She was quietly rich. Not hip new-money rich, popped-collar Balenciaga hoodie kind of rich. Old rich.
Sofa upholstery-that-matchsa-million-dollar-view rich. The cashmere jumper draped over her shoulders wasn’t screaming wealth. There were no logos, no bells or whistles.
It just kind of was. How it was hung on her body told you that it cost more than your firstborn child.
The leather tote resting at her feet was smooth, no embellishments or initials embroidered in fancy thread.
All leather.
In the exact shade of brown that made you realise every other brown bag you own is rubbish. “It’ll be $7.50,” the guy behind the counter said, sliding my oat milk latte across the counter in a paper cup that immediately burned my hands. I fumbled awkwardly for my wallet, spilling three rewards cards and a folded up grocery receipt on the ground as I searched for something, anything, to scrape together enough change.
Cashmere jumper woman strolled past me, balancing her own drink and smirking at my mess like she’s never fumbled for change in her life. Guilty, I cheated and watched her leave. She wore oatmeal coloured trousers that matched her jumper.
Not the oatmeal you buy in little flavour packets at Duane Read when you’re desperate for something other than Ramen. I’m talking the kind of oatmeal that comes in tiny glass jars at Whole Foods that costs twelve dollars a pound. Because Upstate New Yorkers.
Her loafers were kitten heels, but in a shade I can only describe as “natural tan”. She wore beige lipstick and the jumper featured a cream coloured collar. It was all so marginally different that your eyes blended it together into one uniform shade of not-coloured-that-you-can-name.
But she looked wealthy AF. Some people call this “Quiet Luxury,” but honestly it probably went by that name well before the TikTok algorithm whispered it in your ear. It’s logo enthusiasm’s ugly cousin. “Buy less, spend more, and you’ll never wear Prada again!” Basically, Succession core, old White people clothes.
I reached out to Simone, a former coworker who manned the same fashion closet I did years ago and is now a stylist for deep-pocketed clients who’d prefer to keep their actual wealth private. “People have always been doing it,” Simone told me over text while running errands between her clients flats. “Look at aristocrats from centuries past; they weren’t rocking Versace/logo tees and furry hats like Hugh Hefner. It was subtle signs that others would know. A fancy glove.
An impeccably tailored waistcoat. Shit that showed you didn’t work with your fucking hands.” She’s right, of course. It’s just that today, we’ve swapped handmade shoes for Made-In-China trainers and wiping dust off your banister counts as “keeping up appearances”.
The brands everyone knows; handled only by white gloves and whispered about behind closed French doors: The Row (coincidentally, designed by Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, who also happened to grow up rich); Khaite; Loro Piana; Brunello Cucinelli. These are brands where a basic white tee costs $300 and a jumper is just under your monthly rent. The clothes don’t necessarily “make a statement”.
They’re not embellished, pink, or shaped like a banana. They’re expensive because they’re understated; uniforms for people who’ve decided they invented that uniform. Since that day at that Starbucks, I’ve fallen down many, many internet holes learning about the elusive and exclusive world of quietly wealthy people.
There are subreddits dedicated to crowdsourcing guesses at how much people spent on their wardrobe and majorInstagramaccounts that exist solely to point out how much money strangers have made them realise they don’t have. Don’t believe me? Google “How much is this dress worth” and prepare yourself for a rude awakening.
My point is, I studied up. I know these people. I can spot an insider at 20 paces.
I see you and your Coach bag lying on that beach thinking you blend in. It’s time to talk about how to look rich without looking like you’re trying to tell the world you’re rich. Step one; fit is everything.
Clothes that fit you well are, by default, more expensive. Someone had to take your measurements and tailor that jumper so it fits your body’s contours just right. Find yourself a solid tailor; not the dry cleaner who offers alterations as a side hustle, but an actual professional.
I used to work with one and have him on speed dial. His name is Mr. Chen (all the good tailors are Chinese, don’t @ me) and I’m pretty sure he’s worked on suits on Savile Row.
If he can adjust the waist of my jeans and hem my boyfriend shorts to perfectly-swish-over-my-Calvin-Klein-platforms length, your local tailor can do it too. Trust me, a few nips and tucks can make that $40 pair of trousers you bought online look like a $400 designer pair. Pay attention to fabrics.
