One Day, Hermès

There are certain names in fashion that move slower than the rest of the world. Hermès is one of them. You don’t just walk into a store and buy a Birkin; you wait, you hope, you build the relationship, and maybe, one day, it happens.

In an industry addicted to instant, Hermès is the reminder that some things are worth time, and thats ok.

I thought about this last night at Spiritland, I love the place, I sit and I'm invisible,  where the DJ was playing records so patiently, so carefully, that the room slowed into its own rhythm. Each track lingered, every fade measured, the music revealing itself one moment at a time. It struck me that Hermès and slow listening share the same philosophy. You can’t rush either. You have to sit with them, let them unfold, allow desire and detail to build quietly until they arrive.

I don’t own a Birkin. One day, maybe. But that’s the point. Hermès isn’t about instant gratification. It’s about aspiration carried over years, sometimes decades. The bags become markers not of spending, but of waiting, of patience, of living long enough in your own style to deserve the weight of it. It’s fashion as permanence rather than novelty — a contrast to the speed at which I once lived, sprinting through Topshop windows, turning over collections week after week.

Now I find myself gravitating towards slower things. A leather strap on an old watch that softens each year. A trench coat bought vintage that only looks better for the creases. Even my Adidas Gazelles — the pair I’ve had longest, the suede worn thin, the soles almost translucent — have become my own Hermès. Not because they cost thousands, but because they’ve been with me long enough to feel irreplaceable.

What Hermès teaches, and what listening bars remind me every time I visit, is that true luxury isn’t about possession. It’s about presence. It’s about being in the room when the right record plays, about waiting for a bag you can’t rush, about treasuring the moments that come rarely and stay with you forever.

When I see someone carrying a Birkin on the Tube — clasped tight, leather shining, corners softened by use — I don’t see wealth, I see time. The hours, the patience, the restraint it took to get there. The bag is the proof of waiting. It carries more than lipstick and keys; it carries every year it took to arrive.

One day, maybe, I’ll have one. Until then, I’ll keep finding the Hermès moments elsewhere — in the patience of vinyl, the slowness of pre-loved fashion, the luxury of things that ask you not to rush. That’s the lesson, really: one day you’ll get the bag, but the waiting is the point.

— Amelia Fairfax

Amelia Fairfax writes about the fashion inside and outside listening spaces. For more stories from Tracks & Tales, subscribe here, or click here to read more.