“Luxury has often been defined as a $4,000 handbag. That’s not luxury. That is a very lazy definition of luxury. If I’m a consumer and I’m buying a $120 polo shirt, for me that may actually be a luxury.” - Patrice Louvet, President and CEO of Ralph Lauren
This weekend, I heard this quote from Patrice Louvet, the head of Ralph Lauren, and his words kept me thinking about long after I scrolled past him. It struck me first because it came from a leader at RL, a brand which has experienced an incredible comeback over the past few years. They also are a unique example of a company who has targeted every level of consumer budget, from priceless couture, all the way down to affordable classics. Not many high-end brands have broadened their reach so effectively, while remaining relevant on the runway.
For years, I have been a critic of this approach because it felt to me like a watering down of the proudly American fashion house. As some of my elder millennial friends may agree, Ralph Lauren earned cache for me by employing Jennifer Aniston’s character, Rachel, in Friends. There is a fantastically comedic scene where the “silver fox” himself, Ralph Lauren, takes an awkward and silent elevator ride with Rachel and her boss after Rachel implies she is having an affair with him. To me, Ralph Lauren the label felt like the epitome of American fashion and to then find it hanging up in Macy’s was… disappointing.
However, after reading and re-reading Louvet’s words, it appears the American designer has done something uniquely American: they democratized style. By providing high quality clothing to different income levels, they remain relevant in more households, something many clothing brands strive for but never achieve.
It also had me thinking about what “luxury” truly means. Lately, the word seems to have lost its meaning entirely. Everything is defined as “luxury”. Flooring described as “luxury vinyl” is textured plastic. Luxury workout gear is stretchy plastic. Even established luxury brands have been called out for schilling $1,500 earrings made with cubic zirconia and silver plating.
It has been difficult for me to define what “luxury” truly represents anymore. If it does not represent craftsmanship or quality or taste or excellence, then perhaps it means nothing at all.
"The problem isn’t that luxury has ceased to exist; it’s that we have allowed others to define it for us."
In the best possible way, Patrice has called into question this assumption. It is incorrect for me to assume luxury should be widely agreed upon or objective. He explains that the definition of “luxury” is inherently personal. In letting others dictate what constitutes as luxury, I have outsourced something which was always meant to be defined from within. This is not to say my idea of luxury will not overlap with other’s (the South of France is still the South of France), but if it is perfectly mirroring the world’s definition, I have missed the point.
The next natural question is then, “How do I define luxury?” When all the labels and the brands and the marketing have been taken away, what remains? My mind wandered to a trip my husband and I took a few months ago, where we (both avid tea drinkers) discovered a new tea. It turned out the hotel we were staying at carried a wonderful, loose leaf tea brand, J’enwey Tea, and we fell in love with their bourbon vanilla black tea.
After learning the actual retail price when we returned home from the trip, we attempted to find a replacement. Over the next few weeks, we tried a half-dozen, less expensive blends that turned out to be abysmal substitutes. Some came out of the box smelling promising then ended up tasting like a bar of lavender soap steeped in hot water.
Left epicuriously bereft, we bit the bullet and ordered the tea sachets directly from J’enwey. Within a week, we received a beautifully packaged box filled with aromatic teas and a hand-written note from the company. Because we still want to retire someday, we have limited ourselves to one sachet a day, but we both look forward to it as a daily luxury.
My grandmother, Bette, owned a stunning china set with a Wedgwood green band and gold trim. It was very simple for her generation, but the pattern is timeless. To me, luxury is like the gold trim on my grandmother’s china: bright, beautiful, joy-inducing. It is found in the parts of life that make everything a bit shinier. They stand out from everything else in one way or another. After fifteen years of working long hours in the tech sector, having the time to volunteer in my son’s classroom or to be at home with my kids on school holidays, instead of having to take them to a care center, is a true luxury for me.
When the company I had been working at for seven years had a successful IPO, I bought myself my first and (for now) only Hermes scarf as a souvenir of those crazy and exciting final years as a private company. I think of that season in life every time I put on the scarf. A silk scarf or high-quality tea might be simple, even mundane to those with bigger budgets, and that is okay; for me, they hold meaning and make my days a little brighter.
Luxury is meant to be personal. My father, an avid pianist, lives in twenty-year-old Levi’s and beat up tennis shoes but has an exceptionally beautiful, century-old grand piano sitting in his living room that he plays every day. I have a pair of Gucci pumps I bought a few years ago that I’m afraid to wear lest I scratch the leather.
The problem isn’t that luxury has ceased to exist; it’s that we have allowed others to define it for us.
I guess what I’m saying is to hell with what everyone else tries to tell you is a luxury; the real joy in life is to figure out what luxury is to you.
I heard of a woman who eschewed her complicated, big city life in favor of living in a quiet town somewhere in South America. Her Instagram page is full of homemade breads, gardening, tea on the back porch - everything social media tells us creates the perfect life.
Turns out: she hates it. All of it. She’s selling up and moving back to America.
I have never been more miserable than when I let someone else define success for me. I have never been more broke than when I was living the life I thought twenty-somethings were supposed to be living. By allowing someone else define luxury on my behalf, it lost all meaning.
Now, thanks to Patrice’s wisdom, I am back at the drawing board. Having erased all of the lines drawn for me, it is up to me to draw new ones. I realize this statement is quite ironic since I purport to be the designer of "luxury women's outerwear". This is something I will be grappling with in the days to come. Perhaps my designs are still luxury, since I designed them. Perhaps "high-quality" and "investment pieces" are better descriptions. It will take me time to discover the best and truest way to define Martindale for the future and for you.
So how about you: do you have an innately defined idea of luxury? Or, like me, do you have a few “luxury” items gathering dust at the back of your closet? Tell me what luxuries are for you in the comments below.
And come along as I redefine what luxury means for me and for Martindale.
Until next time,
Elise
