If one item encapsulates the current mood of
the luxury-goods market it's the artist-designer Tobias Wong's subversive
"hidden" diamond ring: the gem is embedded in the interior of the
ring's band, a secret only its wearer knows. "Only you know how much he/she
loves you" is its marketing slogan.
Like many of Wong's meticulously crafted
creations, the ring blurs the line between scathing social critique and
seductive object, between mockery and genius marketing. And that, of course, is
the point. The 32-year-old Vancouver native who now lives in New York has
achieved fame—and a certain notoriety—with his brazen commentary on consumer
culture, particularly on the perceptions surrounding luxury. He has gilded
ordinary objects such as Bic pen caps and McDonald's stir sticks in gold,
transforming them into luxe accessories. In 1999, at the height of Burberry
mania, he gave away buttons covered in the brand's signature plaid on the street
so everyone could experience "luxury" without paying for it. (These
became such a cult item that, instead of suing him, Burberry used the buttons in
its advertising.)
More recently, Wong has been exploring the
pleasures of secret luxury for which people will pay a premium. He dips Tiffany
pearl earrings in black rubber that can be peeled off at the owner's whim and
sells them for US$900. Then there is his "dimemond," a dime with a
diamond chip embedded in it that sells for US$250. Wong calls it a "pocket
charm" for men who derive pleasure simply knowing they're carrying it. His
current quest is to link up with the most exclusive of jewelers—an outfit
known for showering celebrities with conspicuous jewels—to produce a
top-of-the-line "eternity" version of his ring: a full circle of
hidden gems. (The single-gem ring is sold for $500 to $5,000 depending on the
metal and diamond grade.) Wong, who recently received the Brooklyn Museum's
Young Designer Award, is deciding whether or not he'll brand the ring with his
name. "P. Diddy isn't going to know who Tobias Wong is, but he's going to
want a ring with diamonds on the inside," he says.
Indeed, P. Diddy, who now goes by the de-blinged
Sean Combs, would be the ideal buyer for Wong's latest project. In 1899, the
American sociologist and economist Thorstein Veblen coined "conspicuous
consumption" in The Theory of the Leisure Class to describe the
profligacy of the newly rich. It has taken more than a century for a climate
change to occur: today, the most fashionable conspicuous consumption is
inconspicuous, at least to the unknowing eye. It's the subtle whistle only alpha
dogs can hear.
Stealth luxury is, in part, an inevitable
backlash to the ubiquity of "designer" brands paraded through
mass-market magazines and entertainment, losing cachet with every passing. Simon
Doonan, the famed Barneys New York window dresser and acerbic social
commentator, sees increasing obsession with obscure provenance and ever-new
stratifications for the status seeker to keep up with. "I think there has
always been a 'fancy pants' tier of the consumer population who wanted codified
luxury items—Goyard luggage, Berluti shoes, Verdura jewellery," he says.
"But now you see people expressing this with high-end denim brands—Antik,
Ernest Sewn. You have to be in some kind of unspecified club to recognize
them." Barbara Atkin, fashion director of Holt Renfrew, observes a similar
trend, noting shoppers are increasingly looking for smaller
off-the-mainstream-radar brands that provide impeccable fabrications and
finishes, citing the current popularity of the brands Akris, Brunello Cucinelli
and Loro Piana.
And now that readers of Us Weekly are
conversant in the semiotics of high-end logos, the identifiable no logo is de
rigueur among those requiring in-group-sanctioned exclusivity. Hence the
logo-free $2,000 Balenciaga bag in weathered leather has become, as Atkin puts
it, an "icon." Doonan agrees. "The explicit logo has taken a back
seat to the design of the bag," he says. "The Balenciaga is instantly
recognizable so it does not need to have the name plastered all over it. Ditto
Lanvin."
The movement to stealth fits nicely within a
broader social landscape where the au courant billionaire now creates a
charitable foundation, not a hedonistic playground, celebrities vie with one
another for "good works" photo ops, and hip-hop producer Russell
Simmons, known for his Court of Versailles lifestyle, is off investigating
worker conditions in African diamond mines. Because-I'm-worth-it status
signifiers have been forced underground into private secrets—which provides
their thrill. At Toronto's Hugo Nicholson, customers gravitate to Cassin's
$8,900 poplin raincoat lined with sable (a $5,000 mink-lined version is also
available for the more price-sensitive). Atkin reports that Holt Renfrew's
monogram service is increasingly asked to place initials where only the owner
can see them. She also notes the store can't keep Wolford's $55 "Velvet de
luxe 50" tights in stock. "It's how they make you feel," she
says.
Atkin sees the whisper of quiet luxury
extending beyond fashion into life, citing the popularity of discreet upscale
hotels. "It's reverse snobbery," she says of the stealth-luxury
consumer. "They're not looking for gilded Old World decadence or
pretentiousness. In fact, they'd turn their noses up at such formality."
She speaks of a recent visit to London where she observed the divide between the
old-money dowager Claridge's, filled with Dior and Chanel wearers, and the
stealth-wealth ethic evident at the trendier, less showy One Aldwych.
"Everyone had the right rumpled jacket, the right glasses, the right
trainers," she says. "It's, 'I've made it. I don't have to scream it.'
It's new money with an old-money mentality."
Where old-money denizens are comfortable
wearing an Aquascutum raincoat for decades, new money, being new money, has to
constantly upgrade its stealth trappings. As a result, a host of new marketing
opportunities awaits. Atkin predicts even more limited editions from designers
to ramp up a sense of exclusivity. The hunt is also on for lesser-known quality
heritage brands, the new endangered species. The Parisian luggage maker Goyard,
for instance, known for its exquisite finishes, can't keep up with demand even
though a tote sells for $900, a duffle bag for $3,500. It's only a matter of
time, of course, before a saturation point is reached and the line's distinctive
chevron print falls victim to the same knock-off-induced ennui as that endured
by Louis Vuitton's Ls and Vs. With exposure, stealth brands can morph into plain
Tahitian vanilla luxury status. In October, Automotive News announced
that Audi had finally become "a full-range luxury brand like
Mercedes." No longer, the magazine lamented, could it "be considered
Germany's stealth luxury marque."
Valextra, a generations-old Italian leather
manufacturer, is a current stealth-luxury darling, Doonan reports. "It's so
subtle and chic," he says. "If you are in the club you know the whole
back story—that they made luggage for royalty and Maria Callas; and you know
about the design and construction. It's a secret pleasure." Atkin says Holt
Renfrew has its eye on the line. They had better move quickly. There's no fun
being in the club if it's no longer secret. - by
Anne Kingston MACLEAN's
11 Dec 2006
