In 2007, photographer Lauren Greenfield’s assignment for Elle magazine took her to a Versace store opening in Beverly Hills. There, three women, all sporting variations of a gold lamé Versace handbag, immediately captured her eye. The striking image she captured—a close-up of their designer attire, luxurious furs, prominent rings, and figure-hugging dresses—became an enduring symbol. It graced numerous magazines and museum exhibitions, representing a disquieting new era of American affluence.
Among those women was Jackie Siegel, the wife of a considerably older Florida real estate mogul. Together, they raised seven children, owned a private jet, and embarked on building the nation’s largest home near Disney World. Siegel was a top Versace client, and Greenfield, renowned in the art world for her incisive portraits of extravagant wealth and its societal impacts, found her a compelling subject.
In 2009, while on 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 surprisingly empathetic 2012 documentary, “The Queen of Versailles.” Now, in a perhaps less foreseen turn, the story has been adapted into a new Broadway musical, starring Kristin Chenoweth.
This adaptation arrives at a critical juncture, as unchecked spending and overt displays of wealth have become increasingly normalized. As Greenfield noted during a recent New York visit, society has “gotten farther and farther away from the value of modesty.” She traveled from Los Angeles to attend rehearsals and a special screening of the original documentary. What remains remarkable about her film years later is its skillful balance of empathy and subtle critique. Greenfield shows compassion for the individuals, but strongly disapproves of the broader cultural game, resisting any urge to portray her subjects’ desires as mere crass materialism.
Initially, Greenfield even considered an opera adaptation for her film, recognizing its inherent pathos and melodrama. It chronicled the emotional peaks and valleys of a material ambition rooted in a specific youthful yearning. Jackie Siegel, hailing from a modest upstate New York town as the daughter of a night-shift worker, came of age during the Reagan era. It was a time when a significant portion of the country pursued immense wealth, while many others remained in their initial circumstances.
Over time, Greenfield immersed herself in new projects, including the recent five-part Hulu documentary “Social Studies.” This series explored how TikTok and similar platforms exerted an algorithmic influence over high school students emerging from the pandemic. It was during the Covid era that she received a call from Bill Damaschke, producer of Broadway’s “Moulin Rouge,” expressing interest in adapting “The Queen of Versailles” into a musical—an idea her husband, Frank Evers, had also previously considered.
Initially, the notion of transforming such a weighty film into a lighthearted musical seemed challenging. Greenfield acknowledged, “The allegory, the morality tale, the combination of comedy and tragedy, the architectural expression of success and failure — it had all the elements.” Her primary concern was ensuring any adaptation retained the powerful social critique embedded in her original documentary.
However, a shift in the Siegels’ circumstances posed a risk to that goal. While American musicals often celebrate resilient strivers—from aspiring performers in “Singin’ in the Rain” to revolutionaries in “Hamilton”—“The Queen of Versailles” documentary concludes with the Siegels’ grand, almost monarchical dream crumbling under the 2008 financial crisis, leading to foreclosure. Yet, the couple eventually recovered, regaining ownership of their colossal home.
“The fact that they got rich again, that they went back to this Sisyphean project that is still not finished,” Greenfield reflected, “meant we had to come to terms with the fact that they didn’t learn, that we as a culture didn’t learn.” She observed that after the financial crisis subsided, the familiar patterns of extravagant spending and ostentatious display resurfaced, further magnified by social media and a political elite openly embracing showiness.
Greenfield and her husband are co-producers of the musical, with her serving as a continuous advisor—a “great lighthouse,” according to director Michael Arden. She is pleased with the production’s resistance to mere mockery. As an artist, Greenfield aims to humanize ambition, showing her audience how a societal craving for more—be it an immense mansion, a luxury car over a practical one, or an elite university over a state school—connects us. This collective longing often manifests as shared pain, feelings of inadequacy when desires are unmet, and a hollow sensation when they are.
In many respects, the musical offers an even sharper critique than the film. It concludes with Jackie, alone in her colossal home, gazing into a ring light and posting on social media. Greenfield describes the “Versailles house” as a form of “world building,” akin to many secluded, opulent gated communities. With 11 kitchens, a bowling alley, and six pools, the Siegel residence means “You never have to leave.” Yet, the flip side is profound isolation, a theme the musical’s ending poignantly emphasizes. Greenfield believes this isolation is what Jackie herself is contemplating today.
In contrast to the lavishness of her subjects, Greenfield’s personal style is strikingly understated. She carried a canvas tote, reminiscent of a farmer’s market bag, though it bore a Louis Vuitton logo. This bag seemed to serve both as a practical item and a subtle commentary. She recalled her children, when younger, asking why she didn’t carry designer bags like other mothers.
“I’ve always had the desire,” she admitted, reflecting on her relationship with wealth and its trappings, “and a check on the desire.” For three decades, her artistic endeavors have primarily focused on examining the lives of those who succumb to, or endlessly pursue, such desires.
Greenfield identified with Jackie Siegel from the outset, despite their vastly different backgrounds. Greenfield grew up on Los Angeles’s West Side, the child of two Harvard-educated academics. Her father’s journey from a working-class Cincinnati upbringing to a distinguished career in medicine and public health profoundly shaped her perspective. Her education at Crossroads, a progressive private school in Santa Monica, also influenced her. She recounted an incident where, at a school event, her father was asked his profession. When he replied he was a professor, another parent quipped, “Oh. Then you must not make very much money.”
Greenfield also sent her two sons, now 25 and 19, to Crossroads. Years ago, her elder son, Gabriel, shared a video from a bar mitzvah. It showed a “fun-house blower” showering cash, which children eagerly scrambled to collect, keeping whatever they managed to grab.
In 2018, Greenfield released another impactful documentary, “Generation Wealth.” This film, accompanied by a substantial 500-page monograph, examined ostentation across diverse demographics, from child beauty pageants and oligarchs to rappers, hedge-fund managers, and everyday teenagers.
What concerns her deeply is the prevalent ambition among teenagers, both then and increasingly now, to acquire rather than become. “Kids want to be rich and famous,” she stated, “and that is not a job.” In “Generation Wealth,” one poignant image shows a boy named Emanuel in his humble bedroom, surrounded by open Cartier boxes. Identified as a student at Harvard-Westlake, a prestigious L.A. private school, he constantly pressures his parents to buy unaffordable items.
“It’s easy to lie about money,” he confided, “as long as you don’t invite people to your house.”
Since the 1950s, the average American home size has more than doubled, despite shrinking family sizes. However, a 2024 study by the National Association of Homebuilders reveals that only 6 percent of buyers desire homes larger than 4,000 square feet. This contrasts sharply with the perception one might gain from living in affluent areas like Bel-Air or Greenwich, or certain neighborhoods in Houston or Atlanta, or by primarily consuming domestic content via Instagram.
“Buying a house, owning a home used to be connected to community and good deeds, to stability—to giving your children a better future, to making the country a better place,” Greenfield explained. “But the values it was expressing have gone away. The external manifestation of what you want to show off is all that matters now.”
Size, she contends, often reigns supreme. Kristin Chenoweth, portraying Jackie in the musical, sings, “The house we’re in now/Although it’s sweet,” before revealing, “it’s only like 26,000 square feet.” The new Siegel house, in stark contrast, spans a massive 90,000 square feet.
When Greenfield’s documentary debuted 13 years ago, it was difficult to imagine a comparable scale—to use real estate jargon. What did 90,000 square feet truly signify? Was it akin to an airline hangar? Today, however, an immediate comparison exists. As Greenfield noted towards the end of our conversation, referencing the White House, 90,000 square feet “is exactly the size of Trump’s new ballroom.”