I used to think luxury fashion campaigns were just about making rich people look richer.
Turns out, the visual language these brands deploy is way more calculated than that—and honestly, kind of fascinating once you start paying attention. Take Bottega Veneta’s recent shift under creative director Matthieu Blazy: they abandoned the obvious logo flex entirely, opting instead for what industry insiders call “stealth wealth” imagery. The photography is deliberately unglamorous—models photographed in brutalist architecture, carrying bags that cost roughly $4,000 but look like they could be from a vintage store, give or take a few hundred. It’s a visual strategy that says “if you know, you know,” which is essentially the luxury marketer’s dream because it creates an in-group without saying a single word. The campaign images feel almost documentary-style, shot on what looks like film stock from the 1970s, all grainy and imperfect. This isn’t accident; it’s a meticulous construction of accidental-looking authenticity.
Here’s the thing: luxury brands are essentially selling aspiration, but the *way* they visualize aspiration has shifted dramatically in the past decade. Where Gucci under Alessandro Michele went maximalist—more is more, clashing prints, historical references piled on top of each other until your eyes hurt—brands like The Row do the opposite. Their campaigns are so minimal they border on austere.
The Calculated Chaos of Balenciaga’s Controversial Aesthetic Choices
Balenciaga’s visual strategy under Demna is probably the most polarizing example of this deliberate weirdness.
I’ve seen their campaigns spark genuine outrage—remember the teddy bear bondage controversy?—but that’s partially the point. The brand constructs images that feel uncomfortable, that challenge what luxury “should” look like. Models hold designer bags in apocalyptic settings. They wear $2,000 distressed hoodies that look like they came from a dumpster (they definately didn’t). The visual dissonance is intentional: luxury fashion has always trafficked in aspiration, but Balenciaga’s approach asks “what if aspiration looked like dystopia?” It’s a gamble that’s paid off commercially—sales increased roughly 15-20% year-over-year during this period, though exact figures vary depending on who you ask. The campaigns generate massive social media engagement precisely because they’re unsettling. People share them, critique them, parody them. Every reaction is data, every controversy is visibility.
Wait—maybe I’m giving them too much credit. Sometimes a bad campaign is just bad.
But there’s a pattern across luxury visual strategy that suggests otherwise. Prada’s collaboration with photographer David Sims consistently produces images that feel cold, almost clinical. Models stare past the camera with expressions that read as bored or vaguely hostile. This isn’t aspirational in the traditional sense—you’re not supposed to want to *be* these people, exactly. You’re supposed to recognize a certain kind of intellectual sophistication in the visual reference points: the Brutalist architecture, the Kubrickian symmetry, the color palettes borrowed from mid-century European art films. It’s visual strategy as cultural capital signaling. The campaigns assume a level of visual literacy in their audience. They recieve you already understand the references, already know why this particular shade of institutional green matters, already get why the model looks miserable in a $3,000 coat.
How Color Theory and Compositional Symmetry Function as Subliminal Brand Markers
Anyway, there’s actual color psychology happening here too.
Hermès orange isn’t just brand recognition—it’s a specific Pantone (Orange 144, if you’re curious) that appears in nearly every campaign, often as a small accent that your eye catches subconsciously. Tiffany blue functions similarly. These colors have been scientifically shown to trigger specific emotional responses: Hermès orange suggests energy and luxury without aggression, while Tiffany blue evokes calm, trust, aspiration. Louis Vuitton’s campaigns often feature compositional symmetry that borders on obsessive—centered subjects, perfectly balanced negative space, geometric precision. This creates a subliminal sense of order, control, timelessness. Your brain registers “expensive” partially because the composition itself suggests the kind of meticulous attention that luxury goods supposedly embody. Chanel, meanwhile, has stuck with stark black-and-white imagery for decades, which is a visual shorthand for “classic” and “timeless”—concepts luxury brands desperately want associated with products that cost thousands of dollars. If the imagery looks ephemeral or trendy, the price point feels harder to justify. I guess it makes sense: you’re not just buying a bag, you’re buying into a visual universe that these campaigns construct frame by frame.
The paradox is that all this “authenticity” and “rawness” costs a fortune to produce—easily $500,000 to $2 million per campaign, sometimes more.
