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No. 7 delves into the intricate relationship between the luxury fashion industry and individual self-perception. The piece examines the rise of "quiet luxury" as a marketed reaction to previous ostentatious trends, and marketing tactics that lead individuals to conflate personal identity with consumption patterns. Furthermore, it discusses the illusion of individuality in a market-driven society, where personal style is often shaped by broader economic and social forces rather than genuine self-expression.
I can't stand Polène.
Living in Paris, I remember the debut of lines out the door to get the next “it” bag that is Polène. A smart manipulation tactic on their end, only allowing 7 clients in the store at a time creates endless lines, and endless demand, for their store.
A minor stake in the company bought by LVMH in 2024, Polène positions itself as a new modern classic with a maximalist twist– differentiating itself from its direct competitors like Lancel Paris and Le Tanneur. Aiming to offer a refreshing take on understated luxury and timeless appeal, their positioning is brilliant within today’s dominant “timeless minimalism” or “quiet luxury” trend, serving as a breath of fresh air for instagram feeds with their minimalist design blended with modern structural elements.
Reminiscent to tiled side tables and futuristic-retro mushroom lamps, the sculptural yet trend-driven nature of these bags will soon meet with its irony and become disposable trash, solidifying its legacy as 2020’s instagram and pinterest-core aesthetic.
Initially, No.7 set out to claim that timeless minimalism is superior. I felt conflicted because another side of me knows that all styles—whether maximalist or minimalist—are equally valid expressions of individuality. This perspective led me to critically examine why I felt the way I did, and what that meant about my personal style, and analyse broader industry trends.
Putting my ego aside, I left the idea alone for the day.
Luxury, with its unparalleled focus on craftsmanship, innovation, and cultural significance, has long set the tone for the rest of the market. It is no secret that trends, aesthetics, and even business strategies within more premium and mass-market production often trace their origins back to this very segment. It is because of this that our exploration begins at the top, with the understanding that the market behaviors, structures, and values of luxury inevitably trickle down, influencing the broader fashion ecosystem.
This piece aims to explore the relationship between luxury and identity, examining how the strategies and narratives that define the luxury market shape not just brand identities, but that of our own souls and self-perception.
I invite you to consider the forces at play—that guide our understanding of luxury and our place within our own consumption.
The luxury industry, far from being just about expensive items, plays a central role in the global economic ecosystem. Luxury is a business structure with a set of anti-marketing rules that shape cultural norms, drives market trends, and influences what is considered valuable and desirable in the broader economy—it creates and controls the narratives around status, identity, and belonging. This power dynamic is rooted in how luxury brands create artificial demand, manipulate trends, and shape the concept of individuality.
At the heart of this system lies psychological and economic structures where information asymmetry, scarcity tactics, and bandwagon effects are used to influence consumer behavior. Positioning its superiority at the height of creativity and innovation, the luxury market operates in a way that defines what’s valuable for the rest of the economy. This trend then trickles down through various sectors, from fast fashion to mainstream products, dictating consumer choices in ways that might not be immediately apparent.
One of the strongest forces in the current 2025 fashion market is the rise of quiet luxury, a term that's being pushed as a response to the logo-heavy maximalism of the 2010s that we saw through Juicy Couture or Louis Vuitton. Quiet luxury claims to stand for timelessness, sophistication, and understated wealth—a reflection on today's economic uncertainty, subdued elegance reading as “old money”.
However, what many don’t realize is that quiet luxury isn’t truly "timeless" or "authentic"; it's simply a marketed reaction.
The idea that "true" wealth is always signified by "quiet luxury" (timeless, understated, high-quality fashion) is largely a myth shaped by marketing, social media, and tactful selective storytelling. The truth is, those in the middle of the bell curve, the mass market, have no idea what real wealth looks like.
That's why it's so aspirational.
While some wealthy individuals do favor minimalist, logo-free luxury (Prada, Miu Miu, The Row), plenty of rich people wear loud, flashy designer pieces with big logos (Balenciaga, Gucci monograms, Versace). Some even dress like average middle-class people—Mark Zuckerberg or Adam Sandler’s hoodie and baggy shorts come to mind.
