The distinction between a gym and a luxury brand used to be fairly clear. You were sold something to carry by one. You were sold somewhere to sweat by the other. That line completely vanished at some point in the past few years.
Nowadays, if you walk into some wellness clubs in New York or London, the interiors feel more like a moody cocktail bar than a fitness floor, the lighting is dim, and the music is low. There isn’t a plastic tub of protein powder by the door or a whiteboard with class schedules. You might discover a tonic bar with drinks infused with adaptogens, a reformer Pilates studio, and a velvet lounge where someone is discreetly closing a business deal. The names of the logos on the wall are more frequently connected to hotel suites and handbags.
It’s not a coincidence. Fashion houses, upscale hotel chains, and boutique fitness empires are examples of luxury brands that have been purposefully moving toward what some refer to as “haute wellness.” Once you follow the reasoning, it becomes easy to comprehend. For some consumers, a $40 cold-pressed smoothie or a $90 reformer class serves the same purpose as a logo-bearing accessory. Yes, it is a sign of money, but more precisely, it is a sign of time, which is the most carefully guarded currency of the truly wealthy.
Dior has made a clear effort to capitalize on this by increasing the number of spa services it offers and linking the brand’s identity to carefully chosen wellness experiences through partnerships in the hospitality industry. When Six Senses opened its first urban location in the former Whiteley’s department store in London, wellness was integrated into the building’s architecture rather than being a feature tucked away next to the pool.
The membership experience includes breathwork exercises, reformer Pilates, and what they refer to as an Alchemy Bar for herbal tinctures. For its part, Harrods opened a private members’ club in Shanghai with dining rooms, an outdoor terrace, and services like aviation concierge and personal shopping, with annual dues starting at about £16,000. Revenue is not the only thing that matters. Belonging is the key.
The areas where people live between their homes and places of employment are referred to by sociologists as “third places.” Coffee shops used to serve that purpose. Bars also did. However, there is a discernible change, particularly among younger luxury buyers.
Gen Z and millennials are increasingly substituting group workouts and post-class tonic bars for late nites out. For younger city dwellers, gyms are actually taking the place of bars as social and even romantic venues, according to a Bloomberg report this year. Companies that are keeping an eye on this aren’t merely following a fitness fad. For a generation that no longer associates nightlife with status, they are positioning themselves as the new social infrastructure.
Additionally, there is a business logic that is rarely explained as clearly as it ought to. Discount-driven loyalty programs have never been popular among premium brands. Supermarkets and airlines benefit from cashback and point systems, but they tend to undermine the feeling of exclusivity that luxury relies on. This is quietly resolved by membership models.
They bring in money on a regular basis. They produce a feeling of exclusivity and curation that a typical loyalty program just cannot match. Tera, a wellness club in New York, isn’t being precious when it restricts its membership to 300 people and keeps the red front door off of public maps. The club’s address is a secret invitation only. It’s being tactical. The product is exclusivity.
Even though it’s less romantic, the activewear angle is important. The obvious secondary motivation behind fashion brands opening Pilates studios and fitness centers is to sell the clothing you’ll wear there. The transition to purchasing a branded training set is significantly shortened when customers engage with a brand’s esthetic five mornings a week in a physical setting, seeing the textiles, color schemes, and design language everyplace they look. The cost of the classes is essentially incidental. The clothing is where the true margin is found.
It’s still unclear if every high-end brand that enters the wellness space will be able to do so without coming across as forced. There’s a serious chance that a heritage fashion house will dilute its brand by putting its name on a juice bar and losing the authenticity of these establishments. The clubs where the community feels truly taken into consideration are the ones that appear to be working.
where the membership is an actual attempt to put a particular type of person in a particular type of room rather than merely a gatekeeping mechanism. It sounds like marketing speak when Harrods refers to its Shanghai club as “a home away from home” for individuals who have similar interests. It’s another matter entirely if it fulfills that promise. However, the underlying instinct is sound. People will always pay to feel like they belong in a place that isn’t accessible to everyone.
