When did you last spot a Sloane in London? In the 1990s, they were typified by Tim Nice-but-Dim, the television character played by Harry Enfield. One of the most brilliant comic creations of the past 50 years, he was an amalgamation of class-identity symbols — public schools, nice manor houses in nice counties, nice-sounding jobs in the City.
And “bloody nice blokes”, men who embody all of it. He represented Old Sloane values: what he considered important were grand public schools, seriously big, seriously old houses, and a refusal to talk about money (very déclassé for the old-school Sloane).
Tim’s demise was a micro-tragedy in which we could see the end of the road for traditional Sloanes, competing in a tougher world and with people who were miles richer, cooler and faster. Gradually, they slunk out of sight. But did they really disappear? Where are the Sloane gods now?
Indeed, surveying the plains of London, you could be forgiven for thinking the Sloane Rangers have completely died out. As the capital became more meritocratic in the 1980s, and money flooded in as it became a magnet for billionaires, the Sloane became an endangered species.
Now, after rapidly increasing school fees, rocketing house prices… dammit even a meal out in Notting Hill is unaffordable these days. Never mind postcode shaming.
When I wrote the original Official Sloane Ranger Handbook with Ann Barr more than 40 years ago, we said the must-have postcodes were SW1, SW3, SW5, SW7, SW10 and SW11, in that order. Ten, even 20 years ago those areas were becoming unaffordable for most Sloanes. This started happening as the city changed and those new people — new kinds of plutocrats, people working in advertising (like the famous Saatchis), media and expat Americans in giant banks and corporations —bought them up. And they hoovered up W11.
Some Sloanes have even made it to east London
But, train your telescope a bit more closely, go on a little safari around the capital, and you’ll see the Sloanes haven’t really disappeared. They’re just very well hidden, and not where you expect to find them. Some have even made it to east London — have you noticed the number of upmarket interior designers floating around De Beauvoir and Stoke Newington? Or they’re slipping further south: there must have been a huge rise in the number of plum-voiced private chefs in Pimlico.
The men still all say they’re in property, though it’s not always clear what exactly they do in it. Or, they claim to work in start-ups that never really take off, possibly because they spend so little time actually “at work”. For how else would you fit in all the breakfasts at Don’t Tell Dad in Queen’s Park, the lunchtime pints at The Audley and a “working lunch” at the Dorian or Canteen (when it can be expensed, that is).
Top people don’t seem to want to look or sound so Sloane anymore, so we hear. They want to look and sound more like the rest of us. They even wear those terrible baseball caps. Prince William wears a semi-modern beard. Younger people from that background have softened the voice and you don’t hear the military Command Tone — or the men’s funny “wa-wa” speech pattern much now on anyone under 40. And their enthusiasms — in public at least — are miles more in touch with ordinary people. They say they’re addicted to Strictly or The Traitors. They don’t cite racing and polo.
Sloanes nowadays want to look and sound more like the rest of us. They even wear those terrible baseball caps
So where are the poor Sloanes living? For the truth is that Sloane money no longer gets you very far in the inner capital — and what they do have is entirely bankrolled by the grandparents. Those who would have been living in top postcodes have been banished to the margins in Putney and Kensal Rise, and the edgier ones have found some charming Georgian townhouses in outer Islington. They are forced to put their little darlings into London private day schools — or jockey for the right address for the best state options outside the capital. Of course the younger ones are pulling together enough money for a deposit (just), but instead of a starter flat in Fulham, they’re having to commute to the Sloaney Pony from Wandsworth and Southfields, and get Ubers home from Jak’s or The Rex Rooms, instead of just stumbling back to the Chelsea des res.
Every so often there’s a fashion feature claiming there’s a Sloane revival, that a designer has come out with pie crust collars or flat pumps (for tall girls like Princess Diana). What this means is that the Sloane style is now a period look. Part of the historical dressing-up box, stripped of all meaning.
However, in their 2024 book Born to Rule, Aaron Reeves and Sam Friedman — academics who have been on the case for years — came up with some hard conclusions. Born to Rule is based on an analysis of real historic wealth, derived from the archives of Who’s Who, first published in 1899. They argue that “those born into the top one per cent are just as likely to get into the elite today as they were 125 years ago”.
The difference is more about style than substance, they reckon. Today’s top people avoid the old styles and are hiding in plain sight. “Today’s elite pedal hard to convince us they are perfectly ordinary,” they say. In a time when wealth taxes have come back onto the political agenda in a big way, the Sloane style seems like a pretty modest sacrifice.
Peter York is a British management consultant, author and broadcaster best known for writing Harpers & Queen's The Official Sloane Ranger Handbook with Ann Barr
