Britain, America, and The Perils of Saundin’ Common
A short comparison of the British and American ‘elite’
Introduction
If you have ever tiptoed into the cavernous halls of a private art exhibition, class will have smacked into you like an investment banker running for the Circle line. Or, to make that relatable for our beloved Yankee Doodling friends, like a trust fund baby shoving past you in the security line for Miami.
A few years ago, before the end times, I was at the annual TEFAF exhibition, one of the more amusingly absurd relics of the European class system. TEFAF, or, The European Fine Art Foundation, is as bad as that sounds. (It’s also great fun, I highly recommend it. You can muse over whether to spend $800,000 on a giant golden cabbage, or a fake hedge that looks like a dinosaur. The winner is the one who keeps a straight face.) Everyone wears immaculate navy suits, unironic cravats and massive earrings that look like they fell out of a Guylian giftbox. A man stopped me to check my ticket. Well, I was wearing H&M.
“What’s your name?”
“Madelaine Lucy Hanson.”
His face relaxes. “One of the Buckinghamshire Hansons?”
“Yes,” I lied, pushing through.
Reader, I’ve never been to Buckinghamshire in my life.
Being A Classy Brit: Or, Why Britain Sucks
There’s two very easy ways to be elite in Britain. One is to be born to two members of the minor aristocracy who a) share the same tastes in the early works of Agnes Martin, and b) enjoy redeveloping townhouses in Hampstead. The other one is to fake it like hell.
Contrary to the illusions of Hallmark Movies, there is very little more middle class- or, as you might say, bougie- than the Royal Family, or being the daughter of a Duke or Duchess. The ‘celebrity’ aristocracy are viewed as the caged animals of the class circus, the unfortunate if necessary distraction to throw glitter in the eyes of the plebs. Most aristos, and those of the acceptable academic class, sneer more at the royal family than they do at anyone else in the whole pyramid. Bizarrely, it isn’t the end of the world if you have a Scottish or Welsh accent*, or if your parents were embarrassingly only lawyers. The whole delicate balance of being ‘elite’ in Britain isn’t about showing off as much as you can in your new car: it is about knowing the secret signals and knowledge of class that other people don’t see.
It’s holidaying in the Riviera because that is what is done, not what you’d ever choose if you could overcome the shame of being spotted in the Bahamas drinking an alarmingly pink cocktail. It’s going to five-hour contemporary cello concerts because it is what you do, not what you’d secretly prefer given the option to watch Bridget Jones 2 in your knickers instead. And it’s shamelessly dressing like you got locked in a Harrods’ storeroom in 1998, even when wearing a canary yellow cravat and gold buttons makes the local hoodlums bellow with laughter.
In short, it’s a very, very clever way of catching out infiltrators who can afford a $10,000 tiara and really, really want to marry into a family that didn’t make their money in -gasp- mid-range rental properties. Unforgivable, right?
*You can’t, however, be; Cockney, Estuary, Geordie, Liverpudlian, Northern Irish or from Norfolk. I can’t explain it either. They’ll just instinctively think you’re peasants.
Being A Classy American: Or, Why Britain Sucks More
One of my favourite things about visiting America- real America- not embittered New Yorkers who have seen the Disneyland Brit spiel too many times to treat you like a princess- is that they largely think you’re impressive for having an accent that *might* land you a bit part on The Crown. I think this, in part, sums up why the US class system is a hot mess.
Americans don’t really have a ‘class’ accent anymore. It used to be mid-atlantic, but if anyone came into Waldorf Hotel today saying ‘I say old sport, how about a suite for yaw old pal Jones’ you’d probably get given a eye roll and your marching orders.
You can be southern, northern, even a valley girl, and apart from maybe Brooklyn, anything goes. You can be asian, black, white, or hispanic. You can be the owner of a 300 year old fortune or a new-money nobody from the wrong end of Cleveland. But don’t for one minute thing class doesn’t exist because you’re allowed in despite being from Alabama.
To be elite in America, you have to have the money to keep up. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you work, you are *never* one of them if you can’t afford the lifