Are we pretending to look rich?

In March 2023, two events coincided by chance that marked a turning point in the way we dress: the premiere of the fourth and final season of Succession and the trial faced by Gwyneth Paltrow over a skiing accident. Both the characters from the HBO series and the Californian actress and entrepreneur went viral for their clothing: a style called “silent luxury” that, although initially accessible only to elites, eventually trickled down to the streets thanks to fast fashion. This aesthetic is defined by neutral tones (ranging from white and black to beige, gray, or navy), very clean lines, an absence of logos or loud prints, and — here’s the differentiator — top-quality materials like cashmere or merino wool from brands such as The Row, Celine, or Loro Piana.

Nothing entirely new: first Steve Jobs and then other tech gurus had already opted to address in unfiorm — looks that appear simple but actually cost a fortune — to showcase discretion and associate themselves with an image of success achieved without drawing attention.

Now, as economic inequality continues to grow, it seems the rest of us want to emulate the 1% of the population that holds more than half the world’s wealth (according to Oxfam’s The Law of the Richest report). You only need to look around offices or social media to see it. The internet is even full of content offering tricks to make your home or wardrobe look expensive for very little money.

“It’s an aesthetic that, in my opinion, has existed for as long as there have been people with money, and I don’t see it as a trend but rather as a consumer attitude that has been made fashionable by certain cultural events or trends, such as series,” explains Coro Saldaña, fashion and retail business executive, in a telephone conversation, referring to the success of Succession as well as other productions like The White Lotus, Nine Perfect Strangers, or Big Little Lies.

Other causes, she says, include the post-pandemic mood and the social and political climate, which encourages those with the most resources to spend their money more discreetly: “After the war in Ukraine began, fashion shows were like mourning, and this is also a response to the current moment to show a little respect.”

But according to Saldaña, more than anything, it’s about creating a positive personal brand in the workplace: “I see, especially among women, how it’s about having a certain very polished aesthetic associated with the digital world.”

In this context, the aesthetic is intentionally understated and minimal, designed not to draw attention during video calls, presentations, or photos, where flashy or busy clothing could look distracting or unprofessional on camera.

And this is where the pressure to seek approval on social media comes in. According to Saldaña, this sterile or minimalist aesthetic (which also extends to interior design) “is rewarded more by the algorithm, making content more reusable because it maximizes engagement and looks better in the feed. This has led some digital creators to promote this type of aesthetic a little more.”

A ‘performance’ of wealth

Social media has become a breeding ground for playing the game of appearing wealthy without actually being so. Luxury trips and secret getaways seem to have stopped being exclusive, almost normalizing themselves in digital spaces, while 33.4% of Spaniards cannot afford to go on vacation. This is why every summer a video posted by actor Brays Efe in 2018 has gone viral again — “Why does everyone have a boat?” he asked while suffering a heatwave in Madrid — and why last year it was revealed that many influencers who boasted of traveling by private jet had actually rented a set for a few hours just to take photos.

This phenomenon can be examined through the theory of habitus by French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, who defined symbolic capital as the recognition and value we attribute to a person, which is not based on material worth but on social perception and acceptance.

“Although symbolic capital can be very attractive in the digital world, if it fails to become economic, social, or cultural capital, it can be very fragile,” explains Lu Beccassino, a Colombian psychologist specializing in sociology and political science, via email.

“To be able to assess whether an image is worth more than money, you have to be able to translate this into terms of what it’s getting you,” she continues. “Something has value to the extent that it achieves something: access, decision-making power, freedom, social esteem… And social media allows you to create appearances that can get you, for example, access to exclusive spaces, opportunities, or recognition. In some cases, money can also buy you the equivalent of all this. In others, money is not enough, and you need to understand certain social codes. This is where the idea that money alone does not buy class comes in, as seen in discrimination against the nouveau rich.”

The term nouveau riche originates from French, meaning ‘new rich,’ and was used in the 19th century by the elite to criticize those who had become wealthy thanks to the Industrial Revolution. In 1925, F. Scott Fitzgerald portrayed it in The Great Gatsby through his protagonist, Jay Gatsby, a man who amassed an immense fortune quickly and mysteriously without belonging to the traditional aristocracy. Although Gatsby threw lavish parties in hopes of winning back Daisy’s love, he never fully gained acceptance from those born into privileged social positions.