It’s mostly a matter of your set of values, preferences, and perspective. Some people believe classic tailoring and muted tones signal "real" wealth, while others see bold fashion as a power move. You could fall somewhere within the spectrum. No single style is inherently "better," but fashion is always used to create in-groups and out-groups, reinforcing status among different social circles.
Luxury and wealth are things to aspire to. The world and construction of luxury is both real in terms of craftsmanship and exclusivity, but it is fabricated in how it's marketed to shape perceptions.
The vast majority of consumers relative to a product don't exist on the fringes of luxury or cutting-edge trends. Most fall somewhere in the middle of the standard distribution curve, or more commonly known as the bell curve, and this is the period where companies gain the largest profit margins.
The market, whether it's luxury, fast fashion, or any other sub-category, guide the masses toward what they should desire. The average consumer is often unaware– being spoon-fed niche-specific products and trends that they believe are their own choices but are in fact part of a cycle that markets them as aspirational, desirable, and necessary.
Most people are subconsciously influenced by trends because they lack a fully developed personal style or identity. Trends provide an easy template for belonging, signaling status, and avoiding the mental effort of curating a unique aesthetic.
Marketing machines— brands, influencers, media, and social platforms—intentionally push certain aesthetics to maintain control through a structured system that feeds on psychology. This cycle keeps people buying, keeps fashion feeling “new,” and maintains an illusion of exclusivity within a certain niche.
Most people don’t consciously recognize the forces that shape their fashion choices. While they may sense that trends are cyclical or that marketing plays a role, they often don’t critically examine the underlying psychology.
Social conditioning plays a significant role— from an early age, people are taught to fit in and avoid standing out too much, making trends an easy way to feel a sense of belonging without having to think too much about personal style. Cognitive ease also makes it simpler to go with the flow; questioning why certain styles are popular takes effort, while trusting influencers, brands, and celebrities to set the standard feels natural. The fashion industry itself is a billion-dollar machine, expertly designed to create artificial demand, and seeing a style repeatedly on social media or through other outlets makes it seem inherently valuable. Finally, short attention spans play a part; most people make purchasing decisions based on what’s immediately in front of them, reacting impulsively rather than critically, driven by external validation rather than personal choice.
The masses follow because they seek identity through external signals, and the industry profits off this lack of self-definition.
The luxury market's ability to shape generational trends and manipulate consumer behavior is becoming increasingly intertwined with social media, which acts as a powerful tool for signaling wealth and status among the masses.
Social media platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube have become the primary staging grounds for luxury consumption, where visual identity is curated and consumed on a daily basis. In our current era, wealth and individuality are no longer just about what you own—they are about how you display your wealth and personal style to a global audience. The psychology behind this is deeply linked to the concepts of social signaling and identity construction, and luxury brands have capitalized on these dynamics to shape trends and maintain dominance in the market.
For instance, platforms like Instagram have become the digital runway for luxury products, turning everyday consumers into aspirational symbols. Through highly curated feeds and posts, users can showcase their purchases, share their experiences, and indirectly signal their social status. This visual language of wealth signaling has been amplified by influencers and celebrities who set trends and define what is socially desirable. Luxury brands have quickly adapted to this by creating content-driven marketing strategies that engage not only influencers but also their wider follower bases.
Products and experiences are no longer just items for private consumption; they have become public statements that broadcast one's identity to the digital community.
The continuous visibility of luxury products in digital spaces makes them aspirational, driving social proof— creates a feedback loop, where products not only increase in popularity but are also seen as socially essential. The cycle of consumption becomes harder to escape when social media continually reinforces the desirability of certain products.
Now, brands like Louis Vuitton and Gucci have since pivoted their strategy by embracing their recognizable designs by purposefully emphasizing heritage storytelling. They have evolved their strategy to target consumers who are driven by blatant public recognition and legacy branding.
It is not just about the masterfully crafted storytelling of these businesses– what lays its foundation is hyper-intelligent– borderline predatory business strategy.
But the rise of quiet luxury also speaks to a deeper shift in how wealth signaling works in a social media-driven world. The subtlety of quiet luxury fits well into a digital ecosystem that increasingly values refined instagram grids and minimalism. While this may seem like a break from traditional luxury's visible markers, it’s still part of the same market system designed to signal exclusivity and wealth—just in a more discreet, cultivated manner.
