Why we can’t get enough of a good dynasty drama

As any enthusiast of spotting the prevailing mood of the times is aware, the quickest way to turn a minor cultural phenomenon into a full-fledged style trend is by appending the term "core" to its end. The latest contender to be branded with that attention-grabbing suffix is dynastycore – television's current preoccupation with notable families that span multiple generations.

Currently being filmed at various exotic locations.

What constitutes a dynasty? According to the dictionary, it's a succession of individuals from the same family who occupy a position of importance in a particular field, such as business, politics, or something else.

They're a bit too new-money and upmarket to cut it. The New Jersey suburbs lack the lavish history required for a proper dynastic saga. So middle-level mafia don't make the grade.

Dynastycore is built on two core features: extravagant materialism - the outfits, the vehicles, the residences - and a high social standing, where these people are deemed important simply by virtue of their birth. It may be an outdated concept in our supposed meritocracy era, but it appears we still have a strong attachment to it.

magazine, "you don't necessarily have to be part of a well-known or powerful family to relate to the drama, as family conflicts are universal and affect everyone."

This is the epic tale of an American oil family that Clive James described as "a Disneyland game reserve whose leading characters are human holograms." However, the paradox at the heart of this family saga is that, although wealth has set their lives free, it has also hindered them – since they know that nothing they do will ever be as groundbreaking as what their ancestors achieved.

It doesn't begin that way, of course. At the start, there is generally a driven entrepreneur with an insatiable appetite for wealth, influence, and prestige, and a desire to create a family legacy that future streaming services will turn into epic, multi-part dramas.

Even the royal family, at some point, can trace its heritage back to a power-hungry warlord who defeated a rival or gave their daughter in marriage to gain control of the throne. As Émile Zola said: "A new dynasty is never founded without a struggle. Blood is indeed a good fertiliser."

That dynasty began almost a century ago with Keith Murdoch, the Melbourne-based journalist who founded the media business that his son, Rupert, would build into a multibillion-dollar global empire.

This piece tracks the woes of the multibillionaire's 12 (and counting) offspring.

The Irish clan that formed part of the Protestant Ascendancy and profited significantly in the fields of brewing, banking, and politics.

Creator Steven Knight, starring on our screens next year. As befits the drink that put the family's name in the spotlight, it is the story of hard graft with underlying severity and a noticeable head of foam.

The dynasty was founded by Arthur Guinness, the son of a farmer, who set up the brewery back in 1759. It was his son, Benjamin, who secured its position, becoming Ireland's wealthiest individual.

The British fascist leader, an admirer of Adolf Hitler.

Dynastycore is cluttered with paragraphs like the last one, packed with famous names, drama, and unexpected links, because the families spread out like Japanese knotweed, establishing a hold on everyone they contact.

Mitford's son with Guinness, Jonathan, became the 3rd Baron Mitford, a vehement right-winger and chairman of the Monday Club, who, in the 1980s wrote a memoir in the voice of his mistress Susan "Shoe" Taylor, a wandering hippy and occasional acrobat from Oldham who was a failed tea girl at Apple, the Beatles' music company.

She married Spyros Niarchos, heir to a Greek shipping empire's fortune. She is famous for wearing outrageous clothes and as a muse for Karl Lagerfeld, as well as for being the partner of French philosopher Bernard-Henri Lévy. There's definitely enough material for a series about her.

There are also the untimely tragedies, alongside family crests, that characterise leading dynasties. The first was Baron Moyne, who was tragically shot by a Zionist paramilitary group in Cairo in 1944. About two decades later, Lady Brigid Guinness's husband, Prince Frederick of Prussia, drowned in the Rhine, whilst Oonagh Guinness's 21-year-old son, Tara Browne, was tragically killed in a crash in a Lotus in London while said to be on LSD. It is said that the Beatles' song A Day In a Life, which includes "He blew his mind out in a car", was inspired by Browne's death.

But why does any of this matter in an intellectual sense? Unless you work for Debrett’s, none of this is of great importance, whether you know the details of Lady Honour Guinness's granddaughter's death in Christ Church, Oxford, or the fact that there's a painting of the model Jasmine Guinness in the National Portrait Gallery.

As Jenkins points out, "Gossip columns pay little attention to aristocrats today. People are more interested in the bad behaviour of film stars."

The extravagant stories and gruesome events that have happened to this illustrious family over the years seem to only reinforce their legendary status. It's as if this distinguished family operates without being hindered by failures or personal struggles. While the sensationalised scandals often grab the headlines, there's usually a steady hand pulling the strings, even in the midst of chaos.

“Great wealth and great titles can on their own foster a sense of great eccentricity and no regard for boundaries,” says Jenkins. “But these families don’t persist unless some exceptionally level-headed individuals are in charge.”

And they do indeed continue. The UK is a tremendous heritage attraction of dynastic families with their monumental stately homes and expansively large estates. Arguably the most impressive achievement of the aristocracy is that it has somehow managed to earn more respect than hostility.

Perhaps ultimately, that's why dynastycore is well-suited to our Silicon Valley-led era. It's yet another invitation to be charmed, flaws and all, by the infeasibly super-rich.