Quiet Luxury
The Succession Effect
“I love ‘popular art’, I’d happily juxtapose it with a sculpture by Niki de Saint Phalle, for example. Call it a ‘lack of taste’ if you will, but these combinations are transformed into artistic creations. Ultimately, a lack of taste is freedom. I’m just as inspired by a Portuguese cabana as I am by a Venetian palazzo. Every home is a new adventure.” — Jacques Grange
HBO headline show Succession has, since its 2018 debut, grown ever-increasingly popular with a panoply of pseudo-intellectual fans fascinated by its protagonists’ wardrobes; each episode scrutinised and dissected vis a vis the discreet personal style of the 0.01% — a world where wealth, it would seem, is inherently more stealth. Currently on its fourth and final season, whilst lauded for its acting, writing and direction (having won a 2022 Golden Globe for best television series), it’s the aesthetic inclinations of the morally bankrupt Roy family that have become the subject of morbid fascination. The phenomenon is such that the sardonic melodrama has given birth to a trend known as “quiet luxury”. Unlike series such as Miami Vice, Sex and the City, Mad Men and, more recently, Emily in Paris and Euphoria, which have all had a significant influence on fashion trends, Succession stands apart on account of its inherent restraint. For many years now mainstream fashion has prioritised flashy, vulgar ostentation, with brand logos, signature prints and other easily recognisable visual indicators, such as red soles, monograms and even manufacturing techniques — quilting (Chanel), studs (Valentino) and woven leather (Bottega Veneta) — taking centre stage and raking in big bucks. World’s away from fictional fashionistas Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker (b. 1965) and Emily Cooper (Lily Collins (b. 1989)) (both styled by American costume designer Patricia Field (b. 1941)), whose outfits often scream for attention, the clothes of Succession are characterised by sober tailoring, neutrals and not a single brand name in sight. Instead of the crass, logo-emblazoned accessories favoured by grandstanding nouveau riche, the Roy family opt for the more subtle social signifiers of vicuña and Himalayan cashmere. However, whilst the average viewer might not immediately recognise a “Gstaad Guy” approved slip-on suede loafer or sport-luxe baseball cap from Italian brand Loro Piana; for those “in the know”, aka the same social rank, each and every detail conveys membership of an exclusive international club of high net worth “masters of the universe”, who are, by and large, proponents of this particular brand of monied restraint.
The show has, indisputably, contributed immeasurably to the trend for discreet, understated luxury, with popular men’s magazines Esquire and GQ running articles on “Succession Approved Loafers” and “Stealth Wealth Essentials”, all part and parcel of the one-percenter fantasy that has even the most effervescent of fashion victims fighting against the urge to don a sombre navy turtleneck. In terms of womenswear, it’s a look recently championed by none other than Oscar-winning actress, Goop guru and bone broth aficionado Gwyneth Paltrow (b. 1972), who, having given the world many things, including conscious uncoupling and rectal ozone therapy, has now, apparently, blessed us with a new style sub-genre, henceforth known as “Court-core”. Celebrities have long struggled with how to dress for subpoena-induced appearances (e.g. Martha Stewart (b. 1941), flanked by a retinue of lawyers, carrying not one but two easily identifiable and eye-wateringly expensive Hermès Birkin handbags as she entered New York Federal court for her 2004 fraud trial, doing little to promote the image of an approachable woman who struggled from adversity), but for what the New York Times dubbed “the celebrity ski trial of the century”, Paltrow cleverly avoided “privilege-signalling” or “over-costuming”, appearing in a melange of pared back, pristine and perfectly pitched bank-breaking neutrals (free from garish logos, colourways or patterns), luxuriantly buttoned up and conservative, thus appearing as pure, and innocent as freshly fallen snow. In a social media-driven world where influencers clamour for attention, this return to simple, timeless fashion has been an unexpected hit, so much so hashtag #quietluxury has already racked up more than 60 million views on TikTok — though whether or not it’s having an effect on the wardrobes of younger generations has yet to be seen. “I feel a little conflicted, personally, seeing how the term ‘quiet luxury’ is being used en masse to describe an aesthetic shift away from logo-centred or, for want of a better word, ‘loud’ expressions, to something more toned down and discrete,” explains Dag Granath, co-founder of Swedish tailor Atelier Saman Amel. “In essence, it is, of course, a movement that sits closer to our brand, however, I feel it is being approached from a somewhat twisted point of entry. ‘Quiet’, or rather ‘private’, is a word we’ve used as a guiding principle in our work. In a world where everything needs to be seen or heard in order to exist, being quiet or private is luxurious. The concept of ‘time’ and how that relates to long-lasting quality is similar in that sense. In a world that moves so fast, it’s a luxury to let things take time. Buying something bespoke, that’s made by hand, might take longer, however, I strongly believe it increases the chances of our customers appreciating and valuing the object for much longer than would be the case with fast fashion.”
