“House of Gucci” and the tribulations of authenticity as a concept.
Prologue
It’s eminently sad that I get my ideas for posts from popular movies but having switched my Twitter regimen from one of careful curation to one of gluttonous follow of anyone who pops up into my feed, I am genuinely struggling for brain fodder (yes, you read that correctly despite the many thesaurus synonyms, I am struggling to get value out of following more than my usual 20 people but more on that later).
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I went to watch House of Gucci recently primarily because I secretly want Adam Driver to be my boyfriend on the side, but also because I’ve always wanted to be able to afford to wear Gucci, and not just the belt that everyone on Instagram wears because it’s the one thing anyone who’s not a billionaire can really afford from Gucci (aside from their socks). This is not a movie review. But if you want to know my opinion, it’s a decent movie which is rendered delightful by Jared Leto in the weirdest bodysuit and wig.
Onto the real subject of this post: authenticity. There is an overarching theme in the movie: the value of stuff and where it comes from. Does it matter if it’s made with cow skins from Lombardy or not? Does it matter that they only made 100 pairs of them and then stopped? Does it matter that 5 of those pairs are in a Museum and the rest in the private collections of Hollywood movie stars? Does a Gucci need to own parts of the company for it to be really Gucci? Do you buy a Gucci knock-off or is that just bad taste?
Ultimately, the conclusion is pretty obvious: it’s only Gucci if a real Gucci has something to do with it and only if it’s made from the original Gucci “recipe”, using only the cows that the Gucci family raised. Also, not any Gucci. Only those Guccis who have the inherent Gucci taste. Maurizio and Rodolfo (the dad) have the taste. Paolo and Aldo Gucci, not so much.
Authenticity is about lineage, tradition, exclusivity and some sprinkle of magic dust (talent, taste, charisma, something that people can point at and desire but something that not everyone has).
Before the movie started, ads ran for 20 minutes. There were three types of ads: KFC and McDonalds. Ads for banks. Ads for other high end fashion houses. And this got me thinking about the interpretation of authenticity as it’s performed today in Western society but also as it’s understood (or at least how I see it understood) in other countries.
If authenticity is described as above, it is eminently prohibitive. You cannot get this stuff unless you are the 1%. In the ad targeting universe, those who consume KFC/McDonalds (not, mind you, as a posh joke after a boozy evening at the Ritz) won’t be able to pay 5000 GBP for a sweater or 10k for a handbag. Authenticity has a natural consequence: higher price and scarcity. If you’re planning to make something “just so”, then you can only make as many as the resources and manpower allow you. All this means working with specific materials and specific people. And that brings about higher costs hence a higher retail price. Scarcity is an organic albeit separate element of authenticity, which, I might add, has been put to incredible use by brands where tradition or manufacturing specificities are not an issue (e.g. Supreme). And scarcity in a globalised economy is what results in two things in fashion: mainstream/pret a porter (ready to wear) editions and the knock-off economy.
In House of Gucci, the ready to wear aspect is not discussed too much. But the knock-off economy is something Uncle Aldo Gucci condones gleefully if not openly because he understands that it’s the smelly but profitable long tail of authenticity. In a tense scene, Patrizzia Gucci is shocked to see her maid carries a Gucci knock-off just like her original and the maid is far from embarrassed. Working in the Gucci household has not imbued her with a respect of authenticity, just with the desire that comes from scarcity.
This is where an interesting question arises: does authenticity as a concept even exist if consumers don’t understand it within the confines of the definition above? In the movie, fake Guccis need to be removed and destroyed. However, growing up in Eastern Europe I can tell you for a fact that having a fake Gucci was not something to be ashamed of. There is a fundamental difference in someone knowing they’ve bought a fake Gucci and not caring about it and someone who does not understand that carrying a fake Gucci is somehow an affront to good manners. In post-communist Romania, both were equally present. I once pitched in front of a woman CMO who proudly explained she had travelled to Italy to buy a Gucci replica bag. The bag had nothing to do with Gucci, but she did not consider it to be a fake. Meanwhile, almost everyone’s dad wore some sort of fake Versace or Fendi shoes for most of the 90s and didn’t give it a second thought. Authenticity in the post-communism age was not something people cared about. How it was made did not matter: the communist production machine had taken the magic out of workmanship. How scarce it was was not a bonus: we knew scarcity to be bad, having bought 1/3 of a loaf of bread per family. Tradition was illegal: communism had made nobility/ family lineage a crime. So authenticity as defined above was not a thing. Authenticity was reason enough to pay through the nose.
I would here wager a risky comparison with the flourishing knock-off economy of China. Despite the insistence on lacking copyright legislation as the key reason for this, I honestly believe there is an ingrained culture of lack of deference to authenticity. How it’s made matters less than how much it costs. For the lower income population, having something that looks expensive matters more.
I also have a corollary to the initial question: does authenticity apply unilaterally and wholly or can you be partially authentic or in a limited way? This, BTW, is the “Gucci belt question”. Every single influencer has a Gucci belt. Every single fashion-conscious Instagrammer has the same belt. It is the most worn item on Instagram and one of the most recognisable “fashion statements” online. The belt costs 300 GBP, so not a fortune, but also not a reasonable amount for something that keeps your trousers up or “completes an outfit”. Within that “fashion flex” lingers the implied understanding that this is all you could afford. So while the belt may be authentic, your access to the full authentic experience is limited. And yet, this is a universal occurrence. Everyone has [insert famous brand] socks, wallets, tights, belts, earrings. Small trinket items bought for their status value but carrying the same implication: I cannot afford a big item. Does the authenticity still carry? And what does this mean, economically, if we have a large group of consumers who are willing to “accessorise” with big, expensive brands but not buy into the whole offering because they just cannot afford it?
Ultimately, authenticity as a commercial attribute is “in the eye of the beholder”. You choose, culturally speaking, to pay more for things that are made just so. You can very easily choose to not pay more. Who decides what constitutes authenticity changes easily (just yesterday I was reading that a commission of experts had decided to call a painting an original, despite the author denying he had ever painted it). So how we market authenticity needs to take into account the tribulations of that term, culturally and economically.
