlines started whacking extra charges on any bag that can’t be squished under the seat in front of you.
The unfussy take on beauty that quiet luxury celebrates – hair combed into a slicked-back bun at the nape of the neck, a slick of clear nail polish – requires a great deal less time and money spent in the salon than a bouncy blow dry and jazzy nail art. Best of all, quiet luxury insists on comfort: a lightweight knit and wide-legged, pleat-front trousers for work, rather than a shivery sleeveless sheath dress. Ballet pumps instead of spike heels.
The mood music of stealth wealth around quiet luxury is irritating, but if we can steal the look for next to nothing, what’s not like? Top-to-toe pale tailoring may be a bit anxiety-inducing to commute in, but a well-ironed white T-shirt tucked into dark jeans hits the right pristine note.
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Quiet-luxury accessorising does not call for diamonds or pearls – all you need is a gold chain necklace and stud or hoop earrings. (And wearing the same necklace and earrings every day is peak quiet luxury, so you don’t even have to take them off at night.)
Don’t overthink it. You don’t need to throw money at quiet luxury. In fact (whisper it) it is way more chic if you don’t.
Model: Lynn Zhang at Body London. Hair and make up: Carol Morley at Carol Hayes Management. Blazer and jeans: both Reiss. T-shirt: Hanro. Necklace: Crystal Haze. Shoes: Ivylee Copenhagen