Succession’s Kendall Roy, played Jeremy Strong, whose understated label-less look has spurred the recent trend for “quiet luxury”, photograph courtesy of HBO
The home of Terry de Gunzburg, Manhattan, designed by Jacques Grange, is perfectly demonstrative of a refined approach to “quiet” luxury in terms of interior design, photograph by François Halard
Whereas early seasons of Succession saw fashion as a theme take a backseat to the malign drama unfolding on screen, recent episodes have been far more overt in bringing it to the foreground. For example, at the outset of season four, we see cousin Greg (Nicholas Braun (b. 1988)) make the typically ill-judged decision to bring his swipe-right sweetheart Bridget (Francesca Root-Dodson (b. 1986)) as an unexpected plus-one to the somewhat morose birthday party of familial patriarch Logan Roy (Brian Cox (b. 1946). As events transpire it becomes quickly apparent young Bridget might not be entirely au fait with the way in which the “other half” lives. From the get-go Logan’s “friend, assistant, advisor” Kerry (Zoe Winters (b. 1985)) doesn’t exactly pull any punches in making it perfectly clear “Bridget Randomfuck” is an unwanted and unwelcome guest; as she’s keen to point out, it’s an intimate soiree at the home of one of the world’s most powerful men, and “not a fucking Shake Shack”. This blisteringly curt amuse-bouche is, however, as nothing compared to Tom’s (Matthew Macfadyen (b. 1974)) no holds barred takedown of a woman whose clothing and demeanour signify in no uncertain terms that she’s not a part of this rarified world. “I hear you’ve made an enormous faux pas, and everyone is laughing up their sleeves about your date,” Tom tells Greg. And why? Because she’s committed the cardinal sin of bringing a “ludicrously capacious” bag — a Burberry tartan satchel that retails for upwards of £2500 (it could well have been another Daniella Westbrook (b. 1973) moment, causing sales to plummet, were it not for a recent re-brand under the auspices of newly appointed creative director Daniel Lee (b. 1986) — where the trademark check in its traditional tan, red and black colour-way was conspicuous in its absence). “What’s even in there?” Tom wryly opines. “Flat shoes for the subway? Her lunch pail? I mean, Greg, it’s gargantuan. You could take it camping. You could slide it across the floor after a bank job”. Arguably, not since The Devil Wears Prada (2006) when magazine editor Miranda Priestly (allegedly based on Anna Wintour (b. 1949) and played by Meryl Streep (b. 1949)) eviscerates her sneering assistant Andrea (Anne Hathaway (b. 1982)), by explaining to her exactly why it is that she’s wearing a blue jumper, have we seen such a scathing critique of fashion and society: “In 2002, Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns, and then I think it was Yves Saint Laurent – wasn’t it? – who showed cerulean military jackets ... so you’re wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room.” This was, in actuality, a complete fabrication, as de la Renta’s autumn/winter 2002 collection showed sportswear in grey, taupe and black, while Saint Laurent’s was almost entirely black; yet despite this, the “cerulean blue theory”, as it were, has since been cited ad infinitum in defence of an industry seen by many as vainglorious and self-serving, with influencer and broadcaster Derek Blasberg (b. 1982) tweeting: “How many times have you used the ‘cerulean blue belt’ explanation from The Devil Wears Prada to validate the importance of the fashion industry?”
