VIP status languishes, those “very important people” who had a guaranteed table in the private ones because they were at the top of the social pyramid. Of course, among them was mixed some starving person who officiated as a clapper, entertaining those who paid for the cruise and polishing their egos. Of course, the famous also assumed this rank, to the point that, as soon as they came out of anonymity, they already toasted with ease with Dom Pérignon. It was not his ancestry that mattered but success. But being a VIP ended up losing its luster, tacked on by the tabloids and trivialized by those who believed that having a connection with the doorman was already a sign of status.
The hangover of logos and egos from the nineties was taken advantage of by the street. The rappers went global with their tattoos and a Vuitton cap. And luxury brands, far from frowning, began to design collections of hoodies and sneakers. The idea of distinction was reformatted and, at the same time, a new Olympus of celebrities emerged who made the change of record clear.
The comfortable and well-stocked lounges of airports around the world, for example, began to be called clubs, a much older name – and which is used for everything, be it table tennis or hostess bars – but whose link of belonging is more evident.
Today people have become customers, segmented by what they spend. For the privilege market they are no longer vip but vic (very important customer). The term makes explicit their consumer activity, and also their rights. It is estimated that there are 40 million people in the world who can splurge as they please. Yes, they are the ones who buy the most expensive of all, the bags for more than three hundred thousand pounds at Sotheby's, the Chaumet tiaras for half a million euros, or the works of art by Damien Hirst or Lita Cabellut.
While in Europe the consumption of second-hand clothing and outlets have tripled, in the countries of the New World only the exclusive satisfies, without moral, social or ecological dilemmas. To the point that luxury bags are the new brick: Chanel has tripled the price of its 225 model in five years, and today it costs 9,500 euros. Western capitalism uses trade distribution networks to perpetuate itself by creating desire. And if the United States and Japan were the apples of its eyes last century, in this century the Chinese hurricane arrived –after the Russian thaw–, and now it looks complacently at the Middle East.
When a European couple arrives at the lobby of a hotel in Dubai, for example, there is silence. They are a rare breed, mixed with women in black abayas and turbaned men. The couple dresses discreetly: they practice the silent luxury typical of those who come from the spa of the world–as Ramon Aymerich wrote so accurately in these pages–. And they're as exotic as Hermès buttery leathers.
For this reason, Bernard Arnault and François Pinault are looking for a new gold: virgin communities of vics in Nigeria, South Africa or Indonesia, countries where a clientele that is as avid and loyal as it is dazzled is beginning to emerge. That old tradition coined by the European bourgeoisie of the 20th century returns among the global nouveau riche: giving their puppies a gold watch when they come of age. Even if they live modestly, seeing themselves as owners of such an exclusive object, they believe they are acquiring power. They still don't know the boredom of hyper-consumerism. They don't even know that luxury is the new opium.
