Simultaneously, the “old money” aesthetic that has been taken up by the masses asserts itself through subtlety, through neutral tailoring, through almost invisible branding. Yet this very replication by the lower classes transforms those once understated codes into mainstream markers. In this article, we’ll explore how our increasing use of accessories against the backdrop of basic clothing can be interpreted as an illusion of luxury, a vestige of old minimalism, and a symptom of our times.

When Clothes Fade, Accessories Take the Spotlight

There is an unmistakable current in today’s fashion world where the clothes we wear quietly recede and the accessories we choose loudly advance. It begins with the garment, the hollow canvas of the body: a T-shirt in ecru, a pair of straight-cut trousers in sandstone, a blazer in charcoal. Together these pieces form an atmosphere of restraint, a uniform of understatement. They render the body less visible, as if we were dissolving into our environment rather than standing out. But then comes the punctuation: a monogrammed belt buckle glinting at the waist, a sculptural silver earring swinging at the neck, a bag with a chain strap catching the light. That is where the story begins: the accessory as anchor, as signal, as statement.

We might interpret this phenomenon in one of two opposite ways. On the one hand, it is the purchase of mini luxuries by those who cannot afford full luxury outfits yet still crave their aura. The economic crisis weighs heavily. Rents are rising, energy costs pinch, and so buying the entire outfit from a high-end brand seems absurd. Yet the psychological need to belong, to have a signifier of taste, remains. Here the so-called lipstick effect enters the frame: in times of economic hardship, consumers turn not to expensive coats or couture gowns but to smaller, affordable luxury goods. Thus, a single handbag or piece of jewellery becomes the visible portion of that dream of luxury one can still grasp, even if the outfit underneath is deliberately muted.

The Old-Money Mirage: How Minimalism Became the New Luxury

On the other hand, this trend is deeply entwined with the visual language of minimalism and the so-called old-money aesthetic that has long served as a class marker. Thin logos, discreet fabrics, quiet tones. That aesthetic is no longer just for the wealthy; it is aspirational for the working and middle classes. They attempt to replicate the look of privilege by buying basic garments fast-fashioned to resemble high-end minimalism, and then adding “luxury” touches in the form of accessories. The result is ironic: the more you try to vanish into the background, the more your accessories scream your name. The body is dulled, the outfit becomes a backdrop, and the accessory becomes the loud actor.

When Accessories Redefine Power and Presence in Fashion

But these accessories do far more than decorate; they overthrow. A simple outfit of washed-out khaki and cotton becomes transformed when a gold chain belt is added. A bland blazer becomes commanding when a vintage designer brooch is pinned. The accessory does heavy lifting; it carries the weight of meaning, importance. In doing so, the accessory becomes the stage and the body becomes the screen. We are presenting ourselves through the intrinsic value (or allure) of what we carry, not how we are shaped. This shift reveals something pivotal about our times: the accessory is less about adornment than about assertion.

Yet when everyone adopts this sign language, the sign loses its specificity. When the belt buckle glinting with a logo is replicated by tens of thousands, when the oversized earring is mass produced, when the quiet rich aesthetic is sold and resold, the codes collapse. What was once subtle tends toward the tacky. The minimalist garment and luxury accent formula becomes predictable. The aspiration becomes imitation, and imitation becomes mimicry. The style becomes homogenous rather than individual. At this point, the accessory no longer signals distinction but replication of a replication.

When the Body Fades, Accessories Take the Lead

It is also important to reflect on the body that this trend constructs. When we hide the body in muted silhouettes and then punctuate it with accent pieces, we are simultaneously erasing and inscribing. The garments flatten the body, their colors recede; the accessories project. The result is a disembodied elegance. We are less bodies than frames for our possessions. In this sense, our dressing down of the body can be read as a response to economic insecurity but also as a cultural gesture of self-effacement. We do not want to stand out by virtue of our bodies; we want to stand out by virtue of what we carry.

In addition to the socio-economic reading, there is an emotional reading. Buying that one piece of a luxury brand when you cannot afford the wardrobe gives you a surge of belonging. The accessory becomes a talisman of desirability, of entry. In dark times, the gesture of buying a modestly priced designer item is comforting. It is the fashion equivalent of buying the lipstick instead of the fur coat. Researchers who study consumer behaviour during downturns show this effect: small luxury purchases act as psychic bridges toward a class that seems receding. In other words, the accessory is both proof and promise: proof of taste and promise of status.

Condensed Maximalism: How Accessories Command Attention

But what does this say about maximalist statement pieces? If the garments fade and the accessories shout, then the statement is not the outfit but the piece. We have moved from the full silhouette as a proclamation to the accent as an emblem. Statement pieces are no longer immersive gowns but heavyweight bags, chunky jewellery, oversized sunglasses. They announce rather than envelop. Our gaze is lifted not to the turn of the garment but to the flash of the metal. The maximalism is condensed, concentrated, carried on the margins of the body rather than across it.

Simultaneously, the increased demand for accessories can be viewed as a symptom of cultural anxiety. We live in a time of uncertainty, in which our bodies are under scrutiny and our identities are mediated by screens and commerce. The muted outfit is an armour of quiet; the bold accessory is a beacon of self-possession. But it is also an armour that can feel hollow. When our body hides, we cling to the object. When our garment recedes, we project onto the accent. Ultimately this trend prompts a question: are we dressing for ourselves or dressing to prove we still belong? If our bodies recede and our accessories advance, we may be saying: I am still here, even if I cannot furnish the full house of clothes. One could say that in these times, we are not building wardrobes, but crafting illusions. The accessory is the last vestige of glamour in a world that believes it cannot afford it, and perhaps the most profound statement today is not the dress we wear, but the chain we clasp.