What the "Old Money" Fashion Aesthetic Gets Wrong

The pitfalls of developing an aesthetic that revolves around what isn't

Sometime around 2022-2023, social media feeds became awash with content about the “old money aesthetic.” It usually looks like this:

For the record: I actually think most of these outfits are cute. I’m drawn to the style because of how flattering, classic and feminine it is. I like that it can look nice on anyone of any age, and I like that most elements of it never truly go “out of style.” The Old Money trend aims to emulate the elegance, grace and timelessness of generational wealth—and not just the “my dad has a net worth of $10M from being a lawyer” wealth, I’m talking about “Nobody in our family has had to work for generations” wealth. See: the British royal family.

But you might notice something about the British royal family—they don’t actually dress like the old money influencers, in their linen Reformation vests, pleated beige pants and black oversized blazers with gold hoops. When they’re decked out in their finery for public appearance, they dress in a maximalist, almost costumey style…it’s giving Selkie/Wes Anderson collab:

And then, when they’re wearing “normal” clothes, they aren’t even dressing that stylishly. Think, Banana Republic meets J.Crew. A bit preppy, yes, but not even in a cool way.

Of course, there are old money people beside the British royal family. And some of them are stylish. Take for example, Leah Behn, a style influencer—a cousin of the princess of Norway—who wears outfits that nobody would consider “old money.”

The Old Money aesthetic, as presented by influencers, on the other hand, tends to be more…how do I say this…the way that an old money character would dress in a movie. Very little color, lots of tailored suit pieces, white button-down shirts, understated leather bags with no flashy logos. And like I said before, it’s cute! But the main problem with this aesthetic is that it revolves around signaling what isn’t old money.

Most of the old money fashion content I’ve seen has been a “what NOT to wear” of old money, telling people all the things they might think are old money, but aren’t. The underlying tone is, “I somehow have secret information about old money people, and you don’t, so you’re not successfully emulating them, but I am.” For example: you might think wearing Gucci is old money, but actually, old money people wear extremely expensive sweaters you’ve never even heard of. Mic drop.

Like, okay? If I’ve never heard of them, how is that supposed to help me? And how do you know? Which old money people are you hanging out with?

That’s exactly the issue with the old money aesthetic—it’s all about what doesn’t count as old money. And given that most people following it (and most people in general) don’t actually hang out with anyone who’s old money, it all seems a bit futile and endlessly aspirational with no off-ramp. Yes, there are “dos” and “don’ts” in fashion, but the old money aesthetic seems primarily focused on the don’ts, while simultaneously committing many of them because almost none of these influencers are actually old money themselves or even know anyone who is.

There’s also the imagined superiority of old money people in comparison to new money people. The nouveau riche are the antithesis to the old money style, probably even more than actual poor people. Influencers talking about the old money aesthetic will often elaborate on how to “act” old money in addition to dressing the part. A waitress did a popular TikTok about how new money people are rude, gauche, tacky and don’t tip, while old money people are humble, gracious and you’d “never be able to tell” they were old money (which has me asking how on Earth she knew, given that she only briefly served them at a restaurant.) Another guy filmed a TikTok video in which he played both a new money and old money guy, talking to a third character (also played by himself) showing how the new money guy insists on flying first class but the old money guy, who typically flies private, is also humbly happy to fly in coach. It just makes no sense. These are made-up people!

I don’t know if everyone envisioning “new money” is imagining an obnoxious Long Island jewelry store chain owner with a golden Trump toilet or something, but new money basically means anyone who got wealthy from working, within the past few generations. Most CEOs are “new money.” New money people don’t universally go around in gaudy labels any more than old money people universally wear cashmere sweaters and tapered trousers.

I would have a lot more tolerance for this phenomenon if instead of calling it “old money” and instead of insisting that dressing this way will make you look like you’re also old money, to just call it “classic minimalist prep” or something a little catchier, like “Hamptonscore” or whatever. And perhaps you could do a more British-inspired, tweedier, slightly equestrian version and call it “Cotswoldscore.” Because the thing about those aesthetics, assuming they are breathed into existence, is that you’re admitting that you’re just kind of inspired by something. The old money aesthetic centers around actually attempting to pass yourself off as old money, which is pointless because you probably don’t know anyone who’s old money, and if you did, they’d immediately figure out that you weren’t. I mean, at that point, you’d be better off just going to Harvard or something.

Another major issue with any fashion trend that explicitly aims to make you seem rich is that there is a point of diminishing returns, wherein the fashion trend becomes so commonplace and oversaturated that its pieces are selling on SheIn, and it actually starts signaling as middle class, or at least not upper class. This is usually when trends go out of style. This concerns me as far as the old money aesthetic goes, because along with being wealthy-coded, the main point of this aesthetic is that it doesn’t go out of style. One “old money” item that I really loved was this style of vest/top:

But I’ve seen this vest—and others like it—so many times across Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook Reels that it doesn’t really read “old money” to me at all. Honestly, it doesn’t even read “classic” to me anymore because I just associate it with influencers. It’s getting to that point where you could buy one for $400 (not that I would! Not unless I get more paid subscribes, anyway!) and it would, at least at first glance, look indistinguishable from the Shein version.

So, to conclude: the old money aesthetic is cute, but it’s in danger of oversaturation (if not there already) and its stated aims—to pass as old money—are futile. If you’re okay with those two pitfalls, feel free to enjoy your button-down tops and simple leather bags.

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