The luxury industry knows that social media is a tool that amplifies its reach and its ability to shape cultural narratives. Through targeted advertisements, influencer partnerships, and user-generated content, brands maintain their influence, ensuring that what is considered desirable or aspirational is continuously in flux. In this way, the luxury market doesn’t simply influence what we buy, but it shapes how we identify and present ourselves, both online and offline.
The luxury industry has long been adept at tapping into the specific desires, values, and psychological drivers of each generation. Every year understanding and reacting to market behaviour gets more advanced. What we witness today in the fashion world is a calculated response to generational behavior.
Over the years, luxury brands have successfully capitalized on cultural shifts to ensure that each new generation of consumers remains within the market's orbit. This process is not organic but rather a strategic manipulation, where the luxury market behaves like a machine that adapts to generational preferences and, in turn, shapes those preferences to maintain profitability.
In the case of Millennials, the 2010s saw the rise of loud, logo-centric luxury, with brands like Gucci and Louis Vuitton dominating the market. Millennials, having grown up in an era of rising global connectivity and social media, were heavily influenced by a new need for a bold visible status and a peacock-like self-presentation.
Social media platforms like Instagram, Tumblr, and Twitter provided Millennials with a new space to showcase their identities. The consumer behavior in this era was driven by a new desire for recognition and validation, and the luxury industry responded by offering products designed to be seen and flaunted.
A genius response to this behavior was the Louis Vuitton x Murakami Monogram Multicolor collaboration originally released in 2003 that was so successful they continued to work together in collaboration for 12 years.
A colorful reinterpretation of an already wealth-signaling classic, became literally the most colorful peacock show for status.
The market quickly recognizes that generational behavior shifts, often in response to economic conditions, social movements, and cultural critiques. Gen Z, shaped by the economic uncertainty of the post-2008 world, a growing concern for social justice, and a preference for digital curation, has been less interested in the loud fashion of the previous generation.
Gen Z was embracing a more discreet form of luxury—a shift toward what is now referred to as quiet luxury. Brands like Prada, Miu Miu, and The Row now cater to a generation that values craftsmanship, authenticity, and sustainability over the overt display of wealth that defined Millennials. The products they choose often lack obvious branding, focusing instead on refined materials and subtle elegance that communicates sophistication without the “need” for external validation.
Arguably, nostalgia always sells and we are ironically currently seeing a resurface of the Louis Vuitton x Murakami collaboration as a means to escape current modern fashion pressure, but I digress…
This generational shift has been highly profitable for the luxury industry, which has swiftly pivoted its marketing to meet the new preferences of Gen Z. Where Millennials sought recognition, Gen Z seeks refined nuance. The industry capitalized on this shift, pushing traditional “classic” styles as emblematic of refined wealth, often through the narrative of old money sophistication. The quiet luxury trend is thus not just a response to consumer preferences but also a calculated repositioning of luxury goods to ensure their relevance in the face of changing values.
The luxury market, in many ways, acts like a machine that preys on generational shifts. As one group of consumers matures and its preferences evolve, the industry adapts by offering products that speak to the emotional and psychological needs of the next generation. This machine works in the background, shaping what is considered aspirational or desirable by presenting carefully curated narratives about what true luxury should look like.
In this way the luxury industry is not just reacting to consumer desires; it is creating them, continuously adapting its strategies to ensure that each new wave of consumers remains locked into the cycle of consumption, aspiration, and contemporary status signaling.
One of the biggest deceptions in modern consumer culture is the notion that we are making individual choices. We like to think that our style, our wealth signals, and our consumer choices are purely personal. We think that we are selecting what resonates with us. But this isn't the whole picture. It does not matter if you claim to be niche, or outside of the mainstream. I will explain why.
The luxury market, while claiming to be the pioneer of innovation and creativity, is often guilty of curated evolution—a process where what’s marketed as new is really just a recycled version of the past. Luxury brands play the game of creating shifts in aesthetics or introducing new colors and shapes, but it’s always within a highly controlled structure. What’s marketed as groundbreaking creativity is, in reality, carefully orchestrated change designed to create demand and reinforce exclusivity. Circle back to the original 2003 Louis Vuitton x Murakami collab.
