Unpacking the Stealth Wealth Trend
Rita Chandler
05.09.2024
If you’ve been on social media in the past year, chances are you’ve heard the term “stealth wealth.” The term first gained traction in 2023, following the final season of HBO’s hit show Succession (see: Kendall Roy’s $600 baseball cap) and the simple yet luxurious brown-and-beige outfits worn by Gwyneth Paltrow during her highly-publicized court case last March.
The staples of the style are timeless: simple, perfectly tailored trousers and trench coats; rich knit sweaters, preferably made of wool or cashmere; classy, dark designer boots and handbags (sans the logos, of course). Everything comes in soft beiges and creams, rich blacks, and impeccably pristine, iron-pressed whites. Instead of designer brands, a stealth wealth wardrobe is outfitted with heritage brands like Loro Piana, Max Mara, and Brunello Cucinelli. It’s Jennifer Lawrence as she walks the streets of New York in white jeans and a camel-hair duster coat, a leather tote bag from The Row dangling from the crook of her elbow.
Fans of the style laud it as “sustainable” for the way it favors timeless neutrals and investment pieces over what’s popular or trendy – therefore reducing the need to redo one’s closet every time the wind changes. While this may seem commendable, I can’t help but hesitate to credit multi-millionaires with a dedication to environmental justice. In fact, many critics purport that the style’s emblematic boring-ness primarily serves to grant the wearer a kind of invisibility, so we won’t notice them raking in over twice the amount of wealth as the rest of the world combined. I also think there’s an association we have with adjectives like “refinement” and “tastefulness,” in contrast to more ostentatious modes of dressing – such as those which sport large logos, flashy jewelry, and bright colors, all which have long been hallmarks of Black and urban culture. Therefore there are definitely racist implications to the way stealth wealth venerates simple clothing as “classy” while bold, flashy styles of dress are coded as “tacky” or “trashy.”
Besides, it’s not like stealth wealth clothing is entirely nondescript. You may have heard the catchy aphorism “money talks, but wealth whispers” tossed around in reference to this style; what it means is that the rich are still trying to communicate something through their plain black trench coats and logo-less purses – their message is simply intended for a more exclusive audience. So, while their clothing may be entirely inconspicuous to the average passerby, to those of the right caliber, it’s just as recognizable as a gem-encrusted Chanel monogram.
The purpose of these stealth wealth “secret codes” is just as much to out the dreaded class interloper as it is to identify a worthy peer. Think of Tom Wambsgams’ scathing dialogue in the premiere of Succession’s fourth season: “A ludicrously capacious bag,” he says disgustedly, speaking of a large Burberry handbag carried by an artless party guest named Bridget. “What’s even in there? Flat shoes for the subway? Her lunch pail?” Sure, Bridget’s bag may cost upwards of $3,000, but when it comes to the world of the ultra-wealthy, its iconic tartan check does nothing more than reveal her outsider status. Ostentatious displays of wealth are a sign of effort, of trying to prove that you’re a part of the club – and therefore showing that you aren’t.
The irony here is that the buzz surrounding stealth wealth has generated an entire slew of cheap dupes, trendy articles, and influencers offering “5 tips on how to dress more stealth wealth.” How are we any different from the tactless Bridget – trying desperately to discover the secret to how wealthy people dress? I’d argue that the “stealth wealth” trend is just the most recent offshoot of our immortal obsession with trying to emulate the rich – a desire to assume that intangible, irresistible aura of luxury, synonymous in our minds with adjectives like taste and refinement and sophistication. We think that if we adopt the associated clothes and accessories, we’ll somehow absorb these traits as well.
But why do we assume the wealthy automatically possess these characteristics? When we make these associations, we justify the idea that there’s something inherently “better” about the upper class – something that makes them deserving of their disproportionate wealth. Gen Z may go around preaching “eat the rich,” but we’ve hardly made an effort to de-glamorize them.
Besides, at the end of the day, there’s no end-all-be-all when it comes to wealthy fashion. Rich people dress in all sorts of ways, including loudly, gaudily, and just plain horribly. Even “stealth wealth” itself can be aptly described as, well, boring. If we’re going to go to such great lengths to copy rich peoples’ clothing, couldn’t it at least be a little more exciting?