The home of fashion designer Donna Karren, Manhattan, New York, where the master bathroom leads onto a terrace offering views of Central Park, a wonderfully restrained, quiet and luxuriant interior, photographed by François Halard for Vogue, March 2004
Style icon and Calvin Klein executive Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, pictured here at the Whitney Museum of American Art, a veritable poster girl for “quiet luxury”, her wardrobe chosen for understated elegance, as opposed to flashy attention seeking, Getty Images
Bridget’s capacious choice of tote hints at the divide between what has traditionally been termed “the haves and have-nots”, as without recourse to a retinue of staff, chauffeur-driven cars and dutiful assistants mapping out every waking hour, her choices revolve around a concept quite possibly unfamiliar to the Roy’s and their ilk, namely, practicality. Those other invited guests have no need for anything other than a small, elegant, evening bag (though it’s anyone’s guess as to whether or not the JW Anderson “pigeon clutch” would be given short shrift at a Roy family gathering), with just enough room for an iPhone, black Amex and a coat check receipt. The old money/nouveau riche dichotomy throws up some polarising contrasts as regards fashion and interiors, with brands such as Brunello Cucinelli, Max Mara, Gabriela Hearst and Zegna demonstrative of the sort of stealth-wealth embraced by a certain echelon of the filthy rich. As it happens, only last month Zegna released a new ad campaign starring Kieran Culkin (b. 1982) — who plays the sexually deviant Roman Roy — flogging its £745 “Triple Stitch” sneakers; which are, apparently, worn “everywhere, from private jets and boardrooms”, thereby, presumably, meeting the criterion of “all-terrain” for a particular breed of high net worth demiurges who rarely venture outside the protective bubble of a temperature controlled environment. In the same episode Kendall (Jeremy Strong (b. 1978) for example, wears a £415 Loro Piana cashmere-blend baseball cap and £5,250 Tom Ford suede bomber jacket, logoless and totally unrecognisable to anyone but an approving gaggle of one-percenters. The difference, theoretically, is that Bridget’s bag (which, in all fairness, is the sort of thing seen on tarpaulins beside the Eiffel Tower), is, in essence, a cry for attention, it screams “Look at me, and look how much I spent”, whereas, circling back to Paltrow’s courtroom style, her olive-green oversize wool-blend felt coat (£3900), Parksville turtleneck (£1,220) and lug-soled Prada boots (£1,150) could, technically, be from anywhere — a silent signifier of wealth to those in the same socio-economic bracket. “They are the anti-Kardashians,” Succession’s famed costume designer Michelle Matland explains of the mega-affluent. “They do not need to explore who they are in terms of how they represent themselves through their clothes or accessories.”
