quiet luxury – America’s richest circles are signaling status in more visible, louder ways again—showing up at events in full view, decking out presidential spaces, and turning fashion and home design toward maximums. Brand advisers and an architecture critic trace the shift
The expectation that wealth in America would stay tucked away is fraying. Where “stealth wealth” once meant keeping logos muted and appearances understated, the new social signals—gilded details, flashy accessories, and unabashed glamour—are now hard to miss.
Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sánchez drew attention at the Met Gala.. President Donald Trump is building a lavish $400 million White House ballroom and adorning the Oval Office with floor-to-ceiling gold plating.. Elsewhere, the idea of “Mar-a-Lago face” has become shorthand for being able to tell you’ve had work done.. The shift is showing up across culture: even the Masters tournament taking on a Barstool Sports-esque turn. and young guns on Wall Street highlighting watches in glossy magazine features.
“Aspirational stopped coming from taste and started coming from the lowest common denominator. ” says Ana Andjelic. a brand advisor and author.. “That’s why you have Lauren Sánchez looking the way she looks.. But those people. it’s the same thing as the robber barons in the Gilded Age — they came into money. but they don’t have taste.” In this telling. tackiness is not a mistake; it’s back as a kind of cultural currency.
The phrase “conspicuous consumption” was coined by economist and sociologist Thorstein Veblen at the end of the 19th century to describe people spending money as a way to signal social status.. He meant it critically—aiming at a new wealthy class formed by the second industrial revolution and their wasteful spending.. The original Gilded Age followed a similar pattern: newly minted industrialists built lavish mansions. threw over-the-top parties. and tried to buy their way into high society.
For decades. consumption patterns among the upper echelons have pivoted around fine-tuning taste. using preferences to set themselves apart as the middle class learned how to signal refinement.. But the article’s through-line is that the target kept moving—until “quiet luxury” became the mainstream elite posture in the period after the Great Recession.
Over the past 10 to 20 years, the most conspicuous form of consumption has been intentionally inconspicuous: quiet luxury.. After the Great Recession, flaunting wealth became a bad look for Wall Streeters and others left relatively unscathed.. Stealth wealth took over as it became fashionable to reject logos and at least profess to care about sustainability. with affluence on display in “Succession” described as apparent but muted.. The “if you know you know” ethos applied to clothing. vacations. interior design. leisure. and more. marked by a modern minimalism—barely-there makeup. low-key logos. and millennial gray.
That soft superiority is said to be on the outs.. The latest shift is toward gauche. garish. and over-the-top: the richest of the rich aren’t portrayed as hiding in hidden compounds in the woods or moving sluggishly around offices in hoodies.. The alternative signals, in this account, include buying islands, renting cities for weddings, and wearing gold chains.. The broader culture is picking up the same cues: Gen Z’s nostalgia for the McMansion. maximalist interior design returning. knick-knacks at estate sales flying off shelves. and a “more is more is more” mood.. Trucker hats have made a return. and young men are described as looksmaxxing; software engineers are described as tokenmaxxing to impress their AI-worshiping bosses; and everyone’s proteinmaxxing to an extent even Robert Atkins would find excessive.
Call it tacky. trashy. or “boom boom. ” a label Sean Monahan—who coined “normcore” and “vibe shift”—used a little over a year ago to describe the aesthetic as “supervillain vibes. ” adding that it’s “the ’80s. but with the internet.” At the time. he characterized it as the fetishization of the past. a yearning for boundaries between work and play. and “supervillain vibes.”
Another tension runs through the story: wealth. taste. and social status have historically gone together. but now they’re described as diverging.. Instead of setting the agenda. the wealthy and elite are said to be taking cues from pop culture—kicked around by the Kardashians. “Real Housewives. ” and TikTok and Instagram algorithms.
Andjelic frames it bluntly: “Who has a lot of money doesn’t necessarily have taste and status.” Kate Wagner. an architecture critic and author of McMansion Hell. says bad taste has become a form of “vice signaling. ” which she places in opposition to “virtue signaling”—stating pronouns or posting about a social cause on social media. often described as liberal-coded.. In her description, vice signaling embraces the taboo and is portrayed as rebellious.
Wagner points to Donald Trump’s approach as an example of that shift.. “He just openly embraces having bad taste,” she says.. She adds that he loves McDonald’s. that the playlist at his events “screams boomer. ” and that he “would really like it if everyone saw the musical ‘Cats.’” In this account. forcing bad taste on the world becomes a way to exert authority and sway: “For him. forcing bad taste on the world is a form of power. ” Wagner says.
It also helps. the article argues. for Trump to communicate to his base that he’s “just like them” even though he is described as not matching that identity as a billionaire.. Much of the American public. the story says. chafes at snooty. understated elites they feel have long looked down on them.. The desire. it suggests. is simpler—“enjoy a decent. cheap meal. ” watch whatever is on TV. and move on with the day.
Wagner calls the public-facing look a strategy: “It’s a way of doing populist posturing. It’s like, ‘Look, I have bad taste, just like you.’”
The piece stops short of saying it’s all grim.. It argues that tacky may not be fancy. but it can be fun. describing the “Miami Vice” era as a time capsule and saying for those who lived through homes overwhelmed by millennial gray. color returning feels exciting.. It also challenges the logic of outrage. asking: if Bezos and Sánchez “cheapened the Met Gala. ” did people really feel better in other years. or “did you feel anything at all?”
There are also complaints. the story notes. about the Masters tournament and other high-ish society sporting events such as the US Open.. Traditionalists are described as upset that the experience is being degraded. with concerns that NFL star Jason Kelce and actor Kevin Hart are part of the low-brow golf broadcasting and that spectators are getting too enthusiastic—“and drunk”—during tennis matches.. The article adds echoes between those golf preferences and earlier country-club gatekeeping. while also suggesting the changes might not be about democratization and inclusion—framing them instead around commercialization and “more for more (money’s) sake.”
A key acceleration in the tension between the quiet past and loud present is attributed here to the algorithm.. The story describes taste as shifting from a ladder of education and exposure to a treadmill powered by Big Tech.. People. it says. no longer need to learn about history or art or fashion to form their style; they can take cues delivered to them.. It points to TikTok’s “For You” page and Instagram reels. and even AI-generated material. describing the internet as flattening discernment by pushing toward agreement—if everyone should match. a single system can supply the same answers.
The article describes a feedback loop in which people strive to look like whatever the social media filter dictates “no matter the cost.” It says the pay-to-change reality element has become part of status: visible work done—“your lips. your forehead. your breasts”—is framed as something women want to show off.. It quotes Andjelic on the shift: “Digital or physical.. There is no such thing anymore.” She continues: “The internet ate reality. and because AI transforms reality to such a degree. what you’re basically seeing is the digital transformation of reality.”
The story describes the resulting look as “cartoonish and pixelated. ” then draws a line between amusements and concern: labubus are called fun but embarrassing for anyone over 18 wearing them; quirky kitchens and loud bathroom wallpaper are described as charming ways to zhuzh up a home; but it questions whether watching “an AI-made Marvel movie trailer that a random tech evangelist prompted up” is heartening for the future of art and cinema.. It also cites unease about staring at celebrities whose plastic surgery is described as borderline clownish.
Taste. it concludes. is always changing and the era of tacky is described as almost certain to move toward something else.. The excess and greed of the ’80s gave way to ’90s grunge and rejection of “selling out.” In the meantime. it closes with the idea that billionaires going on joy rides to space can keep going. and that if someone has been considering lip filler. “this is your moment—we’ve decided it’s OK it looks like that.. For now.”
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