The Ideal Luxury
Moving Towards a New Ideal
“Living in the lap of luxury isn’t bad, except that you never know when luxury is going to stand up.” — Orson Welles
People have always been fascinated, and sometimes ruined, by the idea and pursuit of “luxury”, which defined by the OED as “the enjoyment of special and expensive things, particularly food and drinks, clothes, and surroundings”, has, since the advent of advertising as we know it, fuelled a myriad campaigns and inspired numerous exhibitions, for e.g. What is Luxury? at the Victoria & Albert Museum in 2015 and, most recently, Luxes at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Paris, which explored perceptions of luxury through the ages and from all corners of the globe. Since time immemorial we have en masse been obsessed with ideas of beauty, which have of course changed, due to both cultural and stylistic advents, as well as rare and scare materials, such as gold and precious stones, and the skill and expertise of craftsmen, artisans and couturiers who are able to transform, sometimes cheap, base, materials — for e.g. terracotta, clay and cotton — into sought after works of art. If one thinks in terms of fashion, ideas and perceptions of luxury have radically simplified over time, from dresses of heavily embellished silk brocade in the eighteenth century, which were accessorized with brilliant-cut diamond jewellery, of increasing scale and extravagance (the Affaire du collier de la reine, or the “Affair of the Queen’s Necklace”, after all, gave moral weight and popular support for the French Revolution); to the nineteenth century, when Charles Frederick Worth (1825-1895), nicknamed the “father of haute couture”, created a blueprint for the modern fashion house, using lavish fabrics and trimmings to create one-of-a-kind pieces for European Royalty and Aristocrats (at which point in time, perhaps ironically, given it coincided with the establishment of the Second Empire, the sheer demand for luxury goods in Paris reached levels not seen since the reign of Louis and Marie-Antoinette); and then finally, the twentieth century, when Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel’s “little black dress” in crêpe de Chine became the epitome of minimalist, understated chic. Interestingly, the original “LBD” was a rejection of everything that had previously been considered “luxurious”— intended to be long-lasting, versatile and easy to wear; Vogue even went as far as to describe it contemporaneously as “Chanel’s Ford”, meaning that, it was simple, accessible to women of all classes, and would become “a sort of uniform for all women of taste” — a look made most famous, perhaps, by a Givenchy-clad Audrey Hepburn in Blake Edwards’ 1961 Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
An extraordinary Art Deco Cartier clock (1927), part of the collection of the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Paris
A “feather marquetry” dress, from Chanel’s “Métiers d’art Collection” (2018) designed by Karl Lagerfeld and made by Maison Lemarié, Photograph: ©Chanel
In terms of interiors, Chanel’s radical reinterpretation of women’s fashion, and the idea that “luxury” and “simplicity” were not mutually exclusive, coincided with the advent of the Art Deco movement and a panoply of designers and architects whose intention was to simplify and streamline the floridity and exuberance of the late nineteenth century Art Nouveau movement; renouncing excess ornamentation and embracing the materials themselves as a means of making a piece of furniture, or an interior, interesting. The most extreme proponent of such pared back luxury was perhaps French designer Jean-Michel Frank (1895-1941), whose signature look, which came to be known as luxe pauvre, was a favourite amongst the Parisian elite, with patrons including the Vicomte Charles de Noailles (1891-1981), the couturier Elsa Schiaparelli (1890-1973) and the perfumer Jean-Pierre Guerlain (1905-1996). French furniture makers, unlike the Germans, were not interested in the possibilities of machine manufacture and mass-production; thus, the avant-garde designs of Pierre Chareau (1883-1950), Charlotte Perriand (1903-1999) and Pierre Jeanneret (1896-1967), although far less expensive than that of for e.g. Émile-Jacques Ruhlmann (1879-1933), which were often veneered in precious woods and ivory, remained luxurious, and tied to the high-quality, labour-intensive craftsmanship that had set French decorative arts apart since the early eighteenth century. (Unlike those aforementioned makers, the quality of French designer Jean Royère’s (1902-1981) furniture varies wildly, dependent on target market, and the craftsmen used to implement his designs; however interestingly, early photographs of his now iconic Ours Polaire (or “polar bear”) sofa, likely taken in the courtyard of an artisan in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine district of Paris, reveal a wooden interior skeleton not dissimilar to those used in Louis XVI sofas.) These were the designers who reframed and redefined “luxury” for a modern age; indeed Chareau’s extraordinary Maison de Verre (or “Glass House”) commissioned by Annie Bernheim-Dalsace and Jean Dalsace, and completed in 1932 — which has become something of a twentieth century architectural myth — seamlessly straddles the divide between tradition and modernity, perfectly epitomising the fundamental principles of the designers work, which could be used as a basis for twenty first century prime-residential design, namely: formal invention, the use of the finest materials, transformable spaces and furniture created by the very best artisans.