This is where it gets tricky if you’re watching your budget, but once you know what you’re looking for, you can find great materials at thrift stores and during serious sales. Take notes at high end stores. Feel fabric (trust me, sales associates hate this but I’ve been rudely followed by security more times than I can count).
Learn what real cashmere feels like versus the thin itchy stuff. Realise that most “vacuum washed” items, as many brands love to call their synthetic nonsense, will look washed out and start pill-ing immediately. Once you know what you want, start searching.
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Thrift stores, sample sales, end of season sales; cheque everywhere until you find that perfect jumper in virgin wool that costs more than your last 3 months of rent COMBINED. I scored my favourite “quiet luxe” find at a local Connecticut thrift store. A longline camel hair coat that retailed for around $1,500+.
I got it for $60. The brand was CUT OUT of the tag, which ironically made the whole thing look more expensive. It’s the perfect shade of coffee with milk and about as heavy as it should be; heavy enough to provide texture and feel expensive without weighing you down.
It’s the first thing people comment on when I wear it. “Oh my God, that coat, is it Max Mara? !” Buy slowly. Please let this be the takeaway from my experience researching the ultra wealthy. Steep yourself in credit card debt investing in an entire wardrobe that screams “Look at me!
I spent thousands of dollars on these clothes!” Mile-high-real-estate rich may land at Billy Reid for lunch after a round of golf and walk out in an entirely new outfit. If you’re middle class working your way up, let people THINK that jumper cost you $20 when it actually cost you $400. Acquire pieces one at a time.
Wait months to be able to afford that coveted shirt. Open a special savings account and take money from every paycheck to live your best “forever piece” life. Natural buttons.
Real zippers. Does it swing a certain way when you walk? Can you see the stitches on the inside?
Yup, rich people notice that shit too. Turns out sewing a garment properly takes time and money. Details like that are things you should care about too.
Be chill about your chill clothes. This is going to be tough for some of you. There’s an air that comes with wealth.
You never look like you just got dressed. Nothing is too tight, too short, too new. You throw on that vintage Chanel because you’ve had it since college and don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.
My chic-as-fuck aunt wears a jumper so lightly damaged from time that it’s practically hung around paintings in museums for a century. But she doesn’t care because……rich people don’t care. They have more interesting things to think about than what colour jumper they’re wearing.
Side note; this actually cost me nothing. I’ve seen women wearing splatter paint every fashion brand under the sun look more bougie than the CEO of Target. And I’ve seen women where head-to-toe The Row and look homeless.
It comes down to confidence. And confidence is key. Attempt one wardrobe experiment later and I am officially converted.
I limited my colour palette to oatmeal, biscuit, camel, and light grey. Dusted off the most expensive-looking pieces I own from the back of my closet. Had 2 things tailored (you guys.
Tailored. Things.) and picked up a silkemma camp shirt in “milk tea” from a local thrift shop. I wore no makeup on my face except for the shiny smoosh of Botox my dermatologist injected me with earlier that day.
And I barely wore any jewellery; just a thin gold chain from my grandmother and some small pearl earrings. Instead of my usual red lipstick, I went with your lips but better and called it a day. The results were….noticeable.
Two of my yuppie friends texted me to see if I got a promotion. My doorman refused to let me into my building unless I called him “ma’am” and has never called me that before in the seven years I’ve lived here.
An lift saleswoman at Bergdorf Goodman looked me in the eye when I told her that OSCARS earrings were too expensive.
But most importantly, I felt…different.
Put together. Older.
Like I had my shit together, which, let’s be real, I don’t. Listen, I’m not saying dump your coloured pencil skirts and printed blazers for near-all neutrals. Fashion is supposed to be fun, and if you love dressing to the nines, freaking do it.
But there’s something to being able to speak that wealth fluently, even if you never actually want to conversation. Next time you’re out and see a woman who looks like she may or may not be a retired ballerina walking around in something as basic as yoga trousers but somehow looks rich AF in them; study her. Notice the way that fabric falls off her shoulders.
How that purse wasn’t MADE in China. How matching your shoes to your lipstick is actually a thing some people do. They’re speaking Wealth Whispers, fancy-person slang that’s been around for centuries.
And like any dialect, there are accents and nuances that you can learn whether you speak the language daily or popped onto RACK to browse.
