Any brand placed in a museum will experience an upward thrust in its status, equal to the weight of its shifting volume of followers. More than a shop on a high-profile street, the museum has virtues in the eyes of brands comparable to those of a Swiss clinic that promises eternal youth. After the retrospectives and other conceptual exhibitions devised by the luxury world to give its products an iconic status, the Olympic Games revealed that museums can also attract other sectors.

Air France took up residence at the Palais de Tokyo, a major cultural venue in Paris and, for the occasion, located close to the Olympic festivities. No mean feat… In an 850 sq. metre space, visitors could sample a gourmet menu designed by French chefs and served under the same conditions as on board long-distance flights (in Business class). Afterwards, they could curl up in the airline’s latest Business cabin, discover the red dress emblematic of its latest communication campaign, take a look at the shop selling exclusive items (why not be tempted by this pair of trainers made from Airbus A380 seat covers?) and take part in a promotional game with a free flight to be won.

A few Olympic strides away, Nike had set its sights on the Centre Pompidou. Its facade, transformed into a giant screen, showed the athletes it supported among the museum’s most striking works (a daring move!), while one of its rooms, the Mezzanine, was entirely dedicated to the glory of the Air Max, thus promoted to the rank of a work of art for its form as much as for its technology. It all makes sense, after all, their designer, Tinker Hatfield, drew his inspiration from the architecture of this very building by Renzo Piano. In the piazza, an arty skate park, designed by French artist Raphaël Zarka, completed the display, offering running, basketball, football and breakdance sessions.

The brutally modernist Palais de Tokyo for one, and the icon-breaking Centre Pompidou for the other, the locations chosen by these two brands were no accident. They underlined their ability to innovate through a presence that was deliberately a little disruptive (audacity as the fuel of creativity), while at the same time allowing them to display a form of cultural belonging induced by the works they were rubbing shoulders with for the occasion. Digital is not the only way to create unique brand experiences. There’s also art and culture.

This summer, not all luxury brands had set up their parasols on a private beach between Saint Tropez and Nice. Many of them were on call in Paris for the Olympic Games, and had to make do with the banks of the Seine. However, there was no question of them moving there in the event of a sudden improvement in the river’s swimmability – a more than hypothetical prospect – and thus no opening of a new, premium and unexpected chapter for Paris Plage. The brands of the LVMH group had bigger fish to fry. They were on a mission.

As well as taking care of the medals and their transport, and dressing the athletes during their various performances, their mission was to prepare for the emergence of a new market, dubbed ‘athluxury’, as the ultimate, upgraded form of ‘athleisure’, the success of which can already be measured on a daily basis (hoodies, T-shirts, sneakers as the new uniform). An offer combining athletic design and technical innovation with the expertise of a fashion house and the vocabulary of ultra-luxury – lots to keep up with.

The staging of the opening ceremony in the Vuitton workshops (close-ups of the gestures and the monogrammed canvas), followed by the evocation of the luxury hotel set up in place of the Samaritaine (close-ups of busy bellboys), was not just a premium advertising spot seen by the whole world at (very) prime time, but a new bridge established between the world of luxury and that of sport. A new Eldorado capable of rebooting the codes of luxury towards less showiness and, in the process, winning over all the stylish Millennials who see their bodies as instruments of performance and conquest.

LVMH’s other objective was to show us that a trunk, a dress or a hotel service have a cultural value comparable to that of Marie Antoinette, Edith Piaf, Cerrone or Aya Nakamura. Each represents a certain image of France on the international stage, embodying a unique savoir-faire, a historical heritage or a talent capable of making a lasting impression. It’s a far more effective way of legitimising luxury than an exhibition or a Foundation that only speaks to a small, reputedly elitist audience?

Regenerated by the multi-faceted appeal of sport (performance, innovation, technicality, design) and endowed with an increasingly assertive cultural capital, luxury has been rearmed for many years to come.

We will never cease to be amazed by the ability of social media to reenchant reality with new words and new aesthetic codes. No field is immune. And even less so those who have fallen off the radar of modernity, who now find the opportunity to return to it thanks to a sudden and unexpected craze. Herbalists can testify to this.

Up until now, we’d imagined them to be rather austere and of a respectable age, housed in shops whose appearance was an explicit reminder that they belonged to a very distant era. Wooden bookcases, porcelain pots and ceramic mortars and pestles were the hallmarks of their credibility. Now they’re back on the internet as “herbalist influencers”, sharing mouth-watering, Instagrammable recipes based on forgotten plants and distilling all kinds of advice for our own good. Enough to feed a flourishing business, an objective that is always on the minds of influencers…

The result? Plants have never received so much attention as they do today. All the brands involved in health, beauty and well-being (and there are a lot of them) have understood this. They are stepping up their research to identify THE plant with the exceptional virtues, still unknown to their competitors, that could boost their reputation. But this doesn’t explain everything.

