The headline screamed across the news: “The moment an influencer had her £10,000 handbag stolen while shopping for designer clothes”. And as I read those words, my sympathy for the victim vanished almost immediately. It wasn’t just the sheer audacity of the situation – it was the whole spectacle surrounding it that struck a nerve. The term influencer itself, while deeply modern, is a symbol of something I can barely muster the energy to care about. It’s a word without substance, much like the notion of cryptocurrency; all value is derived from how others perceive it. Then, there was the mention of the £10,000 handbag, which for many of us, is a sum that could cover a year’s rent, or a holiday to somewhere far more enjoyable than a shopping trip in Oxford Street.
Let’s talk about that handbag. Yes, the Hermes JPG Shoulder Birkin, a finely crafted piece of fashion history, is certainly a beautiful accessory. But it’s also worth the equivalent of a working-class salary in London. And that, I believe, is precisely the problem. In a world where many struggle to make ends meet, to flaunt a £10,000 handbag as a symbol of success seems almost grotesque. It encapsulates everything that’s wrong with today’s obsession with materialism and ostentation.
Historically, wealth was carried with a certain subtlety. Take Queen Elizabeth II, for example, whose handbags, though undoubtedly well-crafted, were never worn with the purpose of flaunting her status. They were functional, practical pieces. The emphasis was always on elegance and grace, not shouting wealth from the rooftops. Today, however, those same bags are transformed into symbols of I’ve Made It, worn by influencers and those in the public eye, often at the expense of good taste and modesty.
Of course, it’s not just handbags. The same applies to designer watches, particularly the likes of Rolex and Cartier, which are, unsurprisingly, the most commonly stolen luxury items. One industry insider once explained to me that a truly well-made, beautiful watch could be produced for just £500-£600. But the point is not to make a functional timepiece. These watches are sold at astronomical prices because they represent something – a lifestyle, an aspiration, a very public symbol of success.
Take a look at a Rolex or a Patek Philippe and you’ll see the price tag is not a reflection of the craftsmanship alone. Rather, it’s about selling a narrative. Ads promise that owning such a watch is about memories, legacy, or even love – anything but the actual cost. Meanwhile, the price soars to eye-watering sums, pushing the watch beyond the reach of most people. Yet we’re meant to believe that paying £30,000 for a watch somehow enhances our lives.
It’s not that I think stealing is acceptable – far from it. It’s one of the simplest commandments, a fundamental moral rule. But when someone deliberately flaunts a designer accessory, it’s almost as though they are tempting fate. “Look at me,” they say, and others inevitably do. For many, the temptation to act on envy is too great. In that sense, such displays of wealth are an invitation to theft. It’s not an excuse for criminals, but it does highlight a larger cultural problem.
Think back to the early 20th century. Rich aristocrats would wear diamonds, but they didn’t flaunt them every day. They were reserved for special occasions. For regular outings, they might have worn more understated pearls. Today’s wealthy, however, seem to believe that more is more. Their accessories scream, Look at my designer gear, and feel inferior. It’s excessive, ostentatious, and increasingly common.
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Consider the tragic case of the wealthy young Omani man who was murdered for his Patek Philippe watch in Knightsbridge. It was a senseless and heartbreaking loss of life, and yet, I couldn’t help but think: Is that watch truly worth a human life? What kind of society are we creating when material objects carry such intrinsic, dangerous power? This isn’t a new phenomenon – theft for luxury items has existed for centuries – but it’s becoming more brazen and violent.
So why not return to an era where quality and understatement were more valuable than conspicuous displays of wealth? Why not choose a beautiful handbag or watch that doesn’t cost the equivalent of someone’s annual income? There is a certain dignity in owning things that reflect personal taste and craftsmanship rather than merely societal status.
Ultimately, it’s time for a social revolution, one that stops elevating people who seek to impress us with their designer everything. Perhaps if we stopped idolising such behaviour, fewer of these high-priced accessories would be targeted by thieves. And maybe – just maybe – we could return to a culture where simplicity, not excess, is the true mark of success.