Of course, fashion and interiors often overlap, and many renowned decorators find themselves tasked with creating a mise-en-scène that reflects not only a client’s tastes but social standing and aspirations; something that hasn’t changed a great deal since newly minted (and titled) “aristocrats” began building their vast country seats in the sixteenth century. This is perhaps particularly apt as Tom was the original Roy family interloper, considered to be cut from a different cloth than his “blue blood” in-laws. Lest we forget, this once sartorially challenged corporate stooge had an affinity for red chinos, and at one stage found himself humiliated for sporting a branded Moncler gilet to a Davos-esque media conference: “Nice vest, Wambsgans,” quipped Roman. “It’s so puffy. What’s it stuffed with, your hopes and dreams?” The fact Tom is now ridiculing a Burberry handbag as the signifying trait of a social climber says a great deal about how quickly those who’ve scaled the social ladder feel the need to mark their territory, as it were, greasing the rungs at the expense of those who are, essentially, trying to do the exact same thing, so as to better their lot in life. Somewhat ironically, the marketing blurb for the bag Bridget carries, a design credited to Lee’s predecessor, Riccardo Tisci (b. 1974), reads: “It’s a future classic that’s set to star as the headline act of countless ensembles.” The recent slew of headlines were, presumably, not quite what Burberry’s marketing team had in mind; but, as the somewhat hackneyed saying goes, there’s no such thing as bad publicity, and true to form, Tom’s dig at the widespread trend for “logo-mania”, or what one might term “loud luxury” caused an uptick in interest, with online searches for the much-maligned carryall rocketing 310% since the episode aired, showing the quantifiable impact showbiz can have on consumer trends. “Burberry’s tote bag might not meet the standards for Succession’s top 0.1 per cent, but luckily for the luxury fashion house, they don’t speak for the average consumer,” explains Whitney Cathcart, co-founder and chief commercial officer of 3DLook, a virtual fitting room company. “While Tom was busy firing off insults, the rest of us were Googling where we could get our own”.
Acress and businesswoman Gwyneth Paltrow on the third day of her tour appearance wearing a moss green wool coat from the The Row and a cream knit from her own brand, G Label by Goop, photograph Mega/GC Images
Essentially, this is the crux of the matter, as “luxury” means very different things to different people; for some, it’s the thrill of owning something from a well-known luxury brand such as Goyard, Gucci or Chanel (as evidenced by the god-awful Louis Vuitton bag Carrie Bradshaw gifted her assistant Louise (played by Jennifer Hudson (b. 1981)) in the Sex and the City movie (2008), which is quite possibly the ugliest in cinematic history…), for others, it’s about the design, quality and craftsmanship of a piece of clothing or furniture, which, whilst inevitably commanding a high price tag, and, quite possibly, being en vogue, is not the raison d’être. Arguably, whatever camp one falls into (there are, of course, myriad nuances but for the purpose of presenting a base hypothesis), if the primary reason for one’s sartorial choices is to impress others, or, to fit in, to look like everyone else, so as to avoid the risk of judgment or ridicule, there’s not much room for individual personality. If one looks at those figures considered style icons, such as Jean-Michel Basquiat (1960-1998), Jackie Kennedy (1929-1994), not forgetting her daughter-in-law, Calvin Klein publicist Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy (1966-1999), Gianni Agnelli (1921-2003), Terrance Stamp (b. 1938), Jean-Paul Belmondo (1933-2021) and Chloë Sevigny (b. 1974), what they all have in common is the ability to subvert rules in a way that’s interesting without resorting to attention-seeking bells and whistles. Indeed much of their personality is evident in the clothes they wear, even if relatively understated, veering on conservative, as seen in the case of Agnelli and Bessette-Kennedy. “To me, it’s not so much about a ‘style’ as it is about a way of living your life, that might or might not then reflect in the way you present yourself stylistically,” explains Granath of the widespread trend for adopting a more restrained wardrobe. “Buying into the idea of a toned down aesthetic as a means of saying ‘Look, I’m so rich I’m beyond the need for flashy stuff’ to me feels an entirely different conversation. I’m not saying it’s categorically wrong, but making ‘quiet luxury’ into a trend will quickly diminish what it is that makes it luxurious.”
