Elegance for one society is not elegance for another. It's in the

Louise Wilson, a fierce guardian of fashion’s restless spirit, once spoke the timeless words: “Elegance for one society is not elegance for another. It’s in the eyes of the beholder.” These words, simple on the tongue, are profound in their truth. For what is called beautiful in one age, may be mocked in another; what is exalted in one land, may be despised in another. Wilson reminds us that elegance is no eternal law written in the stars—it is a mirror, shaped by culture, history, and the human gaze.

Let us look back to ancient times. In Athens, the form of elegance was simplicity: robes of unadorned white linen, sandals without ornament, beauty found in proportion and harmony. Yet across the seas, in Persia, elegance meant the opposite: robes dyed in the richest colors, encrusted with jewels, bearing the weight of empire in their folds. Who among them was correct? Both, and neither. For each society, through its own eyes, saw in its dress the reflection of its soul. The beholder gives life to the word, and without the beholder, elegance is but cloth and stone.

Consider also the tale of Japan’s geishas. To the Western traveler of the nineteenth century, their painted faces and intricate kimonos seemed strange, even grotesque. Yet to their own culture, these were the highest forms of elegance, crafted over centuries, each gesture and garment carrying the refinement of a thousand traditions. What was misjudged as excess by outsiders was, in truth, a language of grace. Here we see Wilson’s wisdom: elegance is not universal, it is shaped by the eyes that behold it.

The same is true even within a single society as it changes through time. Once, in Europe, the powdered wigs and heavy silks of the eighteenth century were the pinnacle of elegance. Yet when the French Revolution came, these same ornaments were cast aside as symbols of corruption and vanity. Simplicity became the new grace; the plain dress of the republic became the proud emblem of freedom. What once was beautiful became despised, and what once was humble became revered. This is the eternal shifting of the eye of the beholder.

Wilson’s teaching, then, is not about fashion alone—it is about perception, judgment, and the nature of truth itself. We must remember that what we see as refined, noble, or dignified is colored by our upbringing, our surroundings, and our time. To believe our own definition of elegance is the only truth is folly. The wise understand that beauty wears many faces, that grace has many tongues, and that the world is vast in its expressions.

For you, listener, the lesson is this: do not mock what seems foreign to your eye. Instead, seek to understand what it means to those who hold it dear. In doing so, you will expand your heart, and learn to see elegance in places you never thought to look. To travel, to read, to listen—these are acts that polish the vision, teaching you to behold with more than your own narrow gaze.

Practical action lies close at hand. When you see someone dressed differently, or carrying themselves with manners unfamiliar to you, pause before judgment. Ask: what does this mean to them? What story does it tell of their society? For in this act of humility, you not only honor their culture—you also enrich your own. And in this widening of the gaze, you draw closer to truth.

So let Wilson’s words be etched in your mind: elegance is not fixed, nor bound to one age or people. It is a flame lit in the eyes of the beholder, shifting as the wind of culture blows. To live wisely is to recognize this, and to walk the world with reverence for the many forms of beauty it reveals.