Is it possible to look at vintage Ralph Lauren ads as the story of Ralph Lauren, the person? Setting aside the myth of the all-American brand, its enduring impact on fashion, and the knowledge that these ads — the horses, sailboats, rolling lawns, and impossibly put-together models — helped shape a certain conception of the good life, can we see them as dramas intended to draw us into Lauren’s idealized America?
Now that I know the full story, it’s hard to see it any other way.
Like most of you reading this, Ralph Lauren ads from the 1980s are etched somewhere in my subconscious, ready to resurface at any moment. All I have to do is shut my eyes and I can see a man in a cable-knit sweater smiling back at me; an American flag, a popped collar, a windswept couple in matching chambray shirts.
Even if you weren’t alive at the time (I wasn’t), you probably have a sense that the brand was in its heyday during those years. Ralph Lauren’s quasi-traditional take on American style had already struck a chord around the world when it reached a new stratosphere in the ’80s. By pairing a well-defined ethos of approachable elegance with an unmistakable and gorgeous visual narrative, Ralph Lauren became synonymous with prosperity and perfection, chiseled jawlines and whittled waists — easy lives played out in archetypical American landscapes. From the East Coast to the Western frontier, the characters in Lauren’s universe embodied an ideal of sophistication, determination, and community, as well as a healthy dose of sex appeal.
Two years ago, I properly examined these old ads for the first time. As I scrolled through a sea of saturated faces, I felt a rush of contrasting emotions. I was simultaneously disturbed by the over-the-top and quite dated homogeneity, yet enchanted by the sheer ambition. I had no idea whether I loved or hated what I saw, but I knew I couldn’t get it out of my head. So, I did what any sane person would do and began an obsessive journey through the archives of Ralph Lauren ads. As days turned into weeks, I kept coming back to the same question: Why do these images provoke such a strong response in me and in countless others?
One thing is certain: Lauren defined American style for a generation, if not several. Over the years, his signature mixture of sportswear and prep garnered him financial success, critical acclaim, and cultural gravitas. Unlike other brands of similar scope, Ralph Lauren has managed to maintain its integrity amid a tangled net of diffusion lines. From Purple Label and RRL to Polo, Lauren’s empire has managed to successfully target almost every type of customer, while sustaining its relevance for over half a century.
From the East Coast to the Western frontier, the characters in Lauren’s universe embodied an ideal of sophistication, determination, and community, as well as a healthy dose of sex appeal.
The narratives showcased by the brand’s advertisements have played a vital role in fostering this seemingly universal appeal. And yet, at first glance, you might say these same stories speak to a rather narrow group while shunning a vast majority. Even in the world of fashion, where cultivating an air of exclusivity is the norm, Ralph Lauren', Ralph Lauren’s ’80s ads can easily be read as alienating.
For example, in his 1981 Santa Fe collection, a white woman wears a Native American concho belt. Behind her are the indistinct taupes of the Great Plains and their history of colonialism. In 1982, we see a serene sailboat, an unbelievably attractive family, and a high-flying American flag. It’s the old-money glamor of the East Coast and a completely different yet similarly stilted rendition of American mythology. You hardly have to dig to interpret one as cultural appropriation and the other as rabid nationalism. Nor is it a mystery that the beneficiaries of these visions of America are the affluent and the white.
Coming from another label, these ads would be, quite simply, offensive. Coming from Ralph Lauren, these images — though definitely products of their time — aren’t simply anything: not simply appropriation nor regurgitations of one-sided histories. As Teju Cole wrote in a piece about the painter Johannes Vermeer for The New York Times Magazine, a painting is “an artifact inescapably involved in the world’s messiness — the world when the painting was made and the world now.” And, he goes on to say, a painting’s loveliness isn’t spoiled by viewing it honestly and critically as a window onto its historical context. An advertisement isn’t a great painting, but it’s also not not art, especially if it manages to resonate across generations. It’s fair to look at it critically while also appreciating the craft and attempting to understand the worldview it represents.
Cut to an ad from 1987: Ralph Lauren wears blue jeans, a white T-shirt, a cowboy hat, and boots, sipping beer out of an amber-colored bottle. The photo was taken just a handful of years after his Santa Fe collection and five years after he bought 17,000 acres of land in Colorado, which he later transformed into a nature preserve and a world-renowned cattle ranch. The ranch would inspire the creation of the RRL sub-brand, which explores Western Americana with an exhaustive attention to historical detail. Then there’s his East Coast ties. Lauren has owned property in the Hamptons for four decades and frequently hosts charitable events in the area, such as the annual Hamptons Cup polo match.
Lauren doesn’t just take inspiration, he embodies it. To portray himself as a living manifestation of his brand, he has personally modeled nearly every advertising trope in the RL archive. There he is on a sailboat. There he is on a horse; next to his truck; with his family. The universes featured in all of his ads aren’t chosen out of passing interest; they’re the product of enduring fascination and commitment. Instead of creating standard-issue corporate propaganda, Lauren uses his advertisements to document what he loves.
See, the thing is, inspiration from Lauren’s life imbues the brand’s imagery with an emotive power, one I’d argue makes his advertisements equally alluring to devotees of the brand and those unfamiliar with his work. That indescribable feeling you get while looking at those early ads? It’s more than a distaste for the material or an attraction to the well-crafted scenes — it’s the thrill of entering a real one.
Lauren doesn’t just take inspiration, he embodies it.
Though your first impressions might paint Lauren as an ivory-tower fashion magnate, his origins tell a completely different tale. The designer was born Ralph Lifshitz in 1939, the son of two first-generation Jewish immigrants living in the Bronx. After near-constant bullying, Lifshitz changed his last name to Lauren at age 16, and in so doing set the course to becoming a quintessential American icon. Though he never abandoned his heritage, his name change constituted a symbolic shift in identity: He was no longer a Jewish person living in America but an American who happened to be Jewish.
Then he started selling ties out of a drawer in the Empire State Building, and the rest is pretty much history. Without the advantages afforded by financial privilege or family connections, Lauren went on to build a multi-billion dollar empire.
It’s because Lauren wasn’t born into extravagant wealth that he’s able to offer an astute and compelling interpretation of the American Dream. As the proverbial outsider, Lauren’s advertisements are inherently aspirational; they are homage to possibility. The characteristics he emphasizes in his ads communicate his personal values: a slower-moving lifestyle away from the demands of the city, a strong sense of social connection, and an affinity for the natural world.
Knowing this, all those well-worn jeans and playful group shots in his ads take on a deeper meaning — about sticking with what you love, working hard while maintaining community, and nurturing long-term relationships. The message isn’t “You can’t sit with us,” but rather, “If I could make it here, you can, too.”
Look at those ads again. What do you see? A cinematic narrative guided by one man’s vision, perhaps? “I guess you could say, in some ways, I am the director and the screenwriter,” Lauren once said. “I write through my clothes.”
The vivid detail and grand ambition of Lauren’s work teeters on the point of exaggeration — teeters but doesn’t lose its balance. He’s also learned from some of his early mistakes, ever evolving and more nuanced. His work serves as a reminder of why so many of us fell in love with fashion in the first place. In an industry that is often cold and unrealistic, his brand emanates a communal sense of warmth through deeply personal expression. Lauren’s advertisements are the flag-bearer for his message, and the spirit they represent will never lose its brilliance.