The current success of “herbalist influencers” is also linked to the success of homemade products, driven both by a desire to control what we consume and by a desire to save money. “What I make is inevitably better than what the industry offers” and “my creativity is limitless” sound like new mantras. The millions of views generated by the Botox mask with linseed, presented as the new natural remedy for ageing, are proof of this. Just two ingredients, immediate traceability and high expectations: who could disagree?

Last but not least, those who present themselves as “herbalist influencers” also owe their success to the community that supports them, whose strength lies as much in the values shared by its members as in the sense of belonging that unites them. What is a community if not a successful hobby?

A few months ago, we wrote about the “dupe” phenomenon, which arose on TikTok as a result of Gen Z’s infatuation with copies – cheaper but not necessarily of poor quality – which, in the absence of “real products”, gave them access to the same sensations without having to sacrifice their savings. It’s a way for this generation to say that they are not fooled by the profits made by luxury groups on the back of their desires…

The phenomenon mainly concerned fashion accessories and perfumes, but also, to a lesser extent, the world of cosmetics. Now we are discovering dupes in the tourism sector. We can no longer talk about a phenomenon that only affects Gen Z… The duped destinations are less popular because they are less well known, and therefore less expensive. Liverpool rather than London, Taipei rather than Seoul, Curacao rather than Saint-Martin in the West Indies. But also destinations that are closer to home, and therefore better for the green conscience (a concern that is sometimes more important than the budget…) because you no longer need to take a plane to get there. The rocks of Kerlouan (Finistère) rather than the beaches of the Seychelles or the Tufs waterfall (Jura) comparable to those in Thailand.

In all cases, the dupes move forward with the same promise of sensation, surprise and amazement, and the possibility of collecting memories worthy of being featured on social networks. Life is a matter of perspective, and exoticism is not always a matter of distance.

Some will see this as confirmation that the appearance of things now counts (at least) as much as the things themselves. The primacy of the sign over the object, and of the effect over reality. Why should we be surprised when our daily lives are now measured behind screens, leading us to live more and more in the gaze of others?

The food markets still seem to be safe from this phenomenon, since the dupes here are called distributor brands so that they can be clearly identified. But who knows if, one day, we won’t see unknown brands appearing on our shelves, born “elsewhere”, in countries whose daily lives we know nothing about, with codes largely inspired by our national brands? If no one is fooled by dupes, no market is safe from them.

Less than ten years ago, anyone who admitted to drinking rosé was looked upon with a certain amount of contempt. He or she knew nothing about wine and, worse still, nothing about the pleasures of the table. It was a time when dashing young executives liked to get together over a ‘good’ bottle of red, which they took the time to blind-taste and comment on with a host of adjectives. A “moment of sharing” that is much less popular today.

One Covid later, it’s the aperitif, with its mates and its boards, which takes everything in its stride, to the point of threatening dinner if the fine weather sets in. The cards have been reshuffled. Beer is asserting itself as the ultimate sign of urban coolness for Millennials, on a par with pétanque in flip-flops along a canal. Wines are dressing up in new clothes, looking less solemn, cooler too, natural or lively, just the thing to fuel conversations and allow each drinker to produce his or her own responsible discourse.

Against this backdrop, rosé is making a comeback in trans-class mode: forget camping and picnics, here come Michelin-starred tables! This ambition has not escaped the attention of LVMH and Pernod Ricard, who are stepping up their acquisitions of Provençal vineyards with the aim of increasing the production of classified vintages. The rosé market has clearly changed its status, and is now moving towards exceptional products. According to the trade, rosé is set to grow by 3 to 6% worldwide between now and 2027, and could even replace champagne among a more feminine audience. Why just women? Celebrities also see life through rosé-tinted glasses. Brad Pitt, Georges Lucas, Georges Clooney and Tony Parker have made the vineyard prices explode, causing a few tensions along the way…

This craze is no accident. It underlines the gradual ‘Mediterraneanisation’ of our society, which is swallowing up all images of the South one after the other: the terraces, the urban beaches, the spritz, life in shorts and dark glasses, tapas and recipes dominated by vegetables, pasta and olive oil. You only have to look at the proliferation of Italian, Greek and Levantine restaurants in the capital to be convinced.

The success of rosé also reminds us of the power of attraction of anything associated with a terroir, tradition or know-how. These are synonyms for ‘the real thing’, seen as sure values that can only improve over time and will always be in demand. Luxury groups and investors have made no mistake.

