Back in 2007, photographer Lauren Greenfield was on assignment for Elle magazine, capturing the buzz at a Versace store opening in Beverly Hills. Her lens quickly found three women, each sporting a different take on a gold lamé Versace handbag. The resulting photograph—a striking, neck-down view focusing on their opulent leather, fur, bold rings, and figure-hugging dresses—became unexpectedly iconic. It circulated in other magazines and later featured in museum exhibitions of Greenfield’s work, symbolizing a new and disquieting era of American affluence.
Among these women was Jackie Siegel, the spouse of a significantly older Florida real estate mogul. Together, they raised seven children, owned a private jet, and were embarking on building the nation’s largest single-family home near Disney World. Siegel was then one of Versace’s top customers, while Greenfield had earned acclaim in the art world as a premier chronicler of extreme wealth and the growing societal divides it fueled.
In 2009, during another Florida assignment—this time photographing the wives of white-collar criminals—Greenfield recalled Siegel and reached out. This led to an extensive period embedded with the Siegel family, resulting in the remarkably empathetic 2012 documentary, “The Queen of Versailles.” Now, in a less expected turn, that film has been adapted into a new Broadway musical, starring Kristin Chenoweth.
This Broadway adaptation premieres at a time when ostentatious spending has become widely accepted. As Greenfield noted during a recent New York visit for rehearsals and a screening of her original film, “we have gotten farther and farther away from the value of modesty.” What remains remarkable about the documentary after all these years is its skillful blend of empathy and subtle critique. Greenfield doesn’t condemn the individuals, but rather the system, carefully avoiding any portrayal of her subjects’ desires as mere crude, soulless greed.
For a time, Greenfield considered turning her film into an opera, recognizing the inherent pathos and melodrama. The story contained all the emotional peaks and valleys of a material ambition rooted in a youthful yearning. Jackie Siegel, herself, hailed from a modest upstate New York town, the child of a night-shift worker, and matured during the Reagan era. This was a period when much of America seemed fixated on accumulating vast wealth, while many others remained trapped in their original circumstances.
Years went by, and Greenfield immersed herself in new projects, including her recent five-part Hulu documentary “Social Studies,” which explored the powerful algorithmic influence of TikTok and other platforms on high school students navigating the post-pandemic world. It was during the Covid-19 pandemic that Bill Damaschke, a producer known for “Moulin Rouge” on Broadway, contacted her. He proposed transforming “The Queen of Versailles” into a musical, an idea Greenfield’s husband, Frank Evers, had also previously considered.
The challenge was how a lighthearted musical adaptation could possibly convey the profound arguments of the film. Greenfield remarked, “The allegory, the morality tale, the blend of comedy and tragedy, the architectural embodiment of both triumph and collapse—it had every necessary component.” Her main worry was ensuring that “any adaptation would have to preserve the same critical perspective as the original film.”
However, a shift in the Siegels’ financial situation presented a risk to this fidelity. American musicals traditionally celebrate ambitious strivers, from those chasing fame in “Singin’ in the Rain” to revolutionaries seeking independence in “Hamilton.” Yet, Greenfield’s documentary concluded with the Siegels’ grand aspirations shattered by the 2008 financial crisis, leading to foreclosure years later. Despite this, the couple eventually recovered, regaining ownership of their colossal home.
Greenfield reflected, “The fact that they became wealthy once more, that they returned to this unending, Sisyphean endeavor, forced us to confront that they didn’t learn—and that we as a culture didn’t learn.” She noted that after the crisis subsided, previous patterns of extravagant spending and public display re-emerged, intensified by social media and a political class that openly indulged in ostentation.
Greenfield and her husband serve as co-producers of the musical, with her acting as a constant “lighthouse,” as director Michael Arden described her. She is gratified by the production’s resistance to mere ridicule. As an artist, her aim has always been to humanize ambition, to show her audience how a widespread craving for more—be it an enormous house, a luxury car instead of an economy model, or an elite university over a state school—connects us through a shared experience of inadequacy when desires are unmet, and a hollow feeling even when they are.
