A really smart 26-year-old I know announced with some pride that her first major indulgent purchase was the Chanel Classic Flap Bag Medium (Rs 5 lakh plus). Far be it from middle-aged me to baulk at unnecessary excess; spending unheedingly is a rite of passage we all go through. (Usually to emerge, chastened, on the other side.) This young lady displayed her smarts by what she said next, that the Chanel Flap has the best resale value and she could get more than half of what she spends after using it for two years. Young, affluent millennials may be totally into traditional status symbols but they’re canny enough to match their desires with shrewd pragmatism. To accept that one is motivated by prestige but never losing sight of Return on Investment is, in its own way, admirable indeed.
It turns out the pandemic-induced quiet luxury trend is over. According to a survey by the Boston Consulting Group, conspicuous consumption is back with a vengeance led by status-driven millennials and Gen Z. To paraphrase Descartes, I consume, therefore I am. Since the dawn of time, humanity has shared one common trait — an extreme vulnerability to the opinions of others — settled, generally, by carefully cultivating an image that signals superiority according to the prevailing ideas of one-upmanship. Who knows, maybe Neanderthal Man distinguished himself from the herd by vividly decorating his stones and clubs. Ancient families, knights, priests and fighters have all enjoyed socially sanctioned recognition; in fact, less than 200 years ago, duels were a common occurrence in Europe. In mid 19th century England, it was widely held that no man could be called a gentleman if he had not taken up his sword. For the dueller, the maintenance of status meant that he’d rather die of a stab wound than allow an unfavourable assessment of himself as weak or cowardly to go around.
Thank goodness for the far kinder era we’re in now. At least our lives aren’t at stake when we aim for exclusivity. Other people’s good opinions come just by throwing around some money. Why do we crave expensive stuff? Is it beauty we’re seeking, or meaning? Do the imperatives of the world dictate how we conduct our social selves? It is worth noting the confusing paradox, that people of unparalleled wealth who’ve consumed, collected and holidayed themselves silly, still feel compelled to hire an un-relatable pop star like Jennifer Lopez for a family wedding. One would imagine that if you’re already at the top of the social hierarchy, there’s no motivation to do anything further. Quite the contrary. Constant deference from not-as-rich peers can be addictive but to maintain a bevy of fawning admirers means extravagance levels must keep going up.
F Scott Fitzgerald’s unforgettable mythologising of wealth in The Great Gatsby explores the cavalier freedoms of new world Liberalism — and its pitfalls. The story of a self-made millionaire who throws glittering parties in the hope of prying away a woman he loved and lost, Gatsby’s relentlessly splashy lifestyle also conveys a disenchantment with the hollow pursuit of decadent pleasures. Modern life allows us to shake off the shackles of religion, design our own traditions and construct our own individual meaning of life. Which is great. But too much focus on materialistic self-interest, the novel warns, leads to a spiritual void no grand soiree or acquisition can fill. Every generation has their own idea of what it means to have arrived: 20-somethings’ hankering for Chanels or Rolexes to craft an identity suggests a doomed obsession with the superficial, not unlike the characters of The Great Gatsby. Between our illusory wants and our inner needs is a vast chasm that can be bridged only by understanding, “meaning” isn’t in “things”. It’s in our heads.
The writer is director, Hutkay Films