“To position very fine pieces as though they were simply attractive or charming, you have to be free and uninhibited,” explains French decorator Jacques Grange (b. 1944). This goes some way to explaining how “quiet luxury” translates into interiors and architecture; whereby each and every piece has been chosen not only for its individual merit but also the part it plays in achieving a cohesive whole. Although this doesn’t necessarily mean furniture by modern masters, or even those at the pinnacle of contemporary design, such as Paul Cocksedge, Ingrid Donat or Vincenzo De Cotiis (b. 1958), it will, inherently, command a hefty price tag, as such works are the consequence of a laborious design process, whereby, concept to completion requires hundreds of man hours, following revisions, prototypes and finding craftsman able to carry out the necessary level of work. Interiors that best express such a refined aesthetic are usually a result of owners who have a particularly nuanced understanding of art, interiors and architecture, whose passion for collecting comes with a certain sense of joie de vivre and excitement in working with the very best artisans and makers so as to achieve rooms that speak volumes apropos their personal taste. What many fail to mention is that despite the ever-increasingly popular idea of “stealth wealth”, as regards style and aesthetics, the cast of Succession are, for the most part, incredibly dull and uninteresting; something reflected in the sterility of their subdued, safe interiors, which, in their underwhelming moneyed banality are typical of the bland megamansions seen across the length and breadth of London’s wealthier postcodes — the likes of Knightsbridge, Chelsea and Belgravia, which are, in essence, model homes for a false sense of happiness. That’s not to suggest minimal interiors are inherently lacking in personality, as seen in fashion designer Donna Karan’s (b. 1948) 1990s New York eyrie or French decorator Andrée Putman’s (1925-2013) palatial Paris loft — but, the key factor in both of these examples is that they contain pieces that are personal to their occupants, that have meaning and speak of their inherent interests and outlook with respect to art and design.
When we first meet Siobhan “Shiv” Roy (Sarah Snook (b. 1987) in the first season of Succession, she works in politics, the liberal outlier on the fringes of her family empire, representing candidates the polar opposite of the sort of Trump-light talking heads championed by her right-wing megalomaniacal father. Her apartment is refined, but lived-in, there are books on shelves, dishes on the kitchen counter and she and her then fiancée Tom converse over juice and granola in a cosy kitchen breakfast nook. As soon as they marry and she joins the family firm, all of that changes — the pair move into a cavernous penthouse, stark and white, entirely devoid of life (and for that matter, curtains and blinds) which becomes something of a metaphor for two characters whose lives become increasingly grubby and mired in sleaze. As to fashion and interiors, it takes a certain degree of confidence to wear one’s emotions on one’s sleeve, and this is, in essence, the problem with such “super-prime” interiors. Displaying personal taste with reference to art, furniture and objets d’art is a risk, in that, we leave ourselves open to the judgment of our peers; it’s far easier to settle for stayed, bland “good taste”, where nothing rocks the boat than to go out on a limb and make choices that risk ridicule, derision, or heaven forbid, the perception that one might not “belong”. If one looks at the Roy family’s lofty environs, they may not be glitzy or garish (as evinced by Donald Trump’s (b. 1946) gold-festooned Roco-themed Central Park apartment), but they are soulless; stripped entirely of personality and so bereft of character, texture and patina, so as to seem almost mechanistic and inhuman.
Logan Roy’s Fifth Avenue townhouse, where the wood-panelled sitting room is so entirely devoid of character that it could easily be a suite in a luxury hotel, photograph courtesy of HBO
In terms of fashion and interiors Succession might be less overtly or ostentatiously luxe as we’re used to seeing in the homes of “A-list” celebrities, but they are, nevertheless, still luxe, just for the most part, entirely nondescript; indeed even if we look to the paterfamilias Fifth Avenue townhouse, despite hinting at an art collection, the overall aesthetic is overwhelmingly beige and bland. Their complete lack of character is demonstrated in Season 2, where Shiv presents Logan with a printed portfolio of family properties, her gift to him on the occasion of his fiftieth anniversary as CEO. “These are nice houses,” he observes. “These are our houses, Dad,” she corrects him, to which he can only ask, “Really?” For a good many people, owning properties in any one of these prestigious locations would be a dream, but to Logan, they are, in essence, nothing more to him than an Airbnb kept on retainer (which explains the ever-increasing popularity of overpriced serviced apartments in buildings such as Twenty Grosvenor Square and The Whiteley). The Roy family are forever on the move, in a perpetual state of motion, and as such, they have no interest in putting down roots or, for that matter, connecting to their environments in respect of furniture, art and objects. Despite their stealth wealth approach, one might argue the Roy family have a more intimate relationship with their clothes than they do their homes, and this is a recurring theme amongst one-percenters, who, when it comes to matters of interior design, often care far more about the contents of a dressing room than its fittings (the complete antithesis, as it were, to twentieth-century socialites, sisters Gigina and Nedda Nechi who, within the confines of their Piero Portalupi-designed rationalist masterpiece, had a first-floor hallway transformed into a vaulted and frescoed dressing room, with row upon row of floor to ceiling, silk-clad, cedar lined wardrobes — a work of art in itself — so as to house their ever-expanding collection of French haute couture). It’s perhaps somewhat ironic that in Season 3 when Kendall goes from being in a “state of inner collapse and blind fealty to his father into [being] kind [of] reborn”, in the words of Jeremy Strong, “with the conviction of a convert in a sense and on a moral crusade”, that he moves into the $25 billion Hudson Yards development on the far West Side of Manhattan, which has been described by The New York Times as “devoid of urban design,” a place that “epitomizes a skin-deep view of architecture as luxury branding”.
