The premise, as I understand it from the magazines, is this: one should not announce one's wealth. One should buy a camel coat that costs as much as a small holiday and trust that the right people will recognise its provenance from the seam. One should not, under any circumstances, have a logo. The cashmere jumper, at £400, will be enjoyed in private by one alone — with perhaps one's husband to admire it briefly on a Tuesday, before the dog gets near it.
I have, by this definition, achieved quiet luxury.
It cost me £52.
It is on my bedside table. It is, in fact, the quietest object in the house. It does not flash. It does not chime. It does not require an account, a subscription, or a software update. It does not ask after me. It is matte purple, the colour of an aubergine on its second day. It is the size, roughly, of something you might find in a drawer and not be sure where it came from. It is — and here I am taking liberties with the trade language — soft. Genuinely soft. Soft in the way a thing can be when nobody has tried to make it look expensive.
Gerald next door has had a new gravel drive laid. Beige. Very tasteful. He has been quietly waiting for someone to notice it for three weeks. This, I think, is the difference.
Verdict. The jumper, as established, is £400. The Love Loop is £52. I am told both are investment pieces. Only one of them, in my experience, has paid out.
Margaret, who is seventy-four and has opinions, says I should not be writing this down.
She is, however, wearing the jumper.
— Charlie
GET THE LOVE LOOP — £52 →
