Taste Revolution
Forever Chasing Cool
“What … everybody seems to want these days … is a window on the world of the street. Once, when fashion trends were set by the big couture houses—when cool was trickle-down—that wasn’t important. But sometime in the past few decades things got turned over, and fashion became trickle-up. It’s now about chase and flight—designers and retailers and the mass consumer giving chase to the elusive prey of street cool—and the rise of coolhunting as a profession shows how serious the chase has become.” — Malcolm Gladwell
In 2003 American hip hop duo OutKast (consisting of rappers André “3000” Benjamin and Antwan “Big Boi” Patton) penned the lyrics “baby, take off your cool, I want to get to know you”, in reference to their desire that any prospective partner be their genuine, honest self, as opposed to, presumably, a falsified construct based on societal notions of what it is to be “cool” — a word which, because of its wholly subjective nature, has no one singular definition, but in essence relates to an aesthetic of attitude, behaviour, comportment, appearance and style. In his seminal 1997 article for the New Yorker, The Coolhunt, Malcolm Gladwell defines the term as having three characteristics: the act of discovering what’s cool is what causes cool to move on; cool cannot be manufactured, only observed, and; cool can only be observed by those who are themselves cool. Despite its varying wildly between different cultures, ideologies, interests, and individuals, one consistent aspect, however, is that being cool is widely seen as desirable. Sought out by product marketing firms, idealized by teenagers, a shield against racial oppression or political persecution, and a source of constant cultural innovation, being cool has become a global phenomenon. In the latter half of the twentieth century, the term “coolhunter” become used as shorthand to refer to emerging market professionals whose sole purpose is to observe and make predictions about changes in new or existing cultural trends, so that they can be marketed back to the masses as a means of selling products. Essentially, they’re on the lookout for what will be cool before it’s cool. The inherent problem, of course, is that cool is forever obsolescing. As soon as something cool is adopted by the mainstream, there and then, it ceases to be so — a paradox defined by Gladwell as a “triumphant circularity”. He contends that the better coolhunters become at bringing the mainstream in tune with the cutting edge, the more elusive the cutting edge becomes: “The act of discovering what’s cool is what causes cool to move on … and because cool changes more quickly, we need coolhunters.” One often thinks of the concept as a twentieth-century phenomenon, but “Aristocratic cool”, known as sprezzatura, has, in fact, existed in Europe for centuries. Like many concepts, sprezzatura doesn’t translate easily into English, but it can perhaps best be described as “disdain and detachment”, or rather “practised aloofness”, and at risk of sounding somewhat cryptic, it’s essentially the “art” of refraining from the appearance of trying to present oneself in a particular way. The reality, of course, is that an enormous amount of effort is involved in creating, and indeed curating, the carefully cultivated pretence of appearing not to bother or care. Raphael’s (1483-1520) Portrait of Baldassare Castiglione (c. 1514–1515) and Leonardo da Vinci’s (1519-1452) Mona Lisa (1503) can both be seen as classic examples of sprezzatura. Castiglione quite literally coined the phrase in 1528, in The Book of the Courtier — one of the most widely distributed texts of the period — which in essence covers what it means to be the perfect courtier or lady. While it wasn’t published until at the very least a decade after the Mona Lisa’s completion, the concept of sprezzatura was by no means Castiglione’s invention, ultimately having its roots in the works of Cicero (106–43 BC) and perhaps even Plato (429-347 BC) before him. The Mona Lisa’s sprezzatura can be seen in her enigmatic smile — at once playful, yet fleeting — and the positioning of her hands, both of which are intended to convey her virtue, self-confidence, and elevated position in society.