By and large, the 0.01% don’t spend their time trawling through vintage shops, or getting excited over a quirky vase or mid-century oil painting that looks a little like a Soulage (1919-2022); they’re often lacking in any great degree of taste, or at least the time to express it through personal possessions, and as such, the task gets outsourced to various third parties, the majority of which design so as to avoid offence, rather than trying actively to please the eye. Of course, those occupying the lofty stratosphere of the Roy family are inherently aware of the fact their homes serve both private and public functions, in that drinks parties, suppers, charity events and photo shoots are all the norm; decorating choices aren’t only going to be seen by friends and family, whom one would hope, wouldn’t ridicule an ill-judged artwork or “live, love, laugh” decal (though of course, anyone working in interiors will instinctively do so upon crossing the threshold of any abode). With that in mind, it’s only those with supreme self-confidence in their own taste, such as Pauline de Rothschild (1908-1976), Peggy Guggenheim (1898-1979), Eugenia Errázuriz (1860-1951) and Marie-Laure de Noailles (1902-1970) who are able to stick two proverbial fingers up at social norms and create interiors that are a true reflection of self. Saint Laurent’s (1936-2008) Russian datcha or the aubergine lacquered anti-room at his rue de Babylone duplex, clad in lily-festooned, gilt bronze Lalanne mirrors would undoubtedly leave many an oligarch scratching their heads and reaching for the smelling salts. Quiet luxury is a concept with considerable nuance, at one end of the spectrum it stems from a combination of learnt rules of etiquette and a desire to blend in, and at the other, it can be a result of refinement and sophistication, whereby an interior is deliberately pared back so that the intrinsic merit of materials, objects and art are allowed to sing; in terms of fashion this might manifest itself in brands like The Row and Saman Amel, and as for interiors, one might look to the work of Frances Elkins (1888-1953), Jed Johnson (1946-1998), Annabelle Selldorf (b. 1960), Stephen Sills and Atelier AM, whose work, whilst understated and rooted in quality and craftsmanship, remains interesting, full of character and, perhaps most importantly, isn’t obvious. Stealth wealth needn’t mean a barrage of uninspired neutrals, with little or no style, it can speak of a degree of discernment and cultivation entirely removed from tired and outmoded class diktats, as seen to great effect in the interiors of philanthropist and collector Pierre Bergé (1930-2017), who, as a wealthy businessman from a working-class background, ruminated: “I don’t know where my taste comes from … it’s a mystery. My family never had the least interest in the arts or knew anything about them, and surrounded themselves with hideous furniture, paintings and objects.” As the proverb goes, “Old money whispers; new money shouts”, but in truth, only those with an ear attuned to the inherent intricacies of social mores, will recognise whether, in terms of the former, such understated aesthetic inclinations are a result of inherent refinement, or, simply a complete and total lack of confidence.