The home of art collectors, 5th Avenue, New York, with interiors by Stephen Sills, demonstrating the designers timeless approach to interiors, Photograph: ©Stephen Sills
In a modern, globalised world, many have lost sight of what “luxury” means, and it’s something that needs to be redefined, especially, perhaps in terms of interiors and architecture. To many consumers, value is determined by the cachet of a brand name or its logo, as seen, sadly, with a number of traditional French brands, including, perhaps most obviously, Chanel, but also Hermès, Cartier and Balmain. With regards interiors, this often translates into acres of Carrara marble, parquet floors, panelling and a sub-zero fridge. For some time, especially in the London luxury market, for a developer, or even a private flipper, it was relatively easy to make a large profit on a property in any one of the most desirable postcodes, provided it met that tick box list of criteria; and, knowing that, most likely, the buyer would tear everything out and start from scratch (this was even the case at the One Hyde Park penthouse, with various rare marbles immediately skipped and replaced by slabs of a different hue), there seemed little point in designing with the mantra “built to last” in mind. Accordingly, expertise and craftsmanship were often eschewed in favour of cheap, machine made approximations of the real deal, with the budget, in large part, being spent on the shell (i.e. servicing, basements and swimming pools), with surprisingly little left over for the interior fit out. Clients are often shocked, at least initially, by quotes from real artists and artisans, such as Atelier de Ricou, Féau et Cie, Rinck and de Gournay, as they don’t fully understand the processes and skill sets involved in producing beautifully made and crafted interiors that are made to stand the test of time. “Interior design should not be approached purely as an exercise in luxury; standing away from the diktats of fashion, I see each new project as a unique opportunity to explore the essence of a particular place,” explains French interior designer Leo Sentou. “Craftsmanship and the designer’s vision are inextricably intertwined, and ‘luxury’ means very little if approached without authenticity. Refinement is often more important than ‘luxury’ per se, and it should come from the ability of the designer to pair materials, forms and architectural gestures, so as to create entirely tailored interiors that are functional and made to last. A successful interior is always an intricate balance between the client’s aspirations, the designer’s vision and impeccable craftsmanship.”
A rock crustal lamp with a paper shade (c. 1925) by Jean-Michel Frank, the perfect example of his understated approach to “luxury” design, Photograph: ©Phillips
Essentially, and importantly, the luxury interiors sector, and its client base, need to be re-educated on the fact that the price of something reflects its value as a piece of artistry, and for that matter, to re-educate on the whole idea of “preciousness”, which is inextricably bound up with, and a bedfellow to “luxury”. To employ a somewhat hackneyed phrase, you get what you pay for, and to my mind its worth sacrificing square footage for a truly exceptional interior fit out, made of noble materials, where, if a piece of wood is dented or chipped, it won’t matter, because it’s solid, and not merely spray painted MDF. Equally, it’s entirely unsustainable, environmentally speaking, to tear out, with every new purchaser, an interior in its entirety and to start from scratch. Although at the extreme end of the luxury spectrum, the sprawling Manhattan apartment of artist and art collector Nan Swid for e.g. has been worked on by numerous designers and architects over the years, including Stephen Sills (b. 1951), Annabelle Selldorf (b. 1960) and, most recently, Kazem Naderi of nad projects; yet, fixtures and fittings have been retained and preserved, for e.g. Sills’ graphically patterned hall floor, elegant doors and chandeliers, merely implementing small, surgical tweaks, so as to keep the interiors functioning, and relevant to Swid’s changing needs. Inherently, throughout history, beautiful things have been valued, prized and passed down through generations, which brings to mind the work of Marc Auclert, whose fine jewellery combines museum-worthy antiquities, for e.g. Roman intaglios and Byzantine medallions, with bold, contemporary settings of Auclert’s own design; each piece, a wearable work of art, hand-made by artisans of the best contemporary workshops in Paris. One is not paying a premium for a name, as in the case of Tiffany, or Graff, but instead, for the skill and talent of the designer and makers. Surely this is luxury in it’s truest sense — a unique, bespoke work, that nobody else has, made to the highest standards, and to be kept and treasured for a lifetime. If ever there was a template for contemporary, luxury interiors, and design at large, then surely that should be it.