Raphael’s portrait of Baldassare Castiglione, who in his 1528 “Book of the Courtier” defined the renaissance ideal of cool
French couturier Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel was born into extreme poverty and went on to create a fashion brand considered the epitome of “old money” cool
In terms of the elite, ideas of “cool” are bound up in the concept of “old” and “new” money, as for centuries aristocracy and royalty dictated taste to the masses. Boris Val goes so far as to argue in The Myth of Old Money Liberalism: The Politics of the Forbes 400 Richest Americans (2000) that the upper, ruling classes legitimised “their rule with claims of status and honour and moral superiority”, making claims to the preeminence of inherited wealth through “blood ... and the concept of proper breeding”. The term nouveau riche (French for “new rich”) has for decades been used as a derogatory term for those whose wealth — quelle horreur — was acquired within their own generation, that is, without recourse to family inheritance. As with sprezzatura, the idea is by no means a new one and dates back as far as Ancient Greece, with 6th century BCE poet and aristocrat Theognis of Megara writing that: “in former days, there was a tribe who knew no laws nor manners … These men are nobles, now, the gentlemen of old are now the trash.” In the Roman Republic, the term novus homo (“new man”) carried similar connotations. Sociologically speaking, it goes much further, as nouveau riche refers to a person who previously belonged to a lower social class, and indeed, economic stratum within that class. Their “new money”, however which way they acquired it, allowed for upward social mobility, and brought with it the means for conspicuous consumption, i.e. acquiring goods and services, such as property, art and jewellery that signal membership of the “upper” class. As a pejorative term nouveau riche describes the perceived vulgarity and ostentation of someone who lacks the worldly experience and the system of values of “old money”, or rather, inherited wealth, such as the patriciate, the nobility, and the gentry. In and of itself, social status is often defined in relation to wealth, and in turn, the power granted by wealth. Before making her fortune, French couturier Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel (1883-1971) was born into extreme poverty, and as she explained to her biographer Louise de Vilmorin (1902-1969): “I was a child in revolt. Proud people desire only one thing: freedom. But to be free, one must have money.” Old family ties, used as totems of status, are not found amongst the nouveaux riches, which, as a group that increasingly makes up the majority of the 0.01%, challenges and ultimately redefines social traditions and values, as can be seen with the institution of debutantes and their debut to society. While somewhat inexplicably the number of “debutantes” is only on the up and up (after a two-year pandemic-induced hiatus Le Bal des Débutantes recently returned to Paris’ Shangri La Hotel), the social value of the “debut” has irrevocably shifted from a public demonstration of elite social standing and long family traditions to something which simply has symbolic value as an element of a bygone aspect upper-class lifestyle, with no real societal relevance or function.
Blenheim Palace, Britain’s answer to Versailles, a house whose extensive architectural symbolism alludes not so subtly to the family’s power and prestige
Dismissively referred to as “parvenu”, those perceived as nouveau riche are often discriminated against by those old money sects of society, on the ludicrous footing of their lacking the proper pedigree. This is inextricably intertwined with an ever-changing society in which technological and re-organisational change, results in lucrative new industries (such as automobiles, electronics, and more recently sport, fashion and music) continually replacing the old, meaning ad infinitum new incarnations of corporate rich are forever rattling the gates of “High Society”, threatening to topple their stranglehold on what constitutes good taste. From the nineteenth century onwards, according to “Democracy’s aristocrat” Herbert C. Pell Jr. (1884-1961) there was a constant battle between the new-rich “getters” and a generation of old-rich “keepers”, terrified by the prospect of their wealth and influence being eroded. In terms of American society, the fact that most of these “keepers” had been “getters” only a generation or two earlier was apparently lost on them, insufficient to silence their complaints against newcomers. In 1928, for example, Brooklyn matron Mrs Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte (1812-1881), who had herself married into a European family once considered the epitome of the parvenu, had the downright audacity to complain that: “wholesale invasion of the best circles by the nouveau riche and the hordes of hangers-on is making places like Palm Beach no more exclusive than Coney Island. Newport, the last stronghold of the elite, has the moneyed intruder at the gates … Undesirables are penetrating everywhere”. As early as 1899, Thorstein Veblen’s Theory of the Leisure Class lampooned this newly minted American “old money” for their “pecuniary emulation” of one another’s “conspicuous consumption” — far from being defenders of high culture, he thought they themselves were the metaphorical barbarians at the gates.
