the weight of a handbag: the birkin bag and the economy of cultural capital
When the hammer fell at Sotheby’s, the room barely exhaled. A worn black handbag - its leather dulled, the brass slightly oxidised - had just sold for 8.6 million Euros, about 10.1 million US dollars, making it the most expensive handbag ever auctioned. There were no diamonds, no crocodile leather, just a decades-old Hermès Birkin, once carried by Jane Birkin herself. It bore her initials, a dangling nail clipper, and faded stickers in support of humanitarian causes. The bag looked like any other Birkin, more or less, but its history, ownership, and origin story were one of a kind.
This was not just a Birkin. It was the first. The prototype. Sketched in 1983 on an airplane sick bag after Jane Birkin, seated beside Hermès executive Jean-Louis Dumas, complained that she couldn’t find a leather bag that was both beautiful and practical. Delivered to her in 1984, she used it daily - as a functional object. Most people today treat a Birkin like holy item - kept in dust bags, stored in climate-controlled closets, rarely used. But Jane Birkin was famously the opposite. She wore hers out. She stuffed it with groceries. She added a nail clipper to the zipper. She put political and humanitarian stickers on the sides. She treated it like her bag. And eventually auctioned it off in 1994 to support AIDS research. It disappeared from public view for decades, until Sotheby’s brought it to market.
That it became the most valuable handbag ever sold was not merely a reflection of scarcity and celebrity. Its value lay in something more layered: the way it condensed personal history, cultural memory, and authenticity into an object. But why does it matter that the bag was worn? Why does a used leather bag command more at auction than a house? How did a worn prototype Birkin become the most expensive handbag ever sold - and what does it reveal about luxury, memory, and cultural desire? Maybe part of the answer lies in how luxury itself has shifted. In a time when everything can be replicated, what cannot be faked is memory?
Thierry Hermès (© of the original picture belongs to the rightful owner)
The House That Built the Bag
Hermès was established in 1837 by Thierry Hermès, a German-French craftsman, as a maker of harnesses and saddlery for European carriage owners. It operated within a service economy for the elite, producing utilitarian objects that required precision, durability, and elegance. Its early identity was rooted in craftsmanship. At the time, horse-drawn carriages were central to transportation for the wealthy, and Hermès catered to an elite clientele who valued high-quality, handmade equestrian goods. The products were executed with such precision, using the highest-quality leathers and hand-stitching techniques, that the brand quickly earned a reputation among Europe’s elite for its uncompromising craftsmanship. This was how the tradition of commissioning began - one-to-one craftsmanship, tailored to the client long before Hermès made its first handbag.
The company remained focused on equestrian equipment well into the late 19th and early 20th century. But as the 19th century gave way to the 20th, the world changed. Horse-drawn carriages disappeared from city streets, replaced by automobiles. Hermès responded not by abandoning its identity, but by expanding its offerings to reflect the changing needs of its clientele. The same elite customers who once purchased saddles now required travel bags, business accessories, and refined personal items. Under the direction of Thierry Hermès’s descendants, the company introduced leather goods, wallets, and in 1937, the silk carré (square scarf) to diversify its offerings. The first scarf, called Jeu des Omnibus et Dames Blanches, drew from 19th-century carriage imagery - staying rooted in Hermès heritage, expressing craftsmanship in a new material.
A pivotal moment in Hermès’s evolution came with the introduction of the Kelly bag. First designed in 1935 as the Sac à Dépeches, it was intended as a structured leather bag for carrying documents - functional, understated, and shaped by the house’s saddle-making techniques. Its design was utilitarian: a firm base, clean lines, and a saddle-like flap closure secured with two leather straps and a metal turn-lock. It was not created as a fashion statement, but as a refined, durable object. That changed 1956, when Grace Kelly was photographed shielding her pregnancy with the bag while exiting a plane. The image circulated globally. Hermès didn’t advertise or rebrand. It simply began referring to the bag, as the Kelly.
Does it seem familiar? It was, in effect, the birth of the celebrity collaboration - before the term existed. A product made iconic not through endorsement, but through association. Since then, designers have built entire business models around attaching celebrities to products. But Hermès did it first, and without trying it hard. Effortlessly. The moment showed that a single image, paired with a name, could confer lasting cultural value - and that Hermès, more than any other house, understood the power of saying less. And just let things happen. Well aligned.
