Feeling the chill? High time you dropped a million on whatever Gagosian is selling, slipped on your satin Dries trench and got your kittens inside a party, darling! It is Frieze Week, for goodness’ sake. The most fabulous time of the year.
Yes, London’s art week has returned (can I hear it for the bartenders at Chiltern!?) along with its cavorting band of gallerists, dealers, chief executives, finance daddies, oil scions, eight-times-facelifted collectors and the squirmy hangers-on you always get when people who slosh cash at every step convene for a brightly lit tête-à-tête at the UK’s most prominent art fair.
Taking over Regent’s Park, Frieze London (galleries selling contemporary stuff your granny hates) and Masters (those flogging oil paintings of fruit and posh Tudor girls) are open to the public from today until Sunday — but anyone who is anyone went to the Wednesday preview, and has already pitched up on a back table at 5 Hertford Street bitching about how it really is dreadful this year.
Since Frieze started in 2003, its opening event has evolved into an extraordinary social dance. Quite unlike Fashion Week, where editors and influencers are tarted up in borrowed and gifted clothes, the art fairs offer a unique opportunity to see what the 0.1 per cent actually bought from luxury fashion houses. It’s incredible, but not as simple as slinging a Birkin on your arm and barking Hauser & Wirth at anyone who will listen. In the art world there is a hierarchy, and their fashion status symbols are profound.
Here is a Frieze-watching guide for those wanting to decipher sharks from fish in all the formaldehyde.
The gallery girls
They are beautiful, speak the Queen’s English and carry their mother’s vintage handbags (Dior saddles, micro Kellys and Balenciaga Le City bags). Having a first-class art history degree from the Courtauld or Edinburgh under their Ralph Lauren belts is de rigueur — and you can expect them in the season’s hottest flats, because running back to the Mayfair head office at the drop of a hat is in their job description. Look for the crystal Alaïa ballet pumps, Ganni’s pointed toe buckle ballerinas and rioja-velvet styles from Flabelus.
The collectors
A curtain-raiser at Christie’s auction house saw big spenders say hey on Saturday. Surprising style lessons went as follows: Valentino’s Garavani Rockstud stilettos are actually not over, and can be worn by 70-year-olds. OAPs should also wear crystal Gucci clips in their straightened, silver hair. Cocktail clutches are out, why not wear your vast, lambskin YSL Icare maxi shopping bag to the champagne function instead? And even the low-key shoppers (cloaked in stealth wealth black cashmere) remain stacked to the elbow with diamond Cartier bangles. There is no surprise Chanel was just shy of $20 billion in sales last year, either. It is something of an official outfitter of the upper art echelons, where tweed CC suits come two a penny and the classic flap is as ubiquitous as the Uniqlo shoulder bag on Oxford Street.
The art husbands
Long may they reign! This delicious breed of European-cum-Sloaney man is dedicated to dark, denim jeans (likely Levi’s 501s) and a navy blazer atop an ironed shirt or cashmere pullover from Zegna or Loro Piana. For shoes, bright On trainers were the hit last year and are back in their hundreds for 2024. White leather Golden Goose and Valentino Garavani trainers can both be swapped in. Unpredictable is their choice of sock; brace for ketchup and mustard shades.
The day-tripping celebrities
Wednesday’s Frieze preview peaked at Ruinart champagne’s fizzy opening bash, but you can expect to find roaming celebrities, overly dressed for their arty sojourn, all week long. Nineties It-girl Tamara Beckwith, in sunflower yellow tweed, was a vision in 2023, alongside fashion royalty Pierpaolo Picardi and Raf Simons. This year, it was Benedict Cumberbatch, Emma Raducanu and Bianca Jagger who led the way. A-listers will wear the hottest labels right now: see Alicia Vikander dressed in Chloé at Christie’s opening party. Also keep an eye out for Labour representation. Lady Starmer and Angela Rayner, fresh from their fashion week debuts, are likely looking for the next glitzy injection in their schedules.
The gallerists
Frieze-world gods: representatives of Pace, Gagosian, David Zwirner, Lisson Gallery, Lehmann Maupin — you name it, they’ve flown over — are all bedding down in our smartest hotels. For the high-powered art women, a uniform of smart, Princess of Wales-style day dresses by Erdem, Roksanda and Edeleine Lee and sensible black kitten heels will suffice. Others have uniforms: Serpentine’s CEO Bettina Korek will be in all black no matter what. Jay Jopling of the White Cube will follow suit.
The artists
Aside from the typical artist uniform of Issey Miyake Pleats Please, those better known all have their USP, stand-out-from-the-crowd look. Marc Quinn will wear his tracksuit and snapback and Daniel Lismore will dazzle in his drapery. Tracey Emin will likely be swaddled in a dark overcoat and her favourite Coco Neige puffy black Chanel walking boots, while Wolfgang Tillmans likes to stick to his gorpcore walking trousers and fleece.
The nobodies
There will undoubtedly be those who get it all woefully wrong. A quickfire list of things to avoid to keep out of Frieze-land Siberia: anything neon; those huge triple S Balenciaga trainers; red evening dresses in the daytime (seriously, people do this); Louboutins so high you can’t dream of making one lap of the fair; wellies (it might be wet, but that’s no excuse); Birkenstocks; anything too make-and-mend. If in doubt, go for a sharp, black suit. You’ll fly right under the radar.
