After yet another one of my friends was stigmatized after totally rocking that Mulberry sample sale last week, I knew I had to stand up, (in my new ‘nude’ Loubatins’), and join in her to fight this alarming trend of ‘everyone not liking rich people’.
Its not my fault that Daddy is a plastic surgeon and gave in to my every whim to compensate for his glaring lack of involvement in my childhood. I mean, he can spend his money however he wants, and by spending it on me, it’s actually very charitable. It helps two people feel better – him and me. And if he insists that I buy Balenciaga not Banana, who am I to fight him? Why make two people unhappy? Plus I hear Banana is a Republic and I’m not sure if he’d be happy if I supported extremist groups. He was really peeved when I went to a Tea Party meeting (I was totally excited for some petite fours and the latest Hamptons’s gossip). How was I to know it would be filled with frightful shouty people?
(And I didn’t see a cucumber sandwich anywhere. People really need to learn a little more about appropriate catering.)
And its not like I’m that rich. My friend Bethany had a chauffeur growing up and my first car wasn’t even German (I went with a Volvo just like Edward (squee!)). I don’t know why I should pretend to be poor by driving one of those Japanese cars or flying economy. I mean poor people are always complaining that planes are too cramped. I’m actually being helpful by flying first class or jumping on Daddy’s jet. More room for everybody. I know, I’m totally a philanthropist. Giving makes me feel so good. Maybe those people who sneer at me when I’m loading up my Dean and Deluca bags into the Volvo should do some giving.. it might cheer them up some. They do always seem very frowny.
But just because I’m rich doesn’t mean that I can’t relate to poor people. I went into Nine West once (Kanye’s designs weren’t quite up my street) and my horse Crispin was totally second hand (we practically stole him from the Seinfelds). The place that Daddy helped me buy after college doesn’t even have a pool. And it wasn’t like he gave me the house.. I paid for the furnishings with money from Grandmother. I know what it feels like to have to make tough decisions – I totally could have summered in the Maldives if I hadn’t had to buy curtains for the living room.
People like to say that rich people live in a bubble and surround themselves only with other rich people, but that’s totally not true. My friend Cristal, her father is in oil, which is terribly working class and Jacqueline’s mother is practically a seamstress at Chanel. I used to talk to the maid all the time when I was growing up (she was super helpful at finding things), and Naomi over at Bergdorfs is pretty much a besty (we’ve known each other since Trinity) – especially now that her Dad made her an SVP. The working class people I know are lovely. I totally understand that their life is a little different than mine – but hey, we can all agree on Sunday brunch and bloodys at Calliope, right?
I think it would be wrong for me to pretend to be poor just to make other people feel more comfortable. Why should I pretend to be someone beneath me in order to escape the bitterness of people who made poor choices? I mean luck can change, and maybe if those people who think my lifestyle is a ‘slap in the face’ made better decisions, they’d be able to join me at the next Mulberry sale.
I mean, the bags are just a steal. What else could you buy with 3K?