This "innovation" is not about true, unrestrained creativity. The system in place doesn’t often encourage the kind of radical, disruptive innovation that challenges the status quo. Instead, it promotes calculated iterations that fit within an already existing framework. The result is an industry that limits true creative freedom because it needs to ensure that trends can be massively consumed and that the economic model survives on constant consumption. As long as consumers keep buying into curated trends, the system remains alive.
Luxury brands position themselves as pioneers of innovation, but the truth is more complicated. They do innovate and push boundaries in certain ways—materials, craftsmanship, digital integration (like AI, NFTs, and augmented reality fashion experiences). But simultaneously, they are operating on the cusp of trendsetting, they are gatekeepers so to say, meaning a lot of their “innovation” is just strategic reinvention rather than true originality.
Luxury innovation is partly real, partly curated storytelling. They do push new technologies and aesthetics, but often within a controlled framework that keeps their influence intact.
Mass-market consumerism is stronger than ever—fast fashion, algorithm-driven trends, and disposable culture keep people in a cycle of constant consumption. It’s optimized to fit our short attention spans and our desire for quick dopamine hits. Tik Tok’s dominance in the social media landscape is further reinforcing this.
Everything is designed to capture our fleeting attention, engaging us with constant releases of new products, collaborations, and designs. This feeds into the cycle of constant desire. What was “new” last season quickly becomes “old,” and the next product is marketed as the next must-have item.
The economy doesn’t run on what we need, but rather on what we feel we should have. The purchase is driven by a constant urge to keep up with the rapidly shifting trends. Consumers feel compelled to buy, not because the product is essential, but because the market has positioned it as essential.
Luxury brands thrive on this impulse: they capitalize on our insecurity, making us believe that owning their products will elevate our status, make us more desirable, or more “timeless” in our personal brand. But these signals of wealth are not inherent; they are manufactured.
We’re beginning to notice in our current market where individuality is marketed as a product rather than something people develop for themselves. Brands operate on information asymmetry and therefore will always be ahead of the curve.
They already know that consumers are craving uniqueness, so instead of truly decentralizing fashion or encouraging independent thought, they’ll just sell the illusion of it—limited drops, hyper-personalized shopping experiences, AI-generated “custom” pieces, and niche aesthetics that still function within a larger, controlled economy.
As fashion continues to evolve, it will feel more fragmented—more styles, more options, and more “personalized” choices. But the central control will still be in the hands of the major brands and platforms shaping what’s visible and desirable. Even if the industry becomes more diverse and niche, the market will still function on the principles of social proof, scarcity, and perceived exclusivity. What is marketed as individuality will still be a carefully constructed version of conformity into subcultural groups.
True independent thought, creativity, and expression will always be secondary to the profit motive of brands and the desire to keep consumers within a controlled system of constant consumption.
Brands are now using AI to suggest "personalized" shopping experiences (Virtual try-on, AI Assistant, etc.), making people feel like they are making unique choices when, in reality, the system is still guiding them toward a controlled set of options. It feels tailor-made, but it’s just another way to push consumption and drive conversions.
Limited-edition releases and pop-ups plays into people’s desire to feel special. But this is still artificial scarcity—brands control supply to create demand, making people chase what’s “rare” while still dictating what’s desirable.
Look at micro-trends like “cottage-core” “clean girl,” or “gorp-core.” These were once organic, subcultural styles, but the moment they gain traction, brands jump in, mass-produce the aesthetic, and sell it back to consumers. Instead of people developing a style naturally, they just pick from a menu of pre-approved “individual” looks. This eventually leads to shallow identity development and thus a colossal cascade of consequences of mindless living and decision making.
More brands are offering customization (Nike By You, monogrammed make-up bags, custom colorways), but again within controlled parameters. You get to feel like you’re making something “your own,” but only in a way that still benefits the brand’s overall design philosophy.
Instead of traditional trend cycles where everyone wears the same thing, brands will push algorithm-driven microtrends—where different groups get different styles marketed to them based on their digital behavior. Fashion will feel more fragmented, but it will still be controlled at the top by brands and platforms shaping what’s seen and desired.
To truly break out of the cycle, one must disconnect from algorithmic consumption, develop a personal sense of taste, and engage with fashion on their own terms rather than through what’s being fed to them.
But that takes an immense amount of effort and use of personal resources, and most people—because of social conditioning, convenience, or sheer habit—will likely default to what’s easy. That’s why the system keeps winning. Will people actually do that, or will the illusion of individuality be enough to keep them in the system?
It’s not necessarily a bad thing to be part of the system. It depends on what someone values and what trade-offs they’re willing to make. There are definite costs and benefits to both individuality and conforming to a larger, structured market.
For those who choose to willingly follow, there are certain advantages that come with it. Ease and convenience are the most immediately obvious benefits—following established trends eliminates the need to spend time curating a personal style, as the market does it for you. This sense of ease is often accompanied by a feeling of social belonging. When you wear the same styles and brands as the majority, you’re more likely to fit in, which can be comforting for many people, especially in a society that often values conformity. Additionally, wearing recognizable brands or aesthetics signals a certain level of status and recognition, offering a way to showcase taste or wealth, which can be beneficial in both social and professional circles.
However, being part of the system also comes with its downsides. The most significant is the lack of true identity—when your style is solely based on what’s trending, it’s nearly impossible to genuinely express yourself or know that side of you. Instead, you cycle through what’s being marketed to you. This constant cycle of consumption can lead to a financial and mental drain and lack of profound fulfillment, as the system encourages you to spend more than necessary, always pushing new items to buy and new trends to follow.
There’s also a loss of profound creativity—the more you buy into mass-market products, the less room you have for personal exploration in style. The market shapes your preferences, and you end up following rather than creating. Lastly, there’s the issue of manipulation. The fashion industry uses highly sophisticated marketing tactics to make you feel like you're making independent choices, when in reality, you're being subtly guided to consume more, often without fully realizing it.
Pursuing true individuality in style comes with its own set of benefits. One of the most rewarding aspects is the sense of authenticity it provides. When you curate your style based on your own tastes and not external pressures, it feels much more personal and meaningful. This leads to long-term satisfaction, as you invest in pieces that hold personal value rather than chasing fleeting trends. True individuality also brings creative freedom, allowing you to experiment and express yourself in a way that feels genuine, without being bound by what’s popular at the moment. Moreover, if you reject trend-driven consumption, you’re less likely to fall into the trap of constantly spending money to keep up, leading to less dependence on the market.
Yet more effort is required—finding and refining a personal style takes time, research, and a high degree of self-awareness that can continuously evolve. Unlike following a trend, which is easy and pre-packaged, personal style demands introspection and experimentation.
There’s also the potential for social alienation. If you go too far outside mainstream aesthetics, your style might become isolating, and you could risk feeling disconnected from the larger social fabric, if you are about that. Additionally, hyper-individualized styles might be harder to source, especially if mass-market brands don’t cater to them. Even in niche communities that promote individuality, there can be gatekeeping—certain styles or brands can become exclusive or elitist in their own right, undermining the very idea of personal expression.
Ultimately, it all comes down to awareness and choice. If someone knows the trade-offs and still chooses to engage with mainstream fashion, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The problem arises when people don’t even realize they’re being led, mindlessly following the cyclical nature of trends without ever questioning the deeper motivations behind them.
Is this manipulation inherent to capitalism, or is it simply the most efficient way to make money?
Capitalism is simply a reflection of human nature—it thrives on maximizing profit and fulfilling desires, regardless of whether those desires are real, artificially created, genuine and honest, or predatory.
Capitalism isn’t inherently predatory, but it can thrive off manipulation because its design leaves room for the exploitation of the psychological tendencies of consumers.
Once one company figures out how to exploit human emotions and desires, others feel inclined to follow at the risk of obsoletion. For instance, once luxury brands figured out that scarcity and exclusivity could generate demand, other brands—across all luxury industries—replicated this model. This is a prime example of information asymmetry, where brands create perceived value by controlling access to products and information. They position themselves as "innovative" or "exclusive" and consumers follow the behavior because they fear missing out on profit or social capital.
This idea of companies following each other's behavior to avoid becoming obsolete is a fundamentally natural consequence of competition in capitalism.
As one brand taps into a psychological trigger that works, it creates a market norm that everyone else has to follow. First-mover advantage in this sense is the ability to shape the market and set the trends that others will inevitably adopt to stay competitive.