All of this has expression in architecture and interiors, as can be seen in eighteenth-century Europe when “old money” families attempted to raise themselves above the nouveau riches by sensitively renovating their ancestral piles so as to allude to their antiquity; in the Dutch Republic, for example, the nobility sought this as an advantage over the merchant burghers of Amsterdam and at the same time a similar trend arose in the French Court. Such ties to family history couldn’t be rivalled by a new self-made class, but of course, like any societal construct, such distinctions only hold weight if people en masse attribute such trivial irrelevance as having meaning or merit. As we’ve seen, nineteenth-century new money simply built houses that mimicked those of their aristocratic predecessors, as with Hôtel Moïse de Camondo (1911), patterned on the Petit Trianon at Versailles, and now considered an architectural gem, rivalling many of its eighteenth-century forebears in terms of elegance and sophistication. In a similar vein, the Rothschilds — who were for many years thought of as parvenus — faced considerable resistance from an established “gentry”, envious of their astronomical wealth; upon first moving to the UK they found themselves barred from the local hunt, and so started their own, in turn, building bigger, flashier houses, the purpose of which to show they had more money than their aristocratic neighbours, or, as Hannah Rothschild (b. 1962) recently put it: “My tower is bigger than yours”. Turning the clock forward a century, following the recent revival of Y2K culture, TikTok creators are now obsessing over the traditional Ivy League/Sloane Ranger “look” (also termed “quiet luxury”, and encompassing anything and everything from coastal Ralph Lauren, to Princess Diana, après-ski style and seemingly any delegation of the Kennedy clan), with one creator sharing a video introducing “the old money aesthetic” to the tune of Lana Del Rey’s Young and Beautiful, which, of course, she wrote for Baz Luhrmann’s (b. 1962) 2013 film adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s (1896-1940) The Great Gatsby — a commentary on greed, betrayal and the American dream, the latter of which, somewhat ironically, encompasses the cynical exploitation of cool.
The Hôtel Moïse de Camondo, whose classical interiors, patterned on the Petit Trianon at Versailles, whilst paid for by “new money” suggest “old money” underpinnings
The most powerful narcotic in the world has always been the promise of belonging, a premise applicable to any group, be it socio-economic or cultural, and for decades now ad agencies have cynically pedalled the idea that in order to “fit in” all one has to do is conform to their prescriptive, manufactured idea of Cool TM. This can be seen, for example, with the tobacco industry marketing cigarettes as symbols of vitality and youthful rebellion. Throughout the 1950s smoking was seen as the very epitome of cool, with icons such as James Dean (1931-1955), Lucille Ball (1911-1989) and Humphrey Bogart (1899-1957) rarely pictured without a cigarette clamped to their photogenic lips (Chesterfield cigarettes even promoted its 1951 “Christmas card cartons” via celebrity spokesman, rising actor and future President Ronald Reagan (1911-2004)). The irony is that there’s only ever one unique individual, who through inherent self-belief steps out alone, putting forward a fresh perspective, which, depending on followers, remains either a sub-culture or takes hold as part of the mainstream. In the case of the latter, it’s consumed by a heavily manipulative corporate ethos that drives contemporary culture, peddling a mechanistic perversion of “cool” that takes hold in the minds of the masses as a means of promoting transient, trend-driven factory-made tat. This sort of sickly sweet, manufactured cool, endlessly dispensed and available on every street corner (for the right price, of course), as Kalle Lasn states in her book, Culture Jam (1999), is “highly addictive and its effects … short-lived. If you’re here for cool today, you’ll almost certainly be back for more tomorrow”.
In this endless pursuit of cool, our society has evolved into something of a “smile-button culture”, whereby we wear the latest fashions and drive the best cars so as to project a publicly perceived image of affluence and living life to the hilt. Communities, traditions, and even whole histories are being exploited with the sole purpose of promoting products, which in turn results in a bland, uninspired monoculture. Stories passed on from one generation to the next, by parents, teachers, and even marginalised groups are reduced to nothing more than a marketing tool, re-told in high definition by multinational corporations with “something to sell as well as to tell”, as a jaded means of connecting with the widest possible demographic. This is apparent in the worlds of architecture, interiors and design whereby identikit homes are churned out year after year, making a quick buck off the back of an aspirational class desperate to project a lifestyle as “fashionable” as that which they see repeated ceaselessly in glossy magazines. This has the knock-on effect of stifling real talent, whose original work seems jarring to those clients expecting a reconstituted, uninspired version of California Modern, boho-eclecticism or Wabi Sabi minimalism. “If cool is the Huxleyan ‘soma’ of our time,” Lasn laments, “then cynicism is its poisonous, paralytic side effect.” It’s essentially the dark side of cool, the reason why people are bored so much of the time, becoming compulsive shoppers, and counting the monetary value of their belongings as if it somehow provides a positive affirmation of success and social standing. To untether ourselves from cynicism, and from the idea of being “cool”, is to find a way out of this banal, creativity-sapping postmodern malaise, in which society ever increasingly hangs its self-worth on manufactured desires and manipulated emotions. As Guy-Ernest Debord (1931-1994), leader of the Situationist movement once said: “Revolution is not showing life to people, but making them live.”