“It is precisely in bringing together the mundane and the extraordinary that aspiration can arise again - not as an unattainable upper world, but as an invitation to participate.”
The Christmas period is a prime time for reflection. Especially here, in rural Burgundy, in the middle of French diagonal du vide. At the edge of the Morvan, time seems to run slower. The weather forces you to stay indoors by the woodstove, the dog to take daily walks along snowy paths and empty roads. It is an environment that not only makes reading possible, but almost enforces it. Distance from current events creates space to see patterns.
In that quiet, I read with great interest Empire of the Elite, a book about Condé Nast and its outsized influence on Western culture. Not as a neutral chronicler, but as an architect of imagination. For decades, Condé Nast was more than a publishing house; it was a cultural machine that produced aspiration. With titles like Vanity Fair, Vogue, Architectural Digest and The New Yorker, the concern created worlds where ‘high’ and ‘low’, old and new money, aristocracy and self-made success met.
The book shows how iconic editors-in-chief like Anna Wintour, Tina Brown, Graydon Carter and David Remnick acted as gatekeepers of that world. They determined who mattered, who became visible and who could become role models. Initially, that world revolved around millionaires - film stars, industrialists, heirs - later increasingly emphatically around billionaires. In doing so, Condé Nast set the tone for an unprecedented form of opulence.
American dream
Crucial in that success story was the attitude of owner Si Newhouse. His message to editors was simple and radical: spare no expense. Anyone writing about the upper world should behave as if he were part of it himself. This was not a figure of speech, but a strategy. By literally buying into that world with his media - through exclusive parties, access to closed circles and an aesthetic of abundance - aspiration became credible. Readers got not just reports, but an insight into a life that seemed attainable, provided one was ambitious enough. It provided the picture of ‘The American Dream’ par excellence.
Many elements of that opulence are still visible in our culture - the influence of the titles has been enormous. But the image that Condé Nast managed to sell for decades is no longer aspirational for a growing group of people. The times of broad economic growth are over. Being a billionaire is increasingly rare for fewer and fewer people, and millionaire now sounds like ‘middle class’ to many, especially Americans in New York.
At the same time, polarisation in society is increasing. In such a context, a world of unlimited luxury no longer feels like a promise, but a provocation. This partly explains why Condé Nast's once-dominant titles are less central as roles today than in their glory years.
Direct reach
This inevitably raises the question of what replaces it. Where are new role models being created today? Is Eloise van Oranje with her TikTok and Instagram videos the contemporary translation of bringing high and low culture together? Is this how status and proximity are mixed in the current era? Or is it instead individuals such as Greta Thunberg, who portray a radically different worldview, or Tucker Carlson, who are mobilising large audiences from a completely different ideological angle?
What is striking is that these new icons do not emerge from traditional media houses. They operate outside the carefully curated worlds of glossies and literary weeklies. Their reach is direct, their tone personal and their message often polarising. Where Vanity Fair and sister magazines once offered an optimistic, growth-driven outlook - success was attractive, wealth elegant and power stylish - now a negative outlook, sentiment and guilt, combined with instant gratification, prevails. Indignation and guilt sell better than exaltation; speed better than nuance.
Shredded
Empire of the Elite thus reads not just as a history of publishing, but as a mirror for our times. It shows how culture was once shaped by slowly accumulated authority, aesthetic discipline and editorial daring. And it confronts us with the question of whether that role is still played by central concerns today - or whether we live in an age where aspiration has fragmented, and where no single party still has the authority to paint a shared picture of ‘above’ and ‘below’.
For the Dutch cultural sector, there is an uncomfortable but also promising task here. Not to retreat into the safe domain of the ‘higher’ - the subsidised, the curated, the historically legitimised - but to reconnect worlds that have grown apart. Condé Nast's strength was not in elevation alone, but in blending: haute couture next to street fashion, literature next to gossip, power next to vulnerability. Again, culture should ask less whether something is “worthy” and more often whether it works as shared imagination. That means: leaving room for popular forms, creators and platforms, without immediately wanting to educate or correct them.
Invitation
Those who want to stay relevant today will have to accept that TikTok, reality TV, influencers and street culture are not opposites of museums, venues and festivals, but potential bridges. Not everything has to be profound to be meaningful, and not everything meaningful has to be difficult. It is precisely in bringing together the mundane and the extraordinary that aspiration can arise again - not as an unattainable upper world, but as an invitation to participate. Perhaps that is the contemporary version of bringing high and low culture together: not an elite that is admired, but an audience that recognises itself and is included.
In any case, ‘Empire of the Elite’ is highly recommended. It is well written and provides insights that explain much of today's western society. It does not explain whether Eloise van Oranje is going to be the new Anna Wintour, but it does give ground to think about that.
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