As a devotee of the finer things in life, Charles Finch knows that cash does not equal cachet – and sets out his tips for making the best of the current crisis

Finch’s Quarterly exists for those who are not embarrassed to celebrate life’s finer things – not in a “must have money to do so” sort of way but more in a wistful, nostalgic yearning for a time when things moved a little less quickly and automobiles smelled of leather. None of us who started FQR ever meant it to be elitist, exclusive or about money. In fact, none of us behind it have any money, as any of our contributors will doubtless tell you.

It used to be that British people didn’t really talk about money, not in public at least. If they had recently made heaps of the stuff, they tried not to show it for fear of attracting unwanted attention or even ridicule.

In short, British gentlemen learned to disguise their wealth if they had it, and if they didn’t they would keep mum about their circumstances, thus maintaining some true British stiff upper lip whilst quietly waiting for the triumph of socialism. Better still, some – such as politicians – found brilliant capers to make ends meet and worked the bare minimum whilst living to the maximum a gentleman might hope for. Membership to a fine club. An occasional shoot at a wealthy friend’s estate or a freebie weekend on a Greek tycoon’s yacht. Quite a few of my friends lived through the Eighties and Nineties like this until either they were left behind by the yuppie movement or simply got bored of long lunches and drunken nights at Annabel’s.

The two Great Wars of the last century were, of course, the sobering class “equalisers” for us Brits, the trenches quite understandably fostering political revolution and mass revulsion for the officer class. But money was still not the focus of British society, even after the hardships of rationing and the horrors of the Blitz. Rather than whining about how much they had in the bank or how to get more, our parents were made of stronger stuff – because mostly they didn’t have money anyway. Hardship focuses the mind on the most basic needs and hones a talent for survival in us that those we have chosen for our “Maverick” list have in spades.

Right up until the Nineties inspiring political ideas held sway at top universities, while the public imagination was held captive by scientific breakthroughs in medicine, space and discovery. Social equality was the theme of debate and this was reflected, of course, in demonstrations and strikes but also in fashion, film and, more informally, drugs. Participants – including my parents – in what seemed like a great social experiment, held forth at dinner tables in rose-coloured specs and bell bottoms whilst navel gazing and having a marvellously sexy time.

In recent times we all recognise that money and our obsession with it has dominated Western culture with recent devastating results. Having money meant more than charm, education, brains or talent. Cash became the great equaliser in all walks of life, from film-making to sailing. The hit movie was more important than the good movie, and the big boat that cost more was more talked of than the yacht with the great line. If you were loaded you were invited to the party because of the numbers at the end of your bank statement. The bloke who just invented a cure for cancer was bounced from the A-list for the blonde with the big tits from Bratislava married to the internet millionaire from Baku with the black chopper. This would be fine if the modern rich didn’t insist on “partying” together. I remember in my teens being invited to one of Adnan Khashoggi’s parties in the South of France where I expected hordes of scantily clad hookers and buckets of gold coins and hashish to be available. Unlike today’s rich partying together, Adnan’s was a fabulous mix of princes, crooks, artists and hangers-on – and people actually had wild fun. When was the last time anyone actually did something outrageous at a glamorous party?

All of this has a lot to do with why I convinced Old Nick Foulkes and Tristram Fetherstonhaugh to start Finch’s Quarterly, which, I hope, is a celebration of the finer things in life which money alone can’t buy.

Mariano Rubinacci would never be able to make enough suits in the way he wants to become a billionaire. The same goes for Anderson & Sheppard and for Budd. These firms and the products of their small businesses are about artisan work and the quest for perfection. They approach their work with humility and sell to us, the less humble. If money is a by-product, then so be it.

– Charles Finch

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