Cut from a different fabric: Don't be fooled by fashion's obsession with upper-class wardrobes | Fashion

IIt is a peculiarity of the British aristocracy to be able to hold a title, such as that of Duke of Devonshire, without having any connection with the part of the country to which it refers. The first earls and later dukes of Devonshire did not reside in Devon. Past and present properties include Bolton Abbey in North Yorkshire, as well as Chiswick House and Burlington House in London. The jewel of the portfolio is Chatsworth: a magnificent Grade I listed building in Derbyshire, often described as one of Britain's favorite stately homes. For those who own a lot, land becomes one heirloom among others that can be parceled out, sold, bequeathed and passed on to future generations, like a pretty handbag or an antique opera coat.

This summer, Chatsworth hosts Erdem: Imaginary Conversations, an exhibition exploring the influence of the late Deborah Cavendish, née Mitford, former resident and muse of the designer's Spring/Summer 24 collection. Featuring deconstructed ball gowns and bejeweled insects, the opening look is the funniest, a frayed tweed skirt hinting at the Duchess's love of Derbyshire red caps and Scottish dumpies. Erdem says he wanted it to look ravaged by chickens.

As fun as it is, this look embodies the fashion world's bizarre respect for the aristocracy. From the whimsical days of Tim Walker's photos of stately homes to Fendi's Princess Anne-inspired outfits, the visual codes and sprawling homes of the upper classes often grace mood boards and magazine pages. Part of the charm, at least as far as designers and photographers are concerned, seems to lie in this very chic combination of splendor and squalor, a nod to a world in which disorder can be read as blasé nonconformism and quality matters, but nothing is too precious; principles like make do and mend take on a different, more ambitious tone when there's an archive full of 19th-century hand-painted fabrics to plunder.

On a simpler level, with their dresses and gardens designed by Capability Brown, the aristocracy satisfies fashion's taste for high fantasy: offering an approximation of a real-life fairy tale, complete with tiara and castle (funny given that so many fairy tales have been published). to mask their inconveniences, the aristocracy is also expert in the art of hiding dark secrets of exploitation beneath idyllic exteriors). However, while it may seem obvious why an industry that sells expensive clothing decides to reference the historically rich and powerful, it is disturbing to see how easily the continued romanticization of inherited titles, inherited mansions, and enormous wealth inherited from the average value of real estate. a title has doubled after the financial crisis to reach 16 million serves as a form of gentle propaganda, encouraging affection and even admiration for those who were fortunate in the feudal order.

Known colloquially as Debo, the Duchess of Devonshire spent half a century as Chatelaine of Chatsworth after marrying Andrew Cavendish in 1941. In 1981 the property was transferred to the Chatsworth House Trust, a charity responsible for its upkeep and community outreach, with the family paying market rent for their private quarters.

Over the decades, the Duchess became a relatively beloved institutional figure: the embodiment of the old school, a chic and pragmatic girl with a very mythologized childhood, who loved animals (unless they could be hunted), preferred buy your clothes in agricultural stores. (apart from her custom Turnbull & Asser shirts in every color) and, being a lifelong conservative, managed to achieve a veneer of neutrality compared to her sisters who included a Nazi (Unity) and a fascist among them (Diana, who has repeatedly been declared Debos' favorite).

In the exhibition, Erdem champions Debo's ingenuity and indomitable English spirit, praising his business acumen in reviving Chatsworth by selling land, buildings and artwork to fund an unexpected £7 million bill inheritance taxes. She went on to establish businesses, including a farm store and a farmyard, while riffing on all the go-to references one might expect: Cecil Beaton portraits and glitzy jewelry, delicate dancing slippers arranged at side of practical walking shoes.

