At long last, bling loses its lustre
IT IS the label-flashing form of conspicuous consumption beloved of wannabe rappers, Russian oligarchs at play and taste-deprived reality television stars.
Now — at long, long last — the signs at the Paris men’s fashion shows this weekend are that the era of “bling” is drawing, unlamented, to its close.
Antoine Arnault, the 34year-old heir to Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy (LVMH), a luxury and fashion empire valued at close to £60billion, said: “We are going to enter an era in which logo and ostentation is going to be less successful. It will be about real quality.”
Mr Arnault is well placed to make this prediction. The group founded by his father, Bernard — France’s wealthiest man and, according to Forbes magazine, the fourth richest in the world — spans 50 of the world’s best known high-end brands. They include Christian Dior, Krug, Tag Heuer, Bulgari, Givenchy, and Glenmorangie as well as Louis Vuitton itself, of which Mr Arnault was head of communications for five years.
Despite worldwide financial turmoil, the sector is enjoying an “anti-crisis” he says: between June and September last year LVMH reported sales of £4.9billion, an 18 per cent increase. Arnault believes that the global appetite for luxury goods is poised for a “bling-busting” shift. “People are going to want more quality, and less ostentation,” he said.
“Especially in a world in economic crisis: you don’t want to be seen with evidently expensive products. Just something that is beautiful.”
The most surprising aspect of the luxury industry’s 14 per cent boom in the face of broader economic gloom is that it is driven by men, who are now spending £155billion a year on luxury clothes and
We are entering an era in which ostentation is going to be less successful
accessories for themselves, according to a new study.
This bodes ill for Natalia Vodianova, the Russian model with whom Arnault has been romantically linked.
“The only explanation is that people still want to please themselves,” Mr Arnault said. “Men seem to be a little bit more selfish these days, and spend a bit more on themselves and a little bit less on their wives or girlfriends.”
To meet this growing male market, Arnault is spearheading the launch of a new, men-only business to provide the bling-free, inconspicuously luxurious clothes he believes these men want. Berluti, a venerable LVMH-owned maker of handmade leather shoes costing £1,000 or more, launched its first menswear collection in Paris on Friday.
“The collection is more Aston Martin than Ferrari,” said Mr Arnault. “I love Aston Martin. And you know we had the file on our desk [to possibly buy the company]. We talked about it, it’s luxury too. But it was too much.”
Despite passing on Aston Martin, Arnault says he hopes LVMH will buy more old, high-end luxury companies. “The group needs to continue to grow, to preserve savoir faire, craft and heritage,” he said.
Yet LVMH is sometimes portrayed as the Roman Empire of fashion: a voracious acquirer of territory with its eye fixed only on profit and power.
The family that controls Hermes is mounting a spirited campaign against what its claims is an attempt by LVMH to mount a surreptitious takeover. Mr Arnault declined to discuss the issue, but insisted that LVMH’S emphasis is not conquest, but civilisation, too.
“Speak to people in Berluti, in Dior, in Dom Perignon: not once have we worked with a brand that we didn’t glorify. I don’t know why, but some people really want to push that button, to say ‘they are evil’.”
It is almost a year since John Galliano was fired as head designer at Christian Dior after his notorious drunken, anti-semitic comments. LVMH’S hunt for his successor continues, with Raf Simons, of Jil Sander, now being touted.
Before that it was Marc Jacobs, the American who runs his eponymous brand and Louis Vuitton — both owned by LVMH. Mr Arnault said of Dior: “They will wait until they find the perfect fit for the job. They have patience.”
The paradox of high fashion’s high sales during financial decline has, Mr Arnault believes, every chance of continuing, insisting that people turn to brands “that have never compromised on quality or values” in times of trouble.
PComment on Nigel Farndale’s view at
telegraph.co.uk/nigelfarndale erhaps I’m reading too much into it, since neither of them is exactly typical of the population at large, what with one being a film star and the other a princess… Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. Just rushed straight in there without explaining who they are or why I’m mentioning them. Jeremy Irons. He’s the actor. And he has revealed that he doesn’t buy new clothes unless he really has to, and that he rides around on a motorbike that is 22 years old. The princess is the Princess Royal. Finding herself booked into a hotel room with a view, she asked to swap for one without a view, because it was £40 cheaper.
Now, don’t you find yourself a little cheered by these stories? If you do, it’s probably because you’re British and can relate to their thriftiness. They, we, can’t help it. It’s part of our national condition.
Hang on, you say, aren’t we in a mess caused by (Labour) borrowing and spending too much? Yes, but consider our reaction to the news of the latest City bonuses. Was it not one of revulsion? And in which other country could a comedian have made his name with a grotesque called Loadsamoney and, later, an equally cringe-making character who was “considerably richer than yow!”
The Americans can carry it off. Conspicuous consumption complements their can-do spirit. I once saw a sign in Texas which read: “God, guns and guts made America great — let’s keep all three.” To that could have been added another g-word: greed. Over there, greed is good.
But, pace Harry Enfield, I don’t think we enjoy flashing money around in this country. It gives us little pleasure and sometimes causes us pain, which is a shame for the economy because, in theory, the more things we buy, the healthier it becomes.
I always assumed that this national characteristic was the legacy of rationing. But David Kynaston, the author of Austerity Britain, 1945-51, was talking on the radio the other day about how, even when the rationing generation was told by Macmillan in 1957 that they had never had it so good, they still maintained their frugal habits.
I think it is part of our DNA, and it pre-dates rationing. My wife and I used to tease our parents about their rationing-era frugality, especially their habit of driving out of their way to find petrol that was a couple of pence cheaper. But they were only doing what their parents had done.
My father-in-law took the thrift prize about 15 years ago, when he produced a jar of greenish organic matter that purported to be pickled gherkins. Not only did it not have a sell-by date, it actually bore the words “Now with new screw-top lid!” We watched with morbid fascination as he proceeded to eat the contents, wasting not, wanting not.
But now my wife and I are a little older, we are turning into our parents. In our household we ignore sell-by dates, eat leftovers, rarely have the heating on and have started collecting twigs rather than wasting money on kindling. I don’t think I ever took pleasure in spending money, but I do now find myself taking a certain satisfaction in saving it.
I know we have a patriotic duty to spend at the moment, and we are actively discouraged from saving, thanks to the policy of using low interest rates to bail out debtors at the expense of savers. But still. I suspect it is only in times of austerity that we British feel truly comfortable in our own skins.