Why the ‘ludicrously capacious’ bag on Succession was such a faux pas for the very wealthiest
Happy Succession week to all who celebrate (and if you haven’t watched the first episode of season four, scroll down to The Measure section now).
We need to talk about Tom Wambsgans’s scathing attack on fashion. In particular, a handbag which he deems “ludicrously capacious”. Not since Miranda Priestly’s takedown of Andrea and her cerulean blue jumper in The Devil Wears Prada have we seen such a succinct critique of fashion and society. The handbag at the crux of Tom’s lecture is from Burberry and costs over £2,500. It’s carried by Bridget, Cousin Greg’s unexpected date to Logan Roy’s birthday party.
Logan’s assistant Kerry immediately makes it clear that “Bridget Randomfuck” is an unwelcome guest. As she reminds Greg, it’s an intimate party at the home of one of the richest men in the world, “not a fucking Shake Shack”.
But it’s Tom who really captures the family’s issue with Bridget. Her clothing – and worst of all her “monstrous” bag – signifies that she is not part of their world.“What’s even in there?” Tom laments. “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”.
Bridget’s excess baggage hints at everything she lacks, and everything the Roys and their ilk are accustomed to. Bridget lives in a world where she has to schlep. The Roys simply glide.
The world of schleppers is, of course, full of bags. Filled with last night’s leftovers for lunch, trainers for the commute, reusable water bottles, makeup, gym gear, the list goes on. Sometimes you even need a second one: Bridget definitely has a reusable tote with a Girl Boss slogan on it buried at the bottom of that Burberry.
A mini bag, or even better no bag at all, is the norm for Logan’s invited guests. They use their phones to check in with their wealth managers, not to create Instagram content, another faux pas Bridget makes.
But it’s not just the size of Bridget’s bag that jars. Although logo-less, its vintage check print makes it instantly recognisable. This is a logoless logo that has a long and somewhat complicated relationship with class prejudice.
Burberry is a luxury brand, but it’s not a brand that is part of the Roy’s wardrobe roster. Their aesthetic is quiet luxury. It’s stealth wealth, exemplified by Gwyneth Paltrow this week in the courtroom in her £1,500 cream knitwear. It murmurs money, like a whispered recommendation for the best masseur amongst one percenters.
It’s old money rather than a nouveau aesthetic. Heritage luxury brands such as Loro Piana, Max Mara and Brunello Cucinelli epitomise it. Their pieces allow their wearers to go incognito; on first glance Logan’s quarter zippers and cosy cardigans (see above) could be from M&S. It’s only those in the know that will recognise they are in fact a silent signifier of his wealth. Bridget’s bag, meanwhile, is loud luxury. A cry for attention. It shouts “look at how much I spent”. It’s also the type of bag that is quickly duped and illicitly sold on Canal Street.
What makes the scene even more cutting is that this observation of conspicuous consumption comes from Tom, the original Roy family interloper. An aspiring scion-in-law who used to wear red chinos and, at one stage, found himself berated for wearing a branded Moncler vest 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 that Tom now can recognise a Burberry bag as an accessory of a social climber says a lot about his own ascent towards the moneyed world he now sits in.
Tom’s comments are not only a burn to Bridget’s character but to Burberry too. A paparazzi image of Eastenders’ Danniella Westbrook taken in 2002 – clad head to toe in Burberry check, her baby daughter dressed up to match while Westbrook pushed a coordinated pram – continues to haunt the brand (“Chavtastic”, declared the tabloids at the time). Since then, the company has worked hard on damage limitation. This season the trademark check in its tan, red and black colourway was nowhere to be seen in the debut collection from new creative director Daniel Lee.
In the marketing blurb for the bag
Bridget carries, its design is credited to Lee’s predecessor, Ricardo Tisci. “It’s a future classic that’s set to star as the headline act of countless ensembles,” it reads. No doubt the headlines caused by its role in Succession were not the type Burberry had in mind.
If you want to read the complete version of this newsletter please subscribe to receive Fashion Statement in your inbox every Thursday
piece baffles him when we speak, but he reasons: “Someone wanted to buy it before and someone will buy it again.” He feels as if he has a career ahead of him. “You’re doing something to help the planet, which is more important now than ever.”
* **
Who is to blame for rising returns? It’s easy – and for many people, probably satisfying – to point the finger at gaggles of girls in their university halls, buying silver sequin cross-halterneck bodycon dresses for £14 before sending them back for free. While admitting there are some “wardrobers” who abuse the system like this (in 2019, Asos began deactivating the accounts of “serial returners” on its site), Frei also blames organised criminals.