In itself, it's a lovely exhibition, not least in the way it highlights Moralolu's obvious enjoyment in the research process. And going to Chatsworth makes you want, despite yourself, ceilings big enough to accommodate murals of goddesses and kings. But look closer and Debo emerges as the poster girl for the still-influential interwar fiction of a ruling class on the brink of extinction; their roofs and cardigans are both full of holes, the old world in decline while heating bills rise. This image of acceptable decay, with its stockpiled tulle skirts and an endless supply of valuable artwork and tapestries to sell in an emergency, ignites a strange nostalgic synapse in the British psyche. It's the same part tickled by the countless remakes of Brideshead Revisited and The Pursuit of Love, in which the dream of the big house is counterbalanced by more relevant problems: frostbite, melancholy, emotional distance, the threat of obsolescence. But it is worth remembering that in the case of Debos, the grand narrative is not one of triumph against obstacles or a real threat of difficulty, but rather that of a princess who was able to keep the palace.

Inspiration takes many forms, and designers often rely on invocations of imagined national characters, playing with a mixture of crude clichés and selective cultural history to form an idea of ​​a certain type of woman. French designers opt for discreet chic, Italian designers for sexy maximalism, etc. British designers often rely on the idea of ​​scrappy eccentricity: a collision of monarchs and punks, pearls and hoodies.

While this may suggest a more democratic free-for-all class, subcultural or working-class aesthetic elements are often presented as ridiculous stereotypes or as a way to temper the upper-class fantasy, which is not surprising in an industry where there are still a shocking number of headlines and headlines. honorifics, and Golden age of working class designers is far behind us. Previously, more interesting and provocative riffs on aristocratic codes came from Alexander McQueen, who grew up in east London and left school at the age of 16 when he was offered an apprenticeship at Savile Row, and Vivienne Westwood, who worked as a saleswoman. factory technician and primary school teacher. But research in 2022 shows that the number of workers in Britain's creative industries has halved since the 1970s, to just 7.9%, while a recent study report by Vogue Business reported various systemic barriers to entry expectations, including endless unpaid work at the start of a fashion career, automatically excluding those who cannot afford to work for free, especially that the cost of living crisis continues to be felt.

Chic continues to flourish. Analysis the peerage and you'll see many A-list fashion names, from models Cara Delevingne, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, Jodie Kidd and Lady Jean Campbell to designers Serena Bute and Samantha Cameron. The Mitford sisters have single-handedly given birth to an entire generation of models, editors, It girls and stylists, fashion being an industry where connections and wealth don't so much open the front door as the keys of the castle. In 2016, Burberry's then-creative director and CEO Christopher Bailey described the Mitfords as glam rock, military and wellies, a patchwork of things I like (which begs the question, given the politics of Unity and Diana, which military?)

Burberry underwent a period of image overhaul in the late 2000s after its famous checks began to be worn by what some considered the wrong type of people: chavs. The answer was to reinvigorate an image of British heritage and idiosyncrasy, all mud on silk hemlines and tasteful trench coats. The results were often pleasing to the eye, but there was an underlying ugliness in the desire to get rid of unwanted customers in favor of a higher class of customers.

This is the other reason why aristocracy retains its innate thematic appeal: once capable of dictating fashions and fashions, Chatsworth was also home to the famous 18th-century Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, whose hairstyles became legendary and many of them are still likely to be clients.

In 1959, Evelyn Waugh wrote in an updated introduction to Brideshead Revisited, published 15 years previously, that it was a eulogy preached on an empty coffin, observing that Brideshead would today be open to day-trippers, its treasures rearranged by expert hands and the fabric better maintained than it was by Lord. Marchmain.

The cult of the country house that he identified then remained strong. Chatsworth is still monumentally popular, and Erdems' exhibition will undoubtedly be a success, but the status of the aristocracy is even stronger. Debo's son Peregrine, the current Duke of Devonshire, has an estimate net value of 910 m, occupying number 182 on this year's Sunday Times Rich List. This is unsurprising, given that this follows a general trend of extraordinary wealth consolidation among UK peers through land ownership, asset management schemes, investments and much more.

We may now be allowed to poke around their great halls and even take great pleasure in their robes, but it is worth remembering that the aristocracy are not mere relics or enjoyably spirited typical characters, but participants active in an extremely uneven landscape.