Recession Chic: When Style Becomes Cosplay
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, a recession is a period of temporary economic decline during which trade and industrial activity are reduced. The pandemic may have ended, but the financial hangover it left behind is still very present. Many people emerged from it facing an entirely different reality — a reality where disposable income had shrunk, and consumption patterns shifted.
One of the most curious consequences has been the sudden obsession with “old money style” and its close cousin, “quiet luxury.” The timing is not accidental. The economic downturn acted as a cultural pressure cooker, forcing people to adapt, and fashion — being the most immediate mirror of society — absorbed the change.
It was also the perfect gift to fast-fashion empires. Zara, Mango, Massimo Dutti — entire racks of beige coats and lifeless blazers appeared overnight. Quiet luxury thrives on sobriety, restraint, and subtle codes of wealth. It is distinguished not by loud prints or exaggerated silhouettes, but by timeless cuts, neutral palettes, and a studied absence of extravagance. Minimalism is cheap to produce, and recession-struck consumers were eager to buy in. Suddenly, everyone could cosplay as discreetly wealthy.
People said: “Cosplay it is”. Let’s be clear: old money cannot be stitched into a camel coat, nor does it come embroidered on a pair of Summer Walks. Succession made “stealth wealth” into a television spectacle, and suddenly the internet mistook a $5,000 cashmere sweater for a title deed. But old money is not clothes. It is not architecture, furniture, perfumes, or ZIP code. It is background and lineage written over generations — and you cannot buy your way into it on a Saturday afternoon at Brunello Cucinelli nor through your TheRealReal checkout cart. At best, you can only mimic it. And like all mimicry, it reveals itself under scrutiny.
I despise equally the way people ridicule “new money”. The disdain is absurd. Every old-money family once began as new money — a patriarch who built, who risked, who dared to create. Sneering at entrepreneurs and self-starters is not only tasteless, it is ignorant of history. The divide is artificial, kept alive only by people too insecure to exist without it.
Those who truly have culture, etiquette, and self-awareness don’t weaponize these labels. They don’t need to remind others of their lineage, nor do they waste breath mocking new wealth. The need to flaunt superiority is, in fact, a sign of insecurity.
Of course, there are the caricatures. Those who just acquired wealth and desperately need to mention it in every conversation, who want gold-plated validation at every dinner party, who perform success as though it is karaoke. If you have to talk about money, you likely don’t have enough of it.
What passes for quiet luxury today is not elegance but theatre — its aspiration wrapped in beige polyester. And being truly chic, unlike polyester, cannot be manufactured. Style is not cosplay, and wealth is not a costume. The moment you dress to prove it, you’ve already proved you don’t belong.
This is where ambition dressed itself as inheritance, where identity collapsed into performance — and wealth, whether old or new, is still most gracefully eloquent when left unspoken.
WRITTEN BY FREDDY ESPINAL