Airbnb - and has just knocked the Queen off the
Rich List...
‘I’m addicted to Ebay,’ India Rose James
confesses, sipping her favourite cocktail – a
Soho Mule. ‘I eBay all day, every day.’ Since
she’s 23 and carving out a career in the
struggling arts industry, it’s perhaps not
surprising that she’s a committed charity
shopper who also holds public jumble sales in
her flat. Or it wouldn’t be – if she wasn’t also
London’s wealthiest young woman.
Although India Rose could blend in with many of
the girls passing by – her hair hanging long past
the collar of her Top shop blouse, platform
plimsolls boosting her already model-esque
frame to 6ft – she owns the very place we’re
sitting in: the Soho House private members’
club. India has a tight-knit group of girlfriends
from school who she’s still extremely close to,
and prefers cuddling up with her boyfriend, Will
Pelham, in their (penthouse) flat on a Friday
night to partying until dawn. She’s endearingly
passionate and ever so slightly shy, laughing
quietly but frequently. Her voice is soft and well
spoken, but wouldn’t cut glass – more Made In
Chelsea than Kate Middleton.
Already a huge fan of the high street, she has a
new-found love for Zara, and so many shoes
that she’s had to store some pairs on her
kitchen shelves. ‘Shoes are my problem,’ she
laughs. ‘I’d rather have another pair of shoes
than, say, go out for an expensive meal.’ Despite
her essentially unlimited budget, she gives
herself an (undisclosed) allowance, with a limit
on how much she can spend on clothes – a self-
discipline she learned from her upbringing.
‘People have a misconception of me,’ she says.
‘They don’t realise that I was brought up by
normal, middle-class people who have done very
well for themselves. I always had to earn my
pocket money like anybody else.’
After shunning university to do fashion
internships, she’s just opened her latest project,
Soho Revue – a 5,000ft gallery on London’s
Greek Street, showcasing emerging artists. With
up-and-coming collaborations with Central Saint
Martins and Savile Row, and talk of hosting
events now London Fashion Week is moving to
Soho, it’s already a burgeoning success – and
India Rose is working around the clock.
‘It annoys me when people ask me why I work.
Yes, I could spend my time flying round the world
– and I like to treat myself to a holiday – but I
want something to wake up to. I want to make
my grandfather and my family proud of me; I’d
love it if people saw my achievements first and
spoke of my grandfather second. I want to feel
like I’ve done something – especially as some
people expect me to do nothing.’
India Rose isn’t afraid to point out that much of
the negativity comes from others being envious
(or, as she puts it, ‘jelly’) of her. But, moreover,
she feels too often in the shadow of her mother,
Debbie, who died of a heroin overdose aged 36,
when India Rose was just nine months old. She
was then brought up by her father, John James,
and stepmother, Gilly, who she calls Mum.
‘Of course [my birth mother] is a part of me, but
I’m not her,’ India Rose says, a little defensively.
‘It’s unfair to judge me now on what’s happened
in the past. I don’t actually think [Debbie’s
death] has affected me at all. I have a mother
and she’s been bringing me up since I was tiny.
‘Obviously it does keep you away from drugs,’
she adds. ‘Why do something that killed your
mother?’
It’s a view shared by her sister Fawn, who is
now a director of Soho Estates and to whom
India Rose is ‘super-close’. But, for both, being
phenomenally wealthy has its drawbacks. ‘I’ve
always known people might use me for my
money,’ she says. ‘I’ve overheard girls I thought
were going to be friends say, “Get in with her,
she owns The Box [a Soho nightclub].” But I
don’t dwell on it. I couldn’t say for sure I
wouldn’t be the same if I was in their position.’
However ‘normal’ she seems, India Rose is never
going to be exactly like any other 20-something,
with a £454 million back-up plan behind her. But
although she’ll never worry about being jobless
and broke, she still seems more passionate than
privileged.
Before we leave, I ask her what she’s doing that
evening. ‘I’m heading to a friend’s gig, then I’m
packing for a few days away,’ she says. She’s
not off to drop some cash in Cannes or Dubai,
but to Iceland on easy Jet – staying in a one-
bed Airbnb apartment with two friends. ‘We’re all
staying in one bed, but we don’t really care,’ she
says. ‘We only need it for sleeping. What’s the
point in getting somewhere flash?
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