In many respects, the musical offers an even sharper critique than the film, concluding with Jackie isolated in her colossal mansion, gazing into a ring light, and posting on social media. Greenfield noted, “There’s a kind of world-building happening with the Versailles house,” mirroring the insular nature of many wealthy gated communities. The Siegel home boasts 11 kitchens, a bowling alley, and six swimming pools. “You never have to leave,” she observed. “The flip side is that you are alone. That’s what the musical’s ending truly emphasizes, and I believe that’s a realization Jackie is grappling with now.”
Greenfield’s personal style, contrasting sharply with her subjects’ extravagance, is notably understated. She carried a canvas tote—the kind used for farmer’s market hauls—yet it bore a Louis Vuitton logo, a detail she seemed to wear as both a practical item and a subtle statement. She recounted how, when her children were young, they would ask why she didn’t carry designer handbags like other mothers.
Reflecting on her own connection to wealth and its trappings, she stated, “I’ve always had the desire, and a check on that desire.” For three decades, her photographic and filmmaking career has primarily focused on documenting the lives of those who lack this internal restraint.
Greenfield recognized a certain familiarity in Jackie Siegel, even though her own upbringing—as the child of two Harvard-educated academics on Los Angeles’s West Side—was vastly different. Her father’s journey from working-class Cincinnati to a distinguished career in medicine and public health profoundly shaped her perspective. Similarly impactful was her time at Crossroads, a progressive private school in Santa Monica. She recounted an incident where, at a school event, her father was asked his profession. “He said he was a professor,” she remembered, “and the other parent responded: ‘Oh. Then you must not make very much money.’”
Greenfield also enrolled her own two sons, now aged 25 and 19, at Crossroads. Years prior, her elder son, Gabriel, shared a video from a bar mitzvah where a ‘fun-house’ blower showered cash, and children eagerly scrambled to collect and keep whatever bills they could grab.
In 2018, Greenfield released her subsequent documentary, “Generation Wealth,” accompanied by a sprawling 500-page monograph. This project meticulously examined ostentation across diverse demographics, from child beauty pageants and oligarchs to rappers, hedge-fund managers, and everyday teenagers.
She finds it concerning that many teenagers then, and even more so now, aspire not to ‘be’ something, but merely to ‘acquire.’ Greenfield stated, “Kids want to be rich and famous, and that is not a job.” A memorable image from “Generation Wealth” depicts a boy named Emanuel in his modest bedroom, surrounded by open Cartier boxes. Identified as a student at Harvard-Westlake, a prestigious Los Angeles private school, he frequently pressures his parents to purchase items beyond their means.
He noted, “It’s easy to lie about money, as long as you don’t invite people to your house.”
Despite a shrinking average family size since the 1950s, the typical American home has more than doubled in square footage. However, a 2024 study by the National Association of Homebuilders revealed that only 6 percent of prospective buyers desire homes larger than 4,000 square feet. This contrasts sharply with perceptions one might form by observing affluent enclaves like Bel-Air or Greenwich, or certain areas of Houston and Atlanta, or through the lens of social media platforms like Instagram.
Greenfield asserted, “Purchasing a house, owning a home, was once linked to community involvement, altruism, stability—to securing a better future for your children and improving the nation.” She lamented that “the values it once embodied have vanished. Now, only the outward display of wealth and status truly matters.”
And often, size reigns supreme. As Kristin Chenoweth, playing Jackie, sings, “The house we’re in now/Although it’s sweet, it’s only like 26,000 square feet.” The Siegels’ current residence stands at a staggering 90,000 square feet.
Upon its release thirteen years ago, Greenfield’s documentary presented a challenge for viewers to imagine a comparable property, or, in real estate terms, a ‘comp.’ What exactly did 90,000 square feet entail? Was it the size of an aircraft hangar? Today, however, a clear point of reference exists. As Greenfield noted towards the end of our discussion, 90,000 square feet “is exactly the size of Trump’s new ballroom,” a direct comparison to the White House.