By the late 1960s, Hermès had extended its discipline into clothing, introducing ready-to-wear collections that upheld its core values: craftsmanship, minimalism, and material integrity. Today, the company remains majority-owned by the Hermès family, which controls more than two-thirds of the business through H51, a private holding company created in 2010 to defend against a hostile takeover attempt by Bernard Arnault’s luxury conglomerate LVMH. In response, the family consolidated its shares to protect the house’s independence. In 2017, LVMH was forced to back out, empty-handed. It was a rare case of David quietly outmanoeuvring Goliath. So, two thirds of the shares are family owned and one third of the shares are publicly traded on the Euronext Paris exchange. Artistic direction also remains in family hands: Pierre-Alexis Dumas, a sixth-generation descendant of the founder, serves as artistic director, while Axel Dumas holds the position of CEO. Hermès is one of the last majority houses whit creative freedom. In a luxury landscape dominated by conglomerates, Hermès stands out. It holds its value and cultural weight.
The bag with her name on it (© of the original picture belongs to the rightful owner)
The Bag With Her Name On It
So, the Kelly was discovered, but the Birkin was designed - designed for her. The story of the Birkin bag was different. While the Kelly began as a practical item later elevated by celebrity, the Birkin was created for Jane Birkin from the start. Grace Kelly had found the right bag and made it iconic. Jane Birkin spilled the contents of her straw basket onto the floor of an airplane - and had one made for her. But who was that girl? Jane Birkin. Born in London and based in Paris, she had become a cult figure in French pop culture. She occupied a distinct place in European cultural life. Anglo-French, politically outspoken, and aesthetically unvarnished, she had become a fixture in French cinema and music, known as much for her independence of spirit as for her artistry.
By the early 1980s, Jane Birkin was more than a public figure -she was a central figure in European culture, with a career that spanned music, cinema, and fashion. She first gained attention in the 1960s, starring in Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow-Up (1966), an emblematic film of Swinging London. Her screen presence - light, modern, unconcealed - made her distinct from her contemporaries, but it was her move to France that turned her into a serious artistic figure. Her partnership with Serge Gainsbourg was both personal and artistic. Together, they recorded “Je t’aime… moi non plus” in 1969, a breathy duet that was banned by the BBC and condemned by the Vatican. Despite, or because of it of course - the scandal-, the song became a massive commercial success, cementing their status as cultural icons. Birkin’s voice, presence, and indifference to controversy made her a figure not easily placed within the confines of celebrity. She remained visible without being manufactured, consistently working across music and film, while raising her three daughters: Kate Barry, Charlotte Gainsbourg, and Lou Doillon.
Jane Birkins’s effortless, unpolished beauty and minimalist style made her a fashion icon. She epitomised the concept of “French girl chic” - the most French of all, although British (This is something I truly love about France - some of the most iconic “French” figures - like Marie Antoinette or Romy Schneider - were foreigners. France embraces talent, not passports, like some other countries). Birkin was known for her androgynous, tomboyish natural look: no bra, no makeup, tousled hair, jeans, white shirt, and a basket bag - a radical departure from the overly styled women of the era. In a time of high glamour, Birkin’s unguarded, natural demeanour - both in style and behavior - felt refreshing and rebellious. She didn’t try to fit into the mold; she was the mold breaker. Many creative giants (Gainsbourg, Agnès Varda, Jacques Doillon) found inspiration in her. She had a charisma and subtle intensity that made her a muse - not just a performer, but a source of gigantic artistic energy.
Unlike many celebrities who constantly rebrand, Birkin stayed consistent. Her identity was solid and authentic - that became her brand. Without wanting it. She got famous through a mix of art, controversy, natural charm, and cultural timing. Her unique competitive advantage was her unforced authenticity, her cross-cultural appeal, and her effortless style icon status - all wrapped up in a persona that was cool, tomboyish but ultra feminine and elegant at the same time. She was authentic and truly human with a kind of magic around her that people had to admire. Most people get reduced to roles, appearances, expectations. But Birkin had agency - she wasn’t just looked at, she lived, she chose, she created. She acted. That’s the difference between an object of admiration and a subject of meaning. And when someone dares to be fully themselves, they create space for others to do the same. It is disarming, freeing - and magnetic. And it was that quality that would eventually shape the most famous handbag in the world.
Birkin represented the Zeitgeist (© of the original picture belongs to the rightful owner)
The Bag
The now-mythologized story about that bag begins on a flight from Paris to London in 1983. Jane Birkin was seated on a flight from Paris to London next to Jean-Louis Dumas, then chairman and creative director of Hermès. During the flight, the contents of Birkin’s straw basket - diapers, baby bottles and all that jazz - spilled into the aisle as she attempted to place it in the overhead compartment. Birkin expressed frustration about not being able to find a closed leather bag that was both elegant and large enough to suit her daily needs. A bag for a working mother of young children, traveling frequently, a bag to live with.
