Young, spoilt, anti-Sánchez. Who are the Cayetanos?

Posh, posers, paninari. The return of the privileged youth, this time as a potential political force. There is a story that made headlines in October 2025 in Spain. At Las Ventas, the world’s most prestigious bullring, the famous bullfighter Morante de la Puebla (who, a few months later, would die from a goring) removed his montera, the traditional headdress, turned towards the front row and dedicated the bull, which was on the verge of collapsing, to Santiago Abascal, the leader of the right-wing nationalist party Vox. Morante then performs a textbook ‘faena’ – the final act of bullfighting that precedes the killing of the bull. Then, in Madrid’s bullring, something happens that hasn’t been seen for some time: hundreds of young people scale the barrier and storm the arena. Not a crowd of enthusiasts united by a passion for bullfighting, but rather a multitude of young people dressed in the same way – shirts unbuttoned at the chest, sleeveless quilted jackets and loafers – who look as though they’ve been plucked straight from an exclusive Catholic boarding school in the capital, members of a distinct urban youth community. They are the Cayetanos – wealthy, conservative and patriotic young people – also known by the more generic term ‘pijos’, meaning the spoilt. Today, this group has evolved into a subculture that proudly champions its traditional roots, in opposition to the government’s progressive policies of recent years, and has adopted the name derived from Cayetano (Cayetana in the feminine form) – the Spanish equivalents of Gaetano and Gaetana – which in Spain are perceived as typical of Madrid’s high society and aristocracy. Recently, the New York Times devoted a lengthy feature to the Cayetanos, investigating who Spain’s ‘preppy conservatives’ are – a group that has come to the fore in a social landscape in turmoil, after Pedro Sánchez, having been defeated in Parliament over housing decrees on 5 October, dissolved the Cortes and called a general election for 29 November, whilst polls show the People’s Party and Vox polling at over half of the vote, and among the under-25s, Abascal’s party is in first place. What, then, do these Cayetanos embody? Fashion, a tribe, a class, an electorate? Perhaps all four things together.

Social media has played a key role in transforming the ‘Cayetano’ aesthetic from an elite phenomenon into a genuine, aspirational mass trend amongst the very young. For some time now, the Spanish right has shed the grey, elderly image, linked to the Francoist past, that the left had pinned on it. Today on TikTok, being a Cayetano means being elegant and proud of one’s identity as well as, paradoxically, a ‘rebel’ against the dominant progressive culture. On social media, the Cayetano aesthetic has undergone a rebranding, stripped of its most reactionary aspects and marketed as a clean, luxurious lifestyle, closely aligned with the ‘Old Money’ trend. Under the hashtags #cayetano or #pijo, thousands of teenagers share videos showcasing their weekend looks, while young influencers explain how to replicate them: specific brands (Scalpers, El Ganso, Silbon), light make-up and sleek, straight hair for the girls. The normalisation of luxury is on display: showing off holidays in Marbella or Sanxenxo, days spent at golf clubs, or nights out at exclusive Madrid nightclubs such as the Teatro Barceló is no longer an arrogant display of wealth, but aesthetic content to be emulated. And music, in particular, has been a key vehicle for creating a sense of community. The Cayetanos have a defining genre, known as ‘Indie-Pijo’ or ‘Pop-Cayetano’. Favourite bands include Taburete (whose lead singer, Willy Bárcenas, is the son of the former treasurer of the People’s Party, convicted of corruption), Carolina Durante, Dvicio, and singer-songwriters such as Íñigo Quintero and Marlon. It is catchy pop-rock, with lyrics about love, parties, friendship and summer evenings. The lyrics are not politically engaged, but they evoke an atmosphere of exclusivity and a sense of carefree living accessible only to a particular social class. Politics takes a back seat to aesthetics, but ultimately becomes the end goal: adopting that look means embracing that system of traditional values.

