The other day, I pulled out a cream cashmere cardigan from the back of my closet — one I’d nearly given away twice. I layered it over a linen dress I’d worn to dinner the summer I moved to Italy, slipped on loafers I bought on sale five years ago, and caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. Huh, I thought. This feels… elegant.
Not showy. Not trendy. Just nice.
Like the kind of outfit someone might wear in a Nancy Meyers movie, or on a slow walk to the florist in a quiet, wealthy neighborhood. That’s when it hit me: maybe I didn’t need to be old money to dress like I borrowed a little of its charm.
For a long time, I thought the whole “old money” aesthetic was just a Pinterest moodboard with impossible price tags.
Chanel tweed jackets. Pearl earrings. Horseback-riding in the Hamptons.
But lately, I’ve realized it’s less about buying new things and more about how you wear what you already have. It’s about mood and intention. A quiet kind of style. The kind that doesn’t shout, but still lingers in the room.
Here’s what I’ve been noticing — and trying.
1. Start with restraint.
When I was younger, I loved a “wow” piece: sequins, bright colors, big earrings. And while there’s joy in that, I’ve grown to love outfits that feel edited. I’m not saying throw away your fun things (please don’t), but I’ve started reaching for quieter pieces and wearing them in a way that feels composed. A white cotton blouse. A navy sweater. Slacks that fit just right. Think of it like making your wardrobe whisper, not scream.
2. Keep things in great shape.
One of the best compliments I ever received was, “You always look so… neat.” At first I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a polite insult (ha), but I’ve come to see the beauty in it. Ironed shirts. Shoes that aren’t scuffed. Sweaters that don’t pill. I’ve started shaving my knits, brushing my coats, and folding my clothes like they matter — because they kind of do.
3. Embrace the classics — your way.
I used to think “classic” meant boring. But now I see it as dependable. A tailored trench, a leather crossbody, gold studs. These aren’t things you have to buy all at once. In fact, most of mine came from vintage stores, hand-me-downs, or the corners of Zara you walk past too fast. (One of my favorite belts cost five euros.) It’s more about choosing pieces you’ll want to wear ten years from now — or tomorrow.
4. Forget logos, remember texture.
This was a big one. I used to assume a bag with a label would make my outfit feel more expensive. But I’ve learned that the real magic is in how something feels. Soft knits. Worn-in cotton. Real leather that ages with you. Sometimes, texture tells a better story than any logo.
5. And finally, act like you don’t care (even if you kind of do).
The biggest shift, maybe, was internal. I stopped dressing to be noticed — and started dressing in a way that made me feel calm. Grounded. Like I could walk into any room and just… be. That, to me, feels like old money. Or maybe just old wisdom.
I don’t think style has to be complicated. Or expensive. Or even especially curated. It just has to feel like you. So if you’re curious about adding a little old money energy to your closet, start with what’s already there. Pull out the cardigan you almost donated. Polish your boots. Wear your favorite outfit on a regular Tuesday. That’s where the real charm lives.
I’m still figuring it out too. Still learning that elegance can be soft. That some of the best outfits don’t announce themselves. That maybe the most stylish women I know are the ones who look like they didn’t try too hard — and didn’t care if you noticed.
If you’re curious where to find pieces that fit the look, here are a few old money brands worth knowing.