“I do 1-2 Amazon refunds a week, each order worth around 400 EUR,” reads one ebook guide to returns fraud. Across the internet, there is a network of “refunders” who fraudulently complain about items to secure refunds, then ship empty boxes back; they write advice guides for others wanting to do the same. Some refunders, Frei says, even charge a fee to carry out the fraud on your behalf. According to bot protection company Netacea, there are now 1,600 refunding companies selling their services.
“Every company has goodwill – this can be taken advantage of for refunding,” the ebook reads. Frei says this is precisely why the issue is so hard to tackle – and adds that many businesses are not aware of the true scale of returns fraud. Still, the problem goes far deeper than wardrobers and refunders – in reality, we all return stuff, and it’s this ubiquity that causes problems.
Asos first introduced free delivery and free returns for all UK customers in 2009, after almost a decade of selling clothes online. When Zara launched its website in 2011, it was only natural to imitate and the company also offered free returns. In the subsequent decade, numerous brands followed suit. Before long, it was something customers took for granted. “It’s just part and parcel of what you have to do, it’s almost to be expected at this point,” says Ruqsar Bibi, a 26-year-old master’s student from Stoke-on-Trent who shops almost exclusively online. When we speak, she has two parcels with two different sizes of a top and a dress waiting for her to try on. She’s not embarrassed that she will have to return them, but does feel “judged” by some post office staff. “They make little passing comments like, ‘Oh, someone’s been shopping’ or, ‘Oh, this is why I do all my shopping instore.’”
Yet the returns problem can’t just be pinned on customers. Anyone who has shopped online knows that what you see is not always what you get. “Companies need to look at how they’re selling in the first place,” Lisa Jack says. “Are people buying two or three different sizes because they’re not sure of your sizing? Are they buying different colours because the pictures aren’t clear?” Bibi orders multiple sizes because “if I buy only one size, it’s a risk, because it might not fit”.
Claire (not her real name) is a 26year-old delivery driver from Cumbria. Her job requires her to both deliver items and pick up returns, and she has even given some customers her number so they can text her directly when they want to send something back. She has found that it is customers in their 40s and older who tend to return a lot of packages, particularly around wedding season, and theorises that younger customers instead use resale apps such as Depop or Vinted.
“One of my customers has had a few weddings this last year and I’ve been taking absolutely loads of parcels to her. By the end of the week I’m getting loads back,” Claire says. “Another of my customers was trying to find suitable workwear because she’s got a new job, and everything she’s getting doesn’t fit right or it’s not professional enough.”
Sometimes, customers apologise, saying things like, “I’m so sorry you’re back again, I must stop doing this!” But Claire doesn’t mind. Like ACS seamstresses, she benefits from the return economy. She used to work in retail, for a well-known high street brand, and has experienced first-hand how the pandemic altered appetites for online shopping. She now gets paid per parcel and has gone from delivering 70 parcels a day to around 120, plus extra money for heavier deliveries . She is making more as a delivery driver than she did in her previous job. “People order a lot, but then they send back a lot as well,” she says.
While Claire does worry about the number of shops shutting in her local town, online shopping has changed her life. “I took on this job because my mental health started going downhill in my old one,” Claire says. “I’m my own boss … I love that my round is rural, I get to see all the wildlife, I meet loads of new people. It’s great.”
* * *
How do you solve a problem like returners? That’s something the Product Returns Research Group is trying to figure out. Frei’s findings suggest that if you warn customers their return affects the environment, their behaviour changes. Retailers can make sizing guides and product imagery more accurate, and warehouse workers need to be given the time and expertise to assess returned products properly – Frei says workers are forced to rush because of strict targets and valuable information isn’t logged. Then there are bigger changes that can be made by all of us: Frei believes society needs to move away from the concept of ownership and embrace models that reduce the environmental production cost of clothes, such as renting.
That, naturally, won’t happen overnight. A more immediate change companies could make is ending free returns. Since last May, Zara – who declined to comment for this article – has charged customers £1.95 to return online orders. Asos, meanwhile, says 97% of its products are resold on the site after inspection and, if needed, repair and cleaning. It also says any clothes sold on to third parties have requirements on what can be done with them and it doesn’t send products to landfill or destroy them unless legally required to.
Hitt says she orders less from Zara now and over the past year has tried to cut back on shopping and returning. “I wasn’t really aware how bad it was for the environment, fast fashion in general,” she says. But when a friend of a friend got a job at a big online fashion retailer, she broke the news to Hitt that many returns end up in landfill. “I am getting better at rewearing clothes,” Hitt says, although she still orders new outfits two or three times a month. “Which I know still sounds like a lot, but is much better than where I used to be.”
One logistics firm put the carbon dioxide cost of returns in the US as being equivalent to the output of 3m cars