The ‘Cayetano model’ has also spread to the middle class. Many young people who have grown up in economic insecurity and with the realisation that they will be worse off than their parents have channelled their frustration into nationalist rhetoric, opposition to illegal immigration and economic neoliberalism, viewing the state and taxation as obstacles to their future. Young conservatives accuse the left of focusing on symbolic debates such as inclusive language or rights linked to gender identity, which they perceive as priorities of a wealthy, progressive class that is out of touch with real-world problems. Thus, a return to tradition has become a form of provocation and freedom of expression, in opposition to political correctness. To understand where all this comes from, it is worth opening a candy-pink book featuring a polo player on horseback on the cover, reminiscent of the Ralph Lauren logo: it is Quiero y no Puedo – Una historia de los pijos de España by Raquel Peláez, deputy editor of S Moda, the magazine of El País, published in autumn 2024 and a fixture on the non-fiction bestseller lists ever since. Peláez sensed the decline of the hipster model and the emergence of the ‘pijo’ with a neoliberal spirit, and has structured her essay as a genealogy of the phenomenon, delving deep into Iberian history. In the beginning there was Alfonso XIII, King of Spain at the dawn of the 20th century, with his English suits, his passion for speed and his Andalusian bon vivant style – an Anglo-Sevillian ideal immediately emulated by the southern landowners, the señoritos in their British-style hunting jackets. Even in the 1980s, Peláez recounts, the pijos were apolitical, the offspring of the pact of mutual silence with which the Transition had laid the right and the left to rest. The ‘cayetano’, on the other hand, is the first ‘pijo’ to proudly claim his identity, feeling part of a tribe rather than simply a wealthy class. At this point, Peláez describes ‘class dysphoria’ – that is, the mechanism by which the salaried middle class has appropriated the symbols of the elite, convincing itself that it is something it is not. Loafers as an anaesthetic, in short. And, speaking of wardrobes and outward appearances, for the Cayetanos that is precisely the main distinguishing feature: expensive shirts, luxuriant hair slicked back, a gold medallion on the chest. Then there are Barbour jackets, white ankle-length trousers, and red-and-yellow bracelets on the wrists – mirroring the colours of the Spanish flag, red and bright yellow – not merely an aesthetic quirk, but a sign of identity and national pride. It is no coincidence that the Cayetanos’ meeting place is around Castellanos, the shoe shop in the exclusive Salamanca district that gave its name to the signature moccasin, available in both tasselled and penny versions. The streets of that neighbourhood are the Cayetanos’ home. In the spring of 2020, in the midst of lockdown, their bizarre demonstrations against government restrictions set off from Calle Núñez de Balboa, featuring ancient banners, luxury cars and frying pans banged to make noise: the press spoke of the ‘Cayetanos’ revolt’, and the tribe took on the status of a political entity for the first time. Since then, the phenomenon has spread beyond the confines of Madrid’s and Andalusia’s upper middle class, and bullfights have taken centre stage: whilst the Sánchez government tried every means to ban them, the bullrings have become the Cayetanos’ favourite haunt. These days, the stands at Las Ventas are packed with young people, and the bullring management keeps the terrace bars open for hours after the last bull has been killed, for a nightlife scene where people are picking up partners left, right and centre.

In Spain in 1926, following a decade of left-wing government, the Cayetanos took up the mantle of the counter-culture generation. One of the singers from Avenida, a Cayetano band renamed ‘Vox Street Boys’, went so far as to say in an interview that their audience wants change, and if that change means going back to how things were before, then so be it. For them, the height of coolness is now attending Mass and then going to the bar. What is old is cool, even in politics. This phenomenon is not far removed from the upheaval that, in the United States, made the Trumpian right appear rebellious in the eyes of a section of Gen Z, topped off with a healthy dose of Madrid-style people-pleasing and a feminine twist featuring expensive floral dresses. All this despite the fact that the Cayetanos angrily reject accusations of racism, sexism or homophobia and describe themselves as champions of civil liberties, whilst remaining convinced that feminism, multiculturalism and ‘woke’ ideology could pose a threat to Spanish identity. And they like to say this with a smile, whilst sipping a cocktail. Is this the sort of thing that deserves a slap? It is certainly a mistake to reduce them to a mere social phenomenon, and the Spanish left have realised this, so much so that they portray the Cayetanos as Francoist wolves in Ralph Lauren suits, warning adult society against this nostalgic backlash – especially given that a survey among young Spaniards reveals a growing tolerance towards Franco and defines ‘values that matter’ as religion, friendship within one’s own social group, the roots of tradition and, above all, a relationship with the world of work and the economy characterised by individualism and the cult of money, in which the state is the enemy and politicians are a caste of parasites. More Milei than Franco, one might say. This outlook coincides perfectly with the worldview that Isabel Díaz Ayuso – dubbed ‘the pop diva of the Spanish right’ or ‘Lady Madrid’, a cult figure within the People’s Party and president of the Community of Madrid – is turning into government policy: low taxes, Madrid as a domestic tax haven, and freedom understood as the pleasure of drinking a beer with friends in a luxury bar. So, ‘church and bullfighting’ on the surface, and the market just beneath. Uttering Sánchez’s name with disgust. And so the Cayetana tribe becomes a political force.

Meanwhile, the upcoming elections on 29 November stem from a practical issue: housing. On 2 October, Congress rejected the decrees through which the government sought to curb evictions and restrict property purchases by investment funds, but the People’s Party, Vox and the Catalan separatists of Junts voted against them. In the background are weeks of protests against high rents and the story of Maricarmen’s eviction – the 87-year-old woman from Madrid who became a national symbol and has since passed away. Now the paradox is that a generation which, for the most part, cannot afford to pay rent is turning to parties that glorify the greed of the property market. But the Cayetanos do not face this issue—they are the children of those who own the houses—and they serve as role models and aesthetic trendsetters. Even if the clan is not entirely united: some remain loyal to the People’s Party out of family tradition, admire Ayuso, and move in the right circles. Another wave appears at Vox rallies, where Abascal himself now preaches greater caution and less extremism. One need only cross the Pyrenees to realise how much this phenomenon is Spanish in form but European in substance. With six months to go until the French presidential election, the young right is embodied by Jordan Bardella, who grew up in the banlieue with a single mother, is leading in the polls and is tipped to win the run-off. Le Pen’s young supporters, however, do not wear loafers; they are from the suburbs, provincial and in precarious circumstances: they demand wages and security, and their enemy is Brussels rather than the state. The French equivalent of the ‘Cayetano’ type is to be found in the Catholic secondary schools of Versailles, and in France it remains a niche phenomenon. In Spain, by contrast, it has become a tangible counter-reformist trend which, with a jumper slung over its shoulders, is travelling along one of the two crowded paths leading to the right: one plebeian and protectionist, the other patrician, centralist and liberal.