Sloane ranging

It is quite remarkable that a square within an affluent area of the capital has become synonymous with a certain type of person. Robert Gwyn Palmer indulges in the ‘movement’ and meets authors Peter York and Olivia Stewart-Liberty to discuss their new book, Cooler, Faster, More Expensive: The Return of the Sloane Ranger. Illustrations by Sujean Rim

Twenty five years ago there were nicely, if conservatively, dressed women in double-knotted Hermès headscarves going up and down the King’s Road, returning to their SW addresses with something useful from Peter Jones to feather the nests they shared with their husbands, who were probably called Charles. They lived their lives with a degree of innocence, a sense of decorum and, above all else, an unshakeable belief that they were a cut above. Then, out of the blue (how appropriate) came The Sloane Ranger Handbook, carefully chronicling – parodying, really – their every move, gesture and foible and, from that moment on, the Sloane’s day as a quiet mover and shaker at the top of the social tree was undoubtedly in question.

Twenty-five years on and a lot has happened. Sloanes are now supposedly history, representing antique values about as fashionable as brown furniture, and similarly devalued in price. Is it all up with Sloanes? Not likely, it would seem; this breed was built to last and, like many of the prey that it is so frequently criticised for trying to hunt, very clever at adapting to its habitat. But what hope is there of sighting this newly-revamped species and how will we be able to spot the defining characteristics? Worry not; help is at hand within the pages of the brand new, all singing, all dancing, Cooler, Faster, More Expensive: The Return of the Sloane Ranger by Peter York and Olivia Stewart-Liberty.

I went to meet this formidable duo in (where else) Sloane Square. Deep in the bowels of the Royal Court’s trendy subterranean bar, they spelt out for me where we are on the whole Sloane scene. Cool, trendy and arty, The Royal Court might not seem too obvious a place to pick up the new Sloane trail, but, almost as soon as she’d arrived, Olivia spotted the water – ‘belu’ produced by Ben Goldsmith (a quintessential Sloane de jour) – and then Peter, the man the Financial Times called ‘the Nancy Mitford (U and Non U) of our time’ arrived hot-foot from, yes, you’ve guessed it, Peter Jones. So what has this combination of astute social observer (York) and clever girl-about-town and novelist (Stewart-Liberty) concluded in their analysis of the Sloane in the twenty-first century?

First and foremost, they haven’t gone away, but, they’ve had to adapt and hone their skills to enable them to survive in a much more competitive environment. No longer is it enough to plonk on a velvet Alice band and Gucci loafers (although they still don’t go amiss – loafers, that is. Only male footballers wear Alice bands now). These days the Sloane has to parade his or her values in a subtler, more thrusting and, to put it bluntly, altogether more expensive way. Because, as York and Stewart-Liberty point out, although the early Sloane stood for genteel shabby chic with enough of a trust fund to get by on, things are running a bit low by now, not to say running out. After all, Granny probably sold her flat for an ‘enormous’ sum some 20 years ago to pay for the current generation’s education, so there’ll be no more where that came from. And why didn’t she hang on, her grandchildren will no doubt whine ungratefully behind her huskied back. Stewart- Liberty’s granny, she tells me, has hung on to her flat (SW, natch), albeit her rich euro-Sloane neighbours from above have bought the one beneath her to house their nanny in. Sloanes can’t ‘raid the moth cupboard’ (York) for ever, they’ve got to go out and compete and make their own millions in whatever sphere there is money to be made, and if it’s commuting to New York and talking to chavs at parties, so be it.

Warming to his theme over a second cappuccino, York points out that Sloanes do seem to come in many more colours and textures now, perhaps feeling the need to ‘express’ themselves, as we’re all told to do. And, as you’ll see from the list below, it really is quite a diverse social grouping, but to join the club you still have to observe the rules and read the signals right. Still important is not saying ‘toilet’, except as a joke pour epater les autres (all Sloanes study French at school); going to the right schools (essential for a successful gap year, which is, after all, the point of all that education in the first place), before you head back to the safe haven of SW’s 1 for Princes William and Harry and 3, 5, 7, 6, 11, 18, 13 (in that order) for everyone else, and being seen in all the right places.

Just to help, York and Stewart-Liberty have included an extremely helpful, totally prejudiced and idiosyncratic list to show exactly where all those places are, including those for the right rehab centres, just in case you were worried about missing out. This might be particularly helpful for one of the most important phases of Sloane life – getting married and sprogging the next generation. While there has been a bit more ‘cross-fertilisation’ (York) from other classes – mostly for financial reasons – you’ll still probably find a Rupert marrying a Caroline, even if they call themselves Ru and Caro and import kaftans from Morocco. Scratch their surface and you’ll find much the same attitudes as those espoused by their parents; if anything, slightly less liberal. Would this description apply to David Cameron, I wonder? Surely not…

All in all, then, Sloanes are here to stay because they’ve learned to fit in with the zeitgeist. Tellingly, Amazon reckons that if you want to buy this new book that you’d also like Jamie at Home, and you can’t get any more zeitgeisty than Jamie, can you? As Stewart-Liberty points out, you’d be hard pressed to find a kitchen shelf in Sloanedom without a copy, even if they do sneer at this chavness as they stuff down his chocolate pots (almost indistinguishable from the GÜ ones). They aren’t, then, any nastier than anyone else, just a bit more homogeneous and, it has to be said, with more ability than most to see the funny side of life and of themselves. I mean just think of Fergie laughing at her own ineptitude and slapping her thigh. On second thoughts, don’t – not all Sloanes are that bad.

• Chav Sloane: Anyone with a title, but no life, who fancies being in the media, ie being the object of ridicule on a reality TV show.

• Thumping Sloane: Decent but dull, got a clutch of those GCSE thingies, but only to make their parents feel better about the school fees.

• Turbo Sloane: Have added to their fortunes through successful business ventures, eg Johnny Boden, who must surely be rich enough to wear more becoming clothes by now?

• Euro Sloane: Fine line between royal connections and very strange clothes and customs. Caution required.

• Sleek Sloane: The Ralph Laurens of Sloanedom – classic cuts, only better, less hairy and in tones that might even be called flattering

• Eco Sloane: Almost as green as they are rich. Are they doing any more than atoning for the sins of their entrepreneurial forbears?

• Party Sloane: Sometimes snapped by the gutter press as they hit the, well, gutter, leaving Boujis, Kitts etc

• Bongo Sloane: Very into alternative therapies and auras. Lots of middle-aged Sloanes on marriage number two take this up to find themselves (or find something in common with the twenty-something boyfriend).

Order a copy at £2 off plus free UK P&P on 01903 828503, quoting ‘SRII offer’ or visit your local SW bookshop where you could meet a fellow Sloane.