Dumas, seated next to her, listened and helped her collect the items. During that brief, somewhat chaotic moment, something happened. While collecting the items he observes the chaos not as a mess, but as a window into her real life. He didn’t just see inconvenience; he saw a cultural shift embodied in this woman. At the time when femininity was being redefined - no longer confined to delicate roles or was porcelain-perfect - Birkin represented the Zeitgeist: mobile, independent, complex, and a subject in her own story. She owned her own narrative.
From that moment, the conversation unfolded naturally. She started describing what she thought a proper bag should be - and reportedly began sketching it out herself on the back of an airplane sick bag. A vomit bag! However, she explained that most handbags were either too delicate or too small for everyday use. She needed something larger, with structure and interior pockets. To be able to organize her life. What followed was the creation of the bag of the bags. The Birkin bag was born: a design born from empathy and observation.
It was the moment to reflect that, historically, many luxury handbags were designed less for function and more for image maintenance. Their scale, structure, and ornamentation often reflected a view of women as accessories to male-centred spaces -elegant, passive, and carefully contained. These bags weren’t built to carry a woman’s full life; they were designed to match an outfit or signal refinement. What Jane Birkin asked for implicitly challenged that. She didn’t want a symbolic object. She wanted a bag that acknowledged she had things to do, places to be, and children to raise. In that sense, the Birkin wasn’t just a new design. It was a departure from a tradition of decorative femininity.
From Bag to Symbol
Following that flight, Dumas returned to Paris and brought the sketch and notes to Hermès’s workshop. Over the following months, the house’s artisans created a first prototype based on Birkin’s specifications. Jean-Louis Dumas and the Hermès design team referenced the Haut à Courroies (HAC), a large, rectangular leather bag first introduced in the early 20th century, originally used by riders to transport saddles and boots.
The first Birkin bag was delivered to Jane Birkin in 1984. The prototype. The first born. At that time, Hermès did not formally announce the product. There was no marketing campaign. The Birkin entered the Hermès offer quietly, available only through select boutiques and by request. Its rarity and relevance developed slowly, propelled not by advertising, but by recognition. And over the next two decades, it would evolve into the most coveted handbag in the world. Since 1837, Hermès had operated as a discreet leather atelier, serving a clientele that valued discretion. The Birkin remained aligned with that tradition: made by hand, assigned carefully, and signalling that the customer was already part of the conversation, tailored through dialogue.
But what distinguishes the Birkin bag from nearly every other luxury object? It is certainly not simply its materials, craftsmanship, high price, or even its celebrity associations. It is the way its value increases as its accessibility decreases. In classical economics, prices and demand move inversely: the more expensive something becomes, the less of it people want. The law of economy. Cost against function or need. But the Birkin defies this principle. It functions as what economists call a Veblen good, named after Thorsten Veblen, who introduced the theory of conspicuous consumption in 1899.
The Making of a Veblen Icon
In his book The Theory of the Leisure Class he argues that in certain social contexts, people don’t just buy goods for their function - they buy them to signal their status or access. In this framework, high prices are not a barrier to demand - they’re the driver of it. The cost is not incidental. It is essential. In conspicuous consumption, the value of the object lies in what it says about the person who owns it. Cost becomes a way to signal status, exclusivity, and social distinction, The more expensive the item, the more effectively it separates its owner from the crowd.
Hermès never treated the Birkin just like a product. The bag was never advertised. It couldn’t be just pulled from a shelf. Even the wealthy often had to wait, establish a purchase history, or be offered one by a sales associate. Ownership was not just about money - it was about access. With gatekeepers or a door-opener, strict control by the company itself. Everything was built on reputation.
In the 1990’s, access to the Birkin became legendary. The idea of a “waiting list” circulated widely, becoming part of the myth: some stores did maintain informal logs for select clients, while others used it as a way to gently deflect. Eligibility for a Birkin was shaped less by demand than by the brand’s internal calculus of desirability - factors that included prior purchase behavior, stylistic coherence, and symbolic proximity to the Hermès ideal. Hermès wasn’t just selling a bag. It was curating a story - and deciding who got to be a part of it. Access to the Birkin was (and still is) a form of narrative control. The brand didn’t just evaluate what you could pay. It assessed whether your image, behavior, and consumer profile fit with the mythology it had built: discretion, refinement, exclusivity, and fluency in a certain cultural code. Hermès doesn’t just trade in luxury goods - it trades in cultural discernment. And the Birkin became a vessel for that economy.
