Welcome to the world of the aristo-entrepreneur

Let me introduce you to a peculiar breed whose highly publicised forays into business are propelled by a heavy dose of entitlement plus immunity to the usual rules of engagement, writes Caroline Bullock

There’s always some willing investor ready to bail you out or take a chance in the first place (Getty)

With little other distraction in this drab interior of a serviced office block I found myself clock watching.

It’s 11.15am. The interview, I’d been sent to do should have started 15 minutes ago – its subject, a make-up artist with a minor celebrity status – acquired through her model sister and an aristocratic pedigree – was sat in front of me but very little was happening.

We were supposed to be discussing the launch of her eponymous make-up line, but she was chatting with her business partner/pal/PA – lots of conspiratorial asides and loud laughter as if catching up over cocktails in a wine bar, some gossip on a mutual friend from a party, which I, of course, wasn’t privy to. A check of her phone messages and then, and only then, some acknowledgment of my presence and the reason we were there.

Welcome to the world of the aristo-entrepreneur, a sometimes-peculiar breed whose often highly publicised forays into business are propelled by a heavy dose of entitlement along with immunity to the usual rules of engagement. Here, the opportunity to plug her lipsticks across a full-page feature was the kind of privilege taken as a given, any kind of gratitude and acknowledgment, even basic manners, usually mustered by other recipients of free publicity was firmly absent. It was clear that my time was pretty irrelevant, just another pleb that turns up and does what is expected on cue, as interchangeable as the personal trainer on speed dial.

It was a telling insight of the complacency that creeps in when the risk, efforts, blood, sweat and tears that usually define the precarious journey of a fledging start-up don’t really factor. When you can trade on a name and its association to secure easy publicity and call on a coterie of well-connected friends, everything’s just a little easier. Admittedly the enterprise may not go the distance but then you can always just start again pretty easily anyway. There’s always some willing investor ready to bail you out or take a chance in the first place, regardless of the ineptitude, acumen, track record and credentials, drawn to the name and link to some particular scion, which renders it a risk worth taking and the usual hoop-jumping unnecessary.

Indeed, it is notable that James Middleton’s highly publicised move into the world of personalised marshmallows won the backing of greetings card company Moonpig founder Nick Jenkins, the same man who remained impervious to much of the genuine innovation and talent paraded before him when he was an investor on Dragons’ Den. Indeed, so exacting were his expectations and standards, he always seemed the least inclined of the line-up to open the cheque book, although he was happy to stump up the cash for the future queen’s brother-in-law regardless of the flimsiness of the proposition that left debts of £2m.

In reality, it was her business partner doing all the talking, bar the occasional agreement or repetition. She just appeared very bored, the opposite to the usual energy and dynamism I’m used to seeing

And of course, Middleton was undeterred by the collapse – big, consistent failures are rarely cause for self-doubt and introspection. Why change tack when there’s always a ready platform to support the next project and reinvention. He’s now back with a health and wellbeing company for dogs which duly won a Pet Industry Federation award and saw him shortlisted for Online Business of the Year 2021.

Meanwhile, fashion designer Alice Temperley, whose dresses have long enjoyed a large celebrity and royal following is also proving resilient after running up £31m in unpaid debts before her company went into administration this year. A new business, selling sequined frocks and velvet suits from its stores in Chelsea and Somerset and on the Temperley London website is up and running while a number of her struggling small suppliers, often niche offerings such as button makers, remain unpaid and without the name and contacts denied the same opportunities for self-promotion. Surely it’s time there were more consequences to this depressing cycle to better protect many of the smaller players caught up in the slipstream.

I can’t help thinking though that the special treatment routinely afforded must reduce some of the satisfaction that most entrepreneurs only really achieve when success is hard won, and obstacles carefully negotiated. What I recall most from the interview with the make-up artist was that despite being the face of the brand, she really had nothing to say, all very at odds with the breathless, gushing press releases sent on her behalf extolling her virtues and positioning her as some kind of industry visionary, highly opinionated and at the forefront of cosmetic innovation.

In reality, it was her business partner doing all the talking, bar the occasional agreement or repetition. She just appeared very bored, the opposite to the usual energy and dynamism I’m used to seeing from entrepreneurs who live and breathe the offering and are never happier than when discussing every facet of the operation and vision. Perhaps fraternising with the local newspaper was all a bit beneath but, then, why approach the paper in the first place if you didn’t need a bit of regional publicity?

I confess that in this particular instance, I too had been lured by the power of name. It seemed to offer a rare dose of glamour on the pages, which at the time were dominated by professional services and local business awards. I know now though, that the reality can be the lack of substance that fails to live up to the promise.

I did, however, come across one interesting exception recently in the form of Countess Lucan – daughter in law of the infamous missing peer Lord Lucan, who has an outdoor country clothing range, Lucan Fashion. In many ways it was all very true to form: an eponymous label that trades off the name, used to fawning, effusive spreads in society bibles and easy to dismiss as a vanity project.

Yet regardless of the publicity that came easily, she was gracious and appreciative, and undeniably an embodiment of her brand which she was genuinely passionate about. Furthermore, at least she had the decency to be everything you want from an English aristocrat – an easy laugh and a little eccentricity but without the entitlement.