Is wearing Chanel democratic?
On December 2nd, an unusual scene unfolded at the Bowery subway station in New York City: a throng of women dressed head-to-toe in Chanel—one of the world's most exclusive brands—strolled along the platform. The New York subway, a cultural symbol and a universally accessible public service, is a space where more than three million people from diverse backgrounds coexist every day. But that night was no ordinary commute: it was the fashion show. Artistic Crafts, the annual event where the house It showcases the excellence of its artisan workshops. "The New York subway belongs to everyone," explained creative director Matthieu Blazy. A statement that many media outlets have been quick to interpret as a democratizing gesture seeking to reconnect with the supposed popular essence of its founder, Gabrielle "Coco" Chanel.
To this epic tale has been added another episode that has propelled it even further: the show was opened by Bhavitha Mandava, a model originally from India discovered on the New York subway a few weeks before the Spring/Summer 2025 season. Mandava herself, who has barely had time to endure a video of parents crying with emotion as they watched her walk the runway as the figurehead of a house which represents the ultimate expression of luxury.
Social media has been quick to react, overflowing with opinions more akin to a saccharine Christmas ad than a realistic view of the world around us. Many voices present this moment as a democratic victory, and some media outlets have even gone so far as to argue that the show demonstrates that luxury is no longer the preserve of an exclusive circle, but can engage with ordinary people. For many, Mandava symbolizes a step forward in the representation of Indian models and often-invisible communities, projecting the idea that any young person can aspire to the same. However, confusing representation with transformation is one of the industry's most effective traps: images change far faster than structures do.
Either Quim Masferrer is right and we are all very (or too) good people, or humans have a long-standing talent for settling for any minimal agreement. At what point did we throw in the towel in the fight for social justice and settle for gestures more akin to illusion than genuine commitment? How can it be that, in the 21st century, we celebrate Chanel choosing an Indian model to open a show instead of being outraged that it took them so long to do so? Why are we grateful that this fashion house "got off" the subway to present its collection, presuming their good intentions of caring about the common good? Perhaps because we also like to believe we are part of a benevolent narrative, even if it means ignoring what truly underpins this system.
Luxury has always existed and shows no signs of disappearing anytime soon because, as long as social inequality persists, it will have enough fuel to keep going. The notion of "democratic luxury," which some are quick to proclaim, is nothing more than an oxymoron with no intention of being resolved. And when an initiative seems to point toward a supposed democratization, it is often nothing more than a mirage: a narrative designed to convince us to buy what we don't deserve, fueled by the illusion that social mobility is operating at full capacity. Furthermore, luxury always needs to maintain a certain inaccessibility: it is from frustrated desire that it draws its symbolic and economic power.
We can't be so naive as to swallow that false modesty. In a socially just world, luxury would be unnecessary, and no industry works toward its own demise. That's why the sector constantly seeks a balance between preserving the exclusivity that gives it value and winning public favor with calculated gestures, disguised as modernity and approachability. Luxury knows this perfectly well. Chanel, from its very beginnings, has too.