Good question, in the historiography of the French Revolution there is a long-running debate over just how much weight should be given to the Jacobin/Marxist social interpretation of a "revolutionary bourgeoisie" overthrowing the reactionary aristocratic orders, which I wont get into here - but, an important thread of this concerns the existence, or not, of what might be termed a middle-class in the late stages of the old regime. An argument in favour of the middle-class is the occurrence during the 18th in France of what is regularly described as a "consumer revolution", and the social anxieties it inspired in the literary discourse of the day.

Once clothing was made through machine processes, decreasing costs, were the less wealth sects of society able to dress in a more "sophisticated" manner?

Yes, and not just clothing - but a vast array of consumer goods and gadgetry changed the lives and lifestyles of many 18th century French(wo)men. Along with a vast array of household/personal items came a new type of consumer good - dubbed Populuxe by Cissie Fairchilds, these things could be considered cheapo knock-offs of items once exclusively owned by the very wealthy.

Sarah Maza:

In Paris the interior of even modest dwellings began to change in the early decades of the century. Apartments were larger, and because smaller and more numerous fireplaces were built into them families occupied different rooms instead of crowding around one enormous hearth in the common salle. Brightly colored or patterned wallpapers and fabrics began to replace heavy drab tapestries on the walls. Mirrors, clocks, paintings, and statuettes, once a mark of significant wealth, became widespread, as did a range of utilitarian objects such as umbrellas, fans, snuffboxes, watches, and books. More and more families ate from matching sets of decorated earthenware instead of tin or pewter plates. The most conspicuous changes occurred in the volatile and symbolically charged area of clothing. The value of wardrobes in the Parisian working population multiplied over the course of the century: for women of the upper working classes it increased sixfold, for domestics fourfold, for professionals and their wives three- or fourfold. As with furnishings, garments became more varied and cheerful: cotton and silk supplemented wool and broadcloth; bright colors and pastels gained ground; stripes, checks, and patterns proliferated. Everyone above the poorest level of society owned more clothes, women especially (it was in the eighteenth century that fashion became decisively associated with femininity). The function of clothing evolved over the course of the century: where garments had once primarily marked a person’s status, they became increasingly (for women especially) a sign of taste and fashion. All of these changes provoked criticism of lower-class sartorial hubris and complaints that it was becoming difficult to tell a person’s rank from her or his clothing.

Corresponding to this consumer revolution is an increase of discussion of luxury in literary discourse of the time - attitudes toward le luxe varied, and tended to become more negative as the Revolution neared - from the favourable (Voltaire's Le mondain), to the decidedly negative, like:

Lettres critiques sur le luxe published in 1771 by a man named Francois Beliard, who singles out the bourgeoisie for rebuke. The bourgeois, writes the author, are now as given to “magnificence” as great lords; worse still are their “impertinent” wives, who insist on having their own carriages and lackeys, smear their faces with powder and rouge, and talk down to everyone. Merchants, he continues, have gotten swollen heads from writings in praise of their occupation and now consider themselves society’s most useful members, when in fact they traffic in useless frivolities that create artificial needs

Sarah Maza again (because why would you listen to my waffle when much better words are available):

Jeremiads against luxury in the second half of the eighteenth century were so numerous and formulaic that their themes are well known to most students of the period. Le luxe was described as an active agent of destruction, cascading down the social scale from the princes and grandees to the lowest orders. Its concrete manifestations were seen as social anarchy and usurpation—the lower and middling orders were adopting the manners, trappings, and especially the clothing of the elites, thereby perilously confusing the social landscape. Such tirades always called up the same characterization of luxury as mollesse—flaccidity, enervation, impotence. Le luxe caused sterility in different ways, either directly, by tempting urban dwellers into hedonistic singlehood (contraceptive practices were hinted at), or indirectly, by drawing country folk into towns where unmarried lackeys crowded the antechambers of the rich while the good earth they had left lay untended. Luxury thus caused or threatened depopulation, food scarcity, social confusion, physical impotence, and moral rot.

An interesting case study in the effect of a consumer culture blurring the lines of traditional social distinctions is the wig, regarding which Michael Kwass wrote a terrific essay:

It is common to regard the wig of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries as an aristocratic ornament of Old Regime Europe, an exclusive marker of high birth and status worn by the privileged few. Indeed, the wig enjoyed the most noble of pedigrees, its origins stretching back to the seventeenth‐century French courts of Louis XIII and Louis XIV, where fashion had become part of an aristocratic world of power and display. By the end of the Sun King's reign, wigs had spread well beyond France, crowning kings at royal courts across Europe and becoming an essential feature of European noble costume. And yet, despite this illustrious lineage, the wigs of eighteenth‐century Western Europe seem to have tumbled down the social hierarchy, so far down that writers now observed them sitting atop the commonest of heads. For the marquis de Mirabeau, a French gentleman‐physiocrat who decried the spread of luxury, the social diffusion of the wig was a most disturbing phenomenon. “Everyone [in Paris] has become a Monsieur,” he lamented in his mid‐century best‐seller L'Ami des hommes. “On Sunday, a man came up to me wearing black silk clothes and a well‐powdered wig, and as I fell over myself offering him compliments, he introduced himself as the oldest son of my blacksmith or saddler; will such a seigneur deign to dance in the streets?” Equally struck by the presence of wigs among the lowborn, Louis‐Sébastien Mercier, a shrewd observer of Parisian daily life, listed the many types of ordinary men who had taken to wearing wigs: schoolmasters in the environs of Paris, old choirmasters, public scribes, law court ushers, shop boys, legal and notarial clerks, domestic servants, cooks, and kitchen boys.

As the wig became more socially ubiquitous, Kwass argues that wigmakers and "fashion leaders" (critics, commentators etc) shifted the marketing emphasis away from status, to values more consistent with Enlightenment consumerism - boasting of their wig's "natural" appearance, or how it can be tailored to compliment the individual wearer's face, as well as promoting different types of wigs for different activities (so one would perhaps have ornamental wigs for hob-nobbing with grandes, and more practical wigs for "sporting" or informal situations). There is also focus on one's fashion becoming something of a personal expression, Kwass:

There is no doubt that among the stars of the Enlightenment, hairstyle as well as dress became a medium for the expression of self. Rousseau, as we know, stepped down to a round wig to reflect his social independence; Jean‐Baptiste Greuze sported idiosyncratic side curls (pigeon wings with spirals) to signal his creative genius; Benjamin Franklin, upon arriving in France in 1776, abandoned ornamental dress and wig in favor of plain clothes and a cap of marten fur; Diderot preferred to be portrayed without a wig; and Marie‐Antoinette caused a stir when she allowed herself to be painted as an individual woman without any signs of royal station.

Maybe that helps, maybe not - the articles mentioned can be found via JSTOR.

Sarah Maza, 'Luxury, Morality, and Social Change: Why There Was no Middle-Class Consciousness in Prerevolutionary France', Journal of Modern History 70 (1998).

Michael Kwass, 'Big Hair: A Wig History of Consumption in Eighteenth‐Century France', The American Historical Review 111 (2006).

I could point you at some more topical papers if there's interest.