Money is no object
James Delingpole
LUXURY GOODS
We’re sliding into the worst depression in the history of mankind but Mayfair hasn’t noticed. George, the private members dining-room, is so full of suits scoffing truffles it takes an aeon for my black cod with porcini to arrive; haughty Russian bimbettes stalk the pavements in search of thousandquid-a-pop accessories from Marc Jacobs, Balenciaga and Christian Louboutin. And here I am now on Mount Street, in William & Son, trying to imagine what it would be like to be someone for whom money was no object.
Pretty great, actually, I decide. Take the watches. I’m not remotely interested in watches — ‘reality bands’, I call them — but there’s no doubt that if I were a rich person, I’d need lots and lots, one for each of my whims.
Say I were feeling playful and ironic, I’d go for something like the Graham SAS watch (£5,600) with its chunky, ActionMan-style case and a delightfully gimmicky timer mechanism based on a device bombaimers used in the second world war. If I wanted pared-down and elegant, it would be an austerely functional H. Moser & Cie (£5,360). Then for pure pose value, it would have to be the one that looks like a titanium sundial — a De Bethune it’s called — because there are only about 12 in the whole country.
Since I’m not rich, though, a shop as exclusive as William & Son leaves me slightly puzzled. Who actually buys this stuff? What’s it all for? And is this really the sort of business you want to be in in the midst of economic Armageddon?
‘There will always be people who’ll spend money and buy nice things,’ insists the shop’s proprietor William Asprey — the seventh generation of the calico-print ers-turned-sellers-of-luxury-objets since their arrival in England from France in 1781. Well, obviously he’d say that. He’s just spent umpteen thousands of pounds refurbishing his London store, transforming it from a dingy Grace Brothers lookalike into something more modern, better lit and enticing. But is there really such a thing as a recession-proof business?
Moments later, my answer walks in. Two Americans — the sort, I’m guessing, who spend their August in very large second homes in the Hamptons — pop in for a friendly chat with William about guns (on which, being also a gunsmith and madkeen shooter, he is quite an expert). Has he tried this amazing new repeating, multiple-cartridge shotgun, they want to know. ‘I think over here we’d consider that rather unsporting,’ says William in his reserved, quintessentially English way. While they’re chatting, one of the Americans blows a hundred quid or so on some leather-bound stationery, and I begin to understand how shops like this work. They’re the rich person’s equivalent of, maybe, Waterstone’s or TopShop: somewhere you go to drop a few bob on a casual treat-for-self without even classing it as expenditure.
‘We do sell lots of affordable stuff too, though,’ pleads the shop’s friendly CEO Lou McLeod, showing me the leatherbound dice — pink for the girls, black for the boys — with amusing options on them like ‘You’re hired’, ‘Sue!’, ‘Lunch with the girls’ and ‘Me me me day’. These (£45) are very popular. As, too, are their posho Rubik’s cubes, with coloured leather instead of plastic.
Really, though, Lou concedes that the main purpose of these gimmicky items is to draw the customer in and let them play and chortle awhile, before they move on to something proper like, perhaps, an exquisite pyramid handbag in black crocodile (£4,535) or one of the cut-glass, silvertopped pineapples (£600) in which plutocrats apparently like to display their M&M’s.
‘Ninety-nine per cent of the things we sell are completely inessential, but they’re beautiful, classic and ageless, and lovely to own,’ says William Asprey. He gets slightly cagey when you mention his old family firm — now under American ownership — but it’s clear what he’s trying to do with his new venture is emulate the grand traditions of the early days: matchless service, the highest levels of quality and artisan craftsmanship, no customer request considered too small or difficult.
One man came in the other day and ordered a bespoke wallet capable of holding £10,000 cash; another phoned and bought a £30,000 F.P. Journe watch, sight unseen, then another five different ones, at up to £75,000 apiece, just for good measure. If you’re that kind of person, now you know where to go.
William & Son is at 10 Mount Street, London W1. Tel: 020 7493 8385.
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