“There’s no curiosity about decadence any more. The thrill of sin is not the fashion. Of course a few take cocaine, and lots of people don’t get married. None of those things is decadent. They are choices.”  Diana Vreeland: New York Times, August 28, 1977.

Decadence is a singularly non-American concept. And yet, as a rebuke to the Puritanism upon which the country was founded and which remains rampant among the amber waves of grain, what could be more American?

Culturally speaking, the concept of excess is having a tough time. Put aside the pandemic restrictions: In our current health-and-wellness, influencer-led society, an entire generation considers gluten to be the ultimate indulgence. 

At one point, decadence was so deliriously over the top that it could define an entire decade. Think of disco and Studio 54 and Bianca Jagger on a white horse. Or bathtub gin, speakeasies, and flappers. But the purpose of decadence—true decadence, the kind that wows onlookers into reverent silence and professional moralizers into foam-mouthed fury—is always, as Diana Vreeland pointed out, the celebration of sin. Or at least the frisson of the truly forbidden.

But the pursuit of decadence has come to seem as quaint and recherché as opium dens. Gwyneth Paltrow allows herself a single American Spirit a week. Meditation has replaced boozy blackouts. And farm-to-table, locally sourced meals have replaced foie gras and pâté and every other fattening, delicious dish once regularly included on menus.

We’re so far removed from the concept of over-the-top fabulousness, of crossing the line into the forbidden, that even House of Gucci is more earnest than scandalous, despite the double helix of fashion and murder at the core of its DNA. Star Lady Gaga has certainly represented decadence over her career, but in a constructed, artificial way. And true decadence is far too messy for a red carpet event. Put her meat dress side by side with footage of Orson Welles, happily guzzling bottles of Paul Masson Wine and eating Renaissance Faire-sized turkey legs under a velvet tam o’shanter, and you’ll see the difference.

Is there hope for true decadence among a woke generation? Perhaps. The concept doesn’t have to be a wholly unhealthy one, though a certain flair for intoxicants no doubt helps. (Music and movies have never fully recovered from the discontinuation of speed and Quaaludes, to be quite honest.) And its practitioners don’t have to be monsters of ego, either—though that, too, no doubt helps.

If one is looking to resuscitate the movement for excess and debauchery with a single cri de coeur, look no further than the woman whose appetites helped define it in the latter half of the 20th century: Elizabeth Taylor Hilton Wilding Todd Fisher Burton Burton Warner Fortensky. Even her name is a calling card for zest and hunger! But as Liz once said, “Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pull yourself together.”

Nowhere does she suggest that one practice self-care, take a mindful minute, or have a spa day. No, the truly decadent way to confront reality, tragedy, and every other aspect of modern life that can drive us back into bed on the best of days is with a gimlet eye and a gimlet. And whatever other vices promise to elevate your mood and decimate your discipline.

Decadence is all relative, anyway. The most decadent thing I’ve ever done, the thing that springs to mind almost 20 years later as sinfully extravagant and luxurious, was withdrawing my final $20 from an ATM in Greenwich Village, and spending the entirety of it on a taxi to my apartment in Queens. I was 20; I had no idea where my next paycheck was coming from; the subway was still running; and it was the single most memorable cab ride of my life, precisely because it was so very unnecessary.

If the fun kind of wickedness is on the wane, then the least we can offer is a wicked glint in the eye. Even if they’re no longer as bloodshot as previous generations.

Mark Peikert is a writer and editor with bylines in Rolling Stone, Town & Country, and IndieWire, among others. The former editor-in-chief of Playbill, Backstage, and New York Press, his podcast Shocking! Lurid! Tawdry! A History of American Scandals premiered in 2021, the same year his debut novel, Jagged Sophistication, was published.

A contributing writer for Decadent, he’s probably thinking about cigarettes.