The latest craze on social media (given the speed with which these are following one another, we would not dare call it a trend) is called Grazing platters. It has racked up some 400,000 posts on Instagram and consists of creating platters of sweet and/or savoury products, always making sure they are spectacular, both in terms of their opulence and the visual harmony of their composition. Spectacular is a triple-count word here. The phenomenon is said to have appeared in the land of kangaroos, although we do not really know whether it represents a leap forward in new eating practices.

Still, it is interesting to see how what was originally just a cool, eco-responsible medium, a wooden board designed to enhance a guilty pleasure (cheese and charcuterie), has over time become both an economic and a pyscho-sociological issue, as is often the case with an activity born on social networks.

It is an economic matter because, given the current tensions in purchasing power, dinners are becoming more and more occasional, forcing those involved in the catering industry to invent new rituals that are less costly, of course, but above all capable of ensuring conviviality (in other words: sharing for the sake of profit). And a psycho-sociological one too, since it involves ‘loading’ an innocuous proposal with new challenges that will take it to a destination that was not the one initially planned.

This is how a trivial nibbling board is suddenly propelled into the aesthetic realm and becomes a challenge to be accomplished. Making a success of your platter can help you make a success of your life. To achieve this, the compositions will have to be able to delight all tastes (vegan and meaty with regional variations), face all seasons (indoor and outdoor platters) and respond to all occasions (aperitif, brunch, lunch, evening with friends) to offer a unique experience where the diversity and finesse of the proposals will compete with a ‘symphony’ of textures, colours and flavours. What a programme!

With the advent of grazing platters, everyday life is being transformed into a succession of small challenges, with every success a welcome ego-booster. Once again, consumerism is being used as a tool for self-building.

In the consumer goods industry, innovation does not always mean inventing new products, but rather suggesting new ways of looking at what already exists. In this exercise of re-enchantment, words are at the forefront. The trick is often to import them from another sector (not too far away from your own so as not to lose the spirit) in order to benefit from their aura.

To promote its latest offering, l’Atelier du Vrac, Le Palais des thés has created Tea Sommeliers to guide buyers, give them practical tips and make tea preparation easier, even if they do not have expert equipment. On store shelves, Carte Noire has recently launched a blend called Cuvée de caractère, inspired by wine-making methods. Here, 10% of the beans are fermented for up to 72 hours to unlock intensely powerful aromas and a complex taste profile. Planting conditions, soil type, harvesting period, fermentation, blending…

It has to be said that the worlds of wine and coffee have a lot in common, which could in turn inspire other sectors: tea, of course, but also, why not, cheese, meat and even fruit and vegetables. Everywhere where know-how is seen as an expertise described by words rich in imagery. Everywhere where nature has a say in the expected results.

Specialty coffees are also helping to reinvent their market. They are still in their infancy in France, but their growth prospects look strong if we look at the UK and the USA. They’re taking the market to the next level, making it acceptable to pay five euros (and sometimes much more) for a cup of ‘exceptional’ coffee, as is the case at Substance or Momus, specialty coffee hotspots run by ‘barista roasters’.

With its takeaway and flavoured coffees, Starbucks has helped to establish new drinking habits and familiarise us with new tastes. Specialty coffees are now taking over, with their expert vocabulary, their talk of origins and their sophisticated looks. We are a world away from our little black coffee on the counter. But who knows whether its simplicity and ‘truth’ might one day return to the fore? After all, eggs mayo and sausages & mash are making a comeback.

‘Un p’tit truc en plus’ (A Little Something Extra)  is the box-office hit of the moment, with over six million spectators and no headliners. It is hard to escape this feel-good comedy based on the encounter between the ‘normal’ world and that of the mentally disabled. Even those who have not seen it have been confronted with the various analyses of its success, since it has been established that it always reveals the state of society at a given moment. Why not, although it can also be due to the presence of a popular actor, or actress, its very nature (saga, blockbuster, spin-off…) or a budget that allows it to take centre stage.

Nothing of the sort here. The film delivers a snapshot of the emotional state of the moment, and experts of all stripes will have no trouble reading into it the ultimate expression of a desire to live together. A desire which, over time, slowly drifts from an indifferentiation of origins towards an acceptance of differences. It is a way of escaping from a polarised society structured by antagonisms, and a reminder of the calming (therapeutic?) power of cinema as a group or family outing for all generations.

The film could have been called ‘Un p’tit truc de différent’ (A Little Something Different), but ‘Un p’tit truc en plus’ (A Little Something Extra) was preferred. It’s not a random choice, given that difference is now seen as a virtuous ‘plus’. Brands are well aware of this, as they have always sought to be different (the famous Unique Selling Proposition) in order to assert their identity. Now they too are looking for ‘a little something extra’ to offer their buyers. A little something from nowhere that will surprise them and make it impossible to compare their offer with that of their competitors. An unexpected collab’, an offbeat proposition, an exclusive or immersive promise, a numbered or limited-time offer. Let your imagination run wild.