As the bag’s reputation grew, so did its power as a status object. What began as a sturdy, practical tote offered to Jane Birkin in the mid-1980s eventually became one of the most expensive accessories in history. The price evolution of the bag traces more than a luxury inflation curve; it reflects a convergence of scarcity, narrative authorship and controlled access. Its price rose steadily over the decades, from a few thousand dollars to tens of thousands, with rare versions in exotic skins or precious metals or stones exceeding six figures. And finally, in 2025, the original Birkin, the one designed on a plane on a vomit bag, was sold at Sotheby’s for €8.6 million.
The Quiet Mechanics of Desire (© of the original picture belongs to the rightful owner)
The Quiet Mechanics of Desire
What Made the Birkin possible - economically and symbolically - was Hermès’s refusal to industrialize. Unlike most luxury brands that scaled through licensing, global marketing, or rapid production, Hermès maintained a closed-loop system: each Birkin is handmade by a single artisan, using saddle-stitching techniques developed for equestrian gear. There is no mass inventory, no online purchase channel, no direct marketing campaign. Supply is controlled not through artificial drops, but through institutional restraint. In a fashion economy increasingly defined by acceleration, Hermès preserved scarcity by staying true to the self.
The Birkin didn’t invent Hermès’s authority - it inherited it. Long before the brand became a symbol of fashion, it earned its reputation through precision and reliability. Its early clients - equestrians, aristocrats, travellers, and jockeys, like my great-grandfather - chose Hermès not for status, but because trust was essential. So, thinking of my great-grandfather, a general horseman and jockey who competed in Paris in the early 20th century - would he have trusted a saddle from a house known for shortcuts or inconsistencies? Of course not! In competitive or high-speed equestrian sports, equipment failure can lead to serious injury or even death. A poorly constructed saddle, broken stirrup, or weak leather strap can cause a rider to lose balance or control, especially during jumps or tight turns. Hermès earned loyalty not through marketing, but through faultless execution, consistency and precision. Trust in craftsmanship was non-negotiable.
The strategy worked also because the cultural timing was precise. By the early 1980s, Jane Birkin had become a figure whose value lay not in glamour itself, but in being subject in her own story. Her presence - politically aware, artistically free, and being fully herself - stood apart from the curated polish, traditionally expected of women in luxury culture. She did not represent polished, artificial perfection; she embodied real identity. The Birkin symbolizes a shift in fashion - and power - where the woman is not shaped by the accessory. The accessory takes on meaning because of the woman who carries it.
Hermès, to its credit, amplified that shift not through expansion, but through discipline. As conglomerates like LVMH consolidated control and scaled for visibility, Hermès resisted dilution. It remained family-led, artisan-driven, and closed to the logic of mass fashion. That decision reinforced the Birkin’s symbolism. In an age of acceleration, Hermès offered patience. In a culture obsessed with image, it offered substance. The Birkin didn’t rise through spectacle. It endured through alignment - with a house, a woman, and a cultural moment.
It is a compelling story, isn’t it? An object born from chance, crafted with care, and elevated by culture into something iconic. An object born from contingency, elevated by craftsmanship, and sustained by cultural capital. But it also invites deeper scrunity. In a world of extreme inequality, where basic means of survival remain out of reach for many, what does it mean - ethically and socially - to pay the price of a luxury home for a handbag? Does wealth confer the right to indulge without question, or does moral responsibility scale with economic capacity? The answer is not just about whether one rich person chooses to spend €100,000 or €8.6 million on a bag. It is about the economic, cultural, and social structures that make such prices possible, assign value based on exclusivity, and allow extreme wealth to accumulate in the hands of the few.
We live within the contradictions of this world - that much is clear. But if a bag like the Birkin is to carry Jane Birkin’s name, perhaps it should also carry something of her mindset. When she auctioned her own bag to support AIDS research, she didn’t just repurpose a luxury object - she reframed its meaning. Birkin’s life was defined by artistic freedom, political engagement, and moral clarity (In 2015 she publicly asked Hermès to remove her name from the bag after learning about unethical practices in crocodile farming). In that context, the bag’s value isn’t just economic - it is symbolic, obviously. And if it continues to circulate at the highest levels of wealth, then perhaps the most faithful tribute would be to use it not only as a status symbol, but as a vehicle for action and a channel for responsibility. The real legacy of the Birkin may not be its price or prestige, but what it enables when aligned with the values of the women who inspired it.
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