HOW WE SEE THE BEAUTIFUL RICH GIRLS
December 4th 2011 12:19
Thank you to Sash and her partner for these drawings.
Lately, the receptionist and I have been hanging out with a lot of Jude’s wealthy female friends. After some time, we agreed that there are two types of wealthy people: those who’ve worked hard to create their wealth, and those who haven’t.
Here’s what we’ve found about those who haven’t.
They always have wine.
Whenever we’re over at one of their apartments or homes or out at a restaurant, we’re always offered wine. Red wine. White wine. Champagne, if the mood is right. And it all tastes so much better than anything I’ve ever had.
They look the part.
A lot of us try to dress wealthy. But behind our imitation clothing you can still see HARDSHIP written all over. Jude’s friends don’t have hardship written anywhere. Their skin, their mannerisms, their big designer bags, their elegant jewellery – their faces possess a soft, refined, clean look that many can only read about in magazines. It’s this look that seems to intimidate and unjustly attract many men, and it’s this look that has never made the girls afraid to boast such high standards.
They love the rich.
They’re rich, but they understand that there will always be someone with even more money. They worship the successful just as much as we worship the successful. I’ve never had a conversation with Jude’s friends without them admiringly mention someone who is the regional director of a financial institution, or a celebrity who came to their father’s party, or someone who’s doing it well in New York, or someone who’s doing it well in Paris, or someone who’s doing it well in both New York and Paris, or a cute guy who’s friends of a friend who was in the same set as Leonardo DiCaprio during his latest movie shoot, or a cute guy who owns one property in Mount Coot-tha and whose father owns a company that has a presence in America, Europe and potentially Japan (most likely in the second quarter of 2012).
They represent our dreams.
If we lived in a world where money was easily available and we didn’t have to worry about debt or time or going to work, then I suppose Jude’s friends would reflect the type of people we’d be. I’d no longer be Dean the Struggling Writer – I’d be Dean with four BMWs. The receptionist wouldn’t be the receptionist – she’d be Donna or Helen or Pippa who owns three lofts in Teneriffe. We’d drink wine, we’d shop for Jimmy Choos, we’d call our best friends in Paris and New York, we’d know how to pronounce Comme des Garçons (and actually have Comme des Garçons in our wardrobes), we’d walk in slow motion; the banks would love us; we’d go to parties and laugh against golden plates of Hors d'oeuvres and we'd snort with credit cards and we'd sometimes make snide but witty jokes about those who aren’t as perfect as we are and we'd complain about those who don't do the things we do; I’d have thigh implants and teeth whitening done and my haircuts would cost three hundred dollars; the receptionist would have bigger breasts and no forehead wrinkles and permanently removed underarm hair; in the evenings, when I’d comfortably stride through one of my penthouses and look outside one of my large, well-maintained windows, I’d see everyone else in the world, also looking out of their large and well-maintained penthouse windows, and we wouldn’t think about bills or work the next day or worry about someone stealing from us – we’d be thinking about how we wear our chinos and how our women wear pearl necklaces, and although we’d be thoroughly full from our banquets, we’d still have a glass of expensive wine in our hands and we’d be smiling giant smiles, and instead of thinking, Was there pain? Was there some other world? we’d be thinking, We’ve achieved what we’ve always wished for, and although we’d admit that happiness can never be constant no matter what, we’d also realise that we have the power to purchase things that the jealous can’t, and we’d close our eyes and breathe in the smells of our wines, and we’d ignore our distorted reflections bleeding against our windows and live happily ever after.
Lately, the receptionist and I have been hanging out with a lot of Jude’s wealthy female friends. After some time, we agreed that there are two types of wealthy people: those who’ve worked hard to create their wealth, and those who haven’t.
Here’s what we’ve found about those who haven’t.
They always have wine.
Whenever we’re over at one of their apartments or homes or out at a restaurant, we’re always offered wine. Red wine. White wine. Champagne, if the mood is right. And it all tastes so much better than anything I’ve ever had.
They look the part.
A lot of us try to dress wealthy. But behind our imitation clothing you can still see HARDSHIP written all over. Jude’s friends don’t have hardship written anywhere. Their skin, their mannerisms, their big designer bags, their elegant jewellery – their faces possess a soft, refined, clean look that many can only read about in magazines. It’s this look that seems to intimidate and unjustly attract many men, and it’s this look that has never made the girls afraid to boast such high standards.
They love the rich.
They’re rich, but they understand that there will always be someone with even more money. They worship the successful just as much as we worship the successful. I’ve never had a conversation with Jude’s friends without them admiringly mention someone who is the regional director of a financial institution, or a celebrity who came to their father’s party, or someone who’s doing it well in New York, or someone who’s doing it well in Paris, or someone who’s doing it well in both New York and Paris, or a cute guy who’s friends of a friend who was in the same set as Leonardo DiCaprio during his latest movie shoot, or a cute guy who owns one property in Mount Coot-tha and whose father owns a company that has a presence in America, Europe and potentially Japan (most likely in the second quarter of 2012).
They represent our dreams.
If we lived in a world where money was easily available and we didn’t have to worry about debt or time or going to work, then I suppose Jude’s friends would reflect the type of people we’d be. I’d no longer be Dean the Struggling Writer – I’d be Dean with four BMWs. The receptionist wouldn’t be the receptionist – she’d be Donna or Helen or Pippa who owns three lofts in Teneriffe. We’d drink wine, we’d shop for Jimmy Choos, we’d call our best friends in Paris and New York, we’d know how to pronounce Comme des Garçons (and actually have Comme des Garçons in our wardrobes), we’d walk in slow motion; the banks would love us; we’d go to parties and laugh against golden plates of Hors d'oeuvres and we'd snort with credit cards and we'd sometimes make snide but witty jokes about those who aren’t as perfect as we are and we'd complain about those who don't do the things we do; I’d have thigh implants and teeth whitening done and my haircuts would cost three hundred dollars; the receptionist would have bigger breasts and no forehead wrinkles and permanently removed underarm hair; in the evenings, when I’d comfortably stride through one of my penthouses and look outside one of my large, well-maintained windows, I’d see everyone else in the world, also looking out of their large and well-maintained penthouse windows, and we wouldn’t think about bills or work the next day or worry about someone stealing from us – we’d be thinking about how we wear our chinos and how our women wear pearl necklaces, and although we’d be thoroughly full from our banquets, we’d still have a glass of expensive wine in our hands and we’d be smiling giant smiles, and instead of thinking, Was there pain? Was there some other world? we’d be thinking, We’ve achieved what we’ve always wished for, and although we’d admit that happiness can never be constant no matter what, we’d also realise that we have the power to purchase things that the jealous can’t, and we’d close our eyes and breathe in the smells of our wines, and we’d ignore our distorted reflections bleeding against our windows and live happily ever after.
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