And who knows if they will not end up, one day, encouraging their consumers to ‘do a little something extra’ too, rather than maintaining the idea that they can assert their personality and ‘reveal themselves’ by doing nothing more than driving a car with an inspired air or buying the latest pair of sneakers. Be yourself, OK, but do a little something extra yourself. For others or for the planet, for example.

The evolution of commerce is always the reflection of an era. And the Champs-Élysées avenue acts as a mirror for this phenomenon. For a long time, it was home to the ‘window-shops’ (they didn’t yet call them flagships) of all the car manufacturers, who put on spectacular displays of their new products. Then, briefly, there was H&M, proof that fast-fashion had no place on the ‘most beautiful avenue in the world’ (no doubt because of its high rents…), before giving in to luxury, driven by globalisation.

Now it’s the time for sports brands to shine – a success that is not simply an umpteenth jolt of the ‘Olympic effect’, a vague collective fantasy these days. The installation of Salomon (experts in trail running) in the place of the Citroën flagship (with its remarkable architecture designed in 2002 by Manuelle Gautrand) is the symbol of this commercial transformation, which marks the explosion in sporting activities since the global pandemic as much as the importance now given to well-being and health.

Salomon will be next door to the likes of Lacoste, Lululemon, Foot Locker, Nike and Adidas, as well as newcomers such as British retailer JD sports and Swiss brand On Running, a specialist in running and listed on the New York Stock Exchange… The Marais, the capital’s other commercial heart, is not left out with the opening of a Courir shop on rue des Francs-Bourgeois (replacing a Marionnaud), not far from the Arc’teryx and Millet stores (rue des Archives). The arrival of Salomon on boulevard de la Madeleine, where Decathlon already stands, has also been announced, along with JD sports on rue Tronchet and Hoka, another running challenger, on boulevard des Capucines. Stop, the streets are full!

At a time when the ready-to-wear sector has plenty to complain about, between the pressure of the internet, fast-fashion, the financial trade-offs of households and the temptation of everything Re (repair, reduce, re-use, recycle), sportswear has never seemed so present and attractive. The two worlds share the same promise of style and personal expression. Yes, but in the world of sports, this promise is combined with performance. A technical performance that serves to reinforce the self-image expected by all those who see themselves as ‘urban warriors’, the up-and-coming figure of the moment, stylish and mentally strong. 20 years ago, SUVs were already using the same tricks to leave classic passenger cars behind…

In restaurants, putting your phone on the table, screen turned towards the ceiling and placed next to your cutlery, has become a ritual of modern life. It is a way of keeping one’s life close at hand, because – who knows? As soon as the screen lights up, the conversation grinds to a halt, because what comes up is more valuable than what is going on. The idea of ‘leaving’ one’s phone in one’s pocket or bag, or even turning it off, no longer occurs to more than a minority of people.

Tomorrow, the same may be true of iconic handbags, if we are to believe Chanel when, for its latest advertising campaign, it re-enacts one of the legendary scenes from Claude Lelouch’s film ‘Un homme et une femme’. When the couple order a medium-rare Chateaubriand before changing their minds and finally opting for a room, it is in the presence of a quilted bag as visible on the table as a telephone on a white tablecloth. But if the telephone is tolerated, the bag is invited. It is almost like the first child of this not-yet-formed couple.

Given its price tag of over 10,000 euros, it is easy to understand why people are reluctant to put it on the floor or hang it on the back of their chair. On the other hand, given its price and knowing that it is a ‘real’ one, the pleasure of displaying it is multiplied tenfold. So much for elegance and discretion. Is this what motivates luxury buyers? A new concept is emerging: that of the companion bag and, more generally, the personified item.

The item treated like a person. Somewhere between a well-trained dog and a well-behaved child. When we talk about a personified item or object, we may be talking about a relic (from the Latin reliquiae, remains) that we venerate in memory of someone who has disappeared, or an object of art that we treat with respect because of its rarity, or a fetish object (from the Portuguese feitiço, bewitchment, spell) with which the relationship of use has been modified (perverted?). The Chanel bag falls into the latter category. It has ceased to belong to the world of objects, and what it provokes is not far from bewitchment. It is no longer a question of owning it, wearing it, or even buying it, but of choosing it with its resale value in mind. Like an investment.

We have seen iconic bags that we recognise, then trophy bags that we show off, and now we have fetish bags where use is forgotten in favour of value. But let us not forget that fetish and factitious share the same root…