“As Bourdieu explains, habitus is formed through socialization processes: within the family, at school, among friends, and through other institutions that shape our dispositions, tastes, and ways of navigating the world,” says Beccassino. “That’s why so-called ‘newly rich’ individuals often have a different habitus, which leads to exclusion, as they lack the cultural and symbolic capital that distinguishes the upper class with a history of family privilege.”

She adds: “They don’t have the tastes, ways of speaking, or behaviors of the traditional upper class, which often leads to forms of symbolic violence, such as ridicule, contempt, or discrimination. What’s really happening is an attempt to maintain the legitimacy and power of the traditional elite by differentiating themselves from newcomers.”

“As Bourdieu explains, habitus is formed through processes of socialization: in the family, school, circle of friends, and other institutions that shape our dispositions, tastes, and ways of being in the world,” says Beccassino. “Therefore, the so-called nouveau riche often have a distinct habitus, and this leads to exclusion, as they lack the cultural and symbolic capital that distinguishes the upper class with a family history of privilege.”

She explains: “They don’t have the tastes, ways of speaking, or behaving of the traditional upper class, and this frequently leads to forms of symbolic violence, such as mockery, contempt, or discrimination. What they are really doing is trying to maintain the legitimacy and position of power of the traditional elite by differentiating themselves from the newcomers.”

The obsession with ‘old money’

Even among the wealthy, there are social tiers. While tech magnates — regardless of their backgrounds — have been able to adopt the aesthetic of silent luxury, old money — another trend dominating social media — is far more exclusive. Some TikTok users even showcase their outfits, jokingn: “When my old money look turns into an ‘I need money’ look.” The style is based on an unattainable ideal that includes royalty — Lady Di has become an icon for the millennial generation — and the aristocracy.

“There’s been a lot of talk lately about old money style as an aesthetic that supposedly reflects inherited wealth, but it’s important to distinguish between the appearance of a habitus and actual symbolic capital,” says Beccassino. “Wearing a polo shirt or a pleated skirt may mimic certain visual codes of the elite, but it doesn’t equate to belonging to it. Elites tend to protect their privileged status by continually shifting legitimate signs of distinction toward forms that are harder to imitate: having studied at certain institutions, having a recognized last name, vacationing on exclusive circuits, or being part of social clubs with restricted access. These practices imply a trajectory and a sense of belonging, not just an aesthetic gesture.” But the fact that it’s unattainable doesn’t seem to stop us from trying to imitate this style.

In the 1960s, the owner of the Japanese brand Van Jacket sent a photographer and a group of writers to the United States to capture the essence of Ivy League style: Yale, Princeton, Harvard, and others. The result was a photo book called Take Ivy, which became so popular that it first sold out, then became a collector’s item, and more than four decades later, independent publisher powerHouse Books reprinted it.

In 1980, the phenomenon happened again: journalist Lisa Birnbach published The Official Preppy Handbook, a book that describes the clothing, music, décor, and speech of those who naturally embody the preppy style — a term originating from preparatory schools, private secondary schools where children of the U.S. elite prepare for Ivy League universities. Although originally written with irony, the book became a style guide that stayed on The New York Times bestseller list for 38 weeks. In 2010, Birnbach updated the guide with the book True Prep: It’s a Whole New Old World that explained the trends shaping the new generation of the elite from yoga and cell phones to reality shows.

“In line with what [American philosopher] Michael Sandel proposed, this can be seen as a way to escape the double cruelty of poverty today: you’re not just poor, you’re humiliated for being so,” says Beccassino. “You’re told it’s your fault, due to a lack of effort or mindset. You don’t just suffer from economic precariousness, but also from a lack of social esteem. In this scenario, seeking to appear wealthier than you actually are may be an attempt to escape that second type of precariousness: that of social recognition and esteem.”

She continues: “From Bourdieu’s theory, this can be understood as a form of symbolic violence: failure is presented as an individual responsibility, and structural conditions are made invisible. Not only is the lack of money disdained, but so too is the habitus associated with the working classes: their way of speaking, dressing, moving... They are represented as lacking social value. And, in this context, feigning success can be seen as a way of claiming social esteem in a field that punishes social origin. It’s not just about boasting that you’re traveling or have designer clothes, but rather about escaping the stigma of precariousness.”

Because, in the end, whether we like it or not, “social media open up a field in which these codes empower people and generate a type of capital that can grant access to contacts, privileged spaces, and money.”

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