Until we internalize that true individuality isn’t something that can be bought—it’s something that needs to be developed from within—this cycle of manufactured identity will continue. True creativity, true innovation, and true individuality have the potential to flourish, but they can only do so if we break free from the system of controlled consumption that defines much of the modern fashion market. Only then can we truly experience the freedom to express ourselves authentically, beyond the limits of what's marketed to us.
Today, creative directors are constrained. They don’t have the luxury (ironically) to experiment freely because they’re on tight schedules, expected to deliver multiple collections per year—sometimes up to six or more if you include pre-collections and capsule drops. This pace forces them to recycle ideas, play it safe, or lean on brand archives instead of taking real creative risks.
The result is a system that prioritizes consistency and profitability over true artistic expression. If the fashion industry wasn’t structured around mass trend adoption, creative directors could take more time to develop meaningful, boundary-pushing work.
Luxury houses' entire business model relies on creating trends that are aspirational yet accessible enough to be copied at lower levels of the economy. If they went too niche, the trickle-down effect wouldn’t work as smoothly, and they’d risk alienating their consumer base.
If everyone had their own independent style, true individuality, and critical thinking, the market would look different—but I expect it to eventually evolve into something similar to what we have today, perhaps more intelligently evolved, solely because of how human behavior is wired with regards to social groups, hierarchies, and the basic instinct of survival.
Instead of a few dominant brands dictating trends, you’d see an explosion of niche markets catering to truly personal aesthetics. People wouldn’t buy based on trend cycles but on genuine preference, craftsmanship, and self-expression. A key noticeable difference would be that fast fashion would likely collapse because there’d be no mass desire for “what’s in.” Rather, slow fashion, custom pieces, and unique, several small-scale designers would thrive.
There would be room for true stylistic innovation because people wouldn’t be following a single dominant aesthetic. Instead, different subcultures and small brands would experiment freely, cross-pollinating ideas. We’d see fragmented communities developing their own elite aesthetics. Certain niche styles would become aspirational within specific circles, and exclusivity would still exist.
Marketing would also lose its grip. If people weren’t looking for external validation through clothing, there wouldn’t be as much power in influencer culture or brand prestige. Instead, purchasing decisions would be based purely on what resonates with an individual, not on what a corporation tells them is aspirational.
The economic structure would shift too. Brands wouldn’t be able to manipulate demand by fabricating scarcity or pushing artificial lifestyle associations. Instead, businesses would have to compete on actual quality, innovation, and artistry. The market would look more like an organic, fragmented ecosystem rather than a controlled, cyclical machine.
The fundamental desire for status, belonging, and differentiation wouldn’t disappear. The fashion industry wouldn’t die, but it would shift from a top-down model to a more organic, subculture-driven one. New hierarchies would inevitably emerge, just with a different set of values based on authenticity and critical thought. Even if the traditional luxury system collapsed and fashion became fully decentralized, humans naturally create social structures, status symbols, and in-groups.
The fashion industry as we know it might lose its monopoly, but the concept of exclusivity and fashion hierarchy would persist—just reinvented in a way that reflects a more individualized world.
The way the economy is structured now—favoring mass consumption, trend cycles, and surface-level engagement—exists because it’s the easiest way to maintain stability and profitability. It’s a system that is designed for endless possibility, and thus leaves room for manipulative and predatory tactics to be taken advantage of.
It’s not necessarily what’s most natural for human nature, but rather what’s most efficient for a system that prioritizes large-scale economic growth over depth, creativity, or individuality.
It would require a fundamental change in how people think about value. Economies rely on constant production and consumption—even luxury, which markets itself as exclusive, still thrives on high-volume demand. A system that values individuality would need to slow consumption, focus on long-term quality over immediate trends, and encourage deep personal engagement with what we buy.
Even if society shifted toward a slower, creativity-driven economy, history shows that markets tend to consolidate over time. Small, unique brands could emerge and flourish, but eventually, some would gain more influence, consolidate power, form new dominant structures and get absorbed into a similar system to what we have now.
The cycle of mass adoption could repeat itself in a new and evolved form. The tension between mass accessibility and exclusivity would always exist, and companies would still find ways to capitalize on social hierarchies as these behaviours lead back to foundational principles of human behaviour and survival.
The challenge isn’t whether a deeper, more meaningful economy could exist—it’s whether people are willing to unlearn passive consumption and actively participate in a system that demands more thought, effort, and self-awareness.
