Exceptions aside, Spectator readers are not consumers of luxury for luxury’s sake. They are unassuming keepers of style, guardians of distinction – and firm of belief that any claim to sophistication demands a renunciation of bling. In fact, I can only assume that this is being read by a pious confederacy of cashmere-clad clones.
You may recall the early noughties. It was a halcyon age. Everyone was flush with cash and casual credit was king. We were at our most acquisitive and if there was money to be spent, it was invariably on one thing – the obsession of the era, the latest ‘It Bag’. Just thinking about it turns me all misty eyed. Such a wondrous time, before hipsters and ironic fashion statements, a time when there was no vulgarity in pining for a dead oversized python to parade on your person.
Which is why I’m hugely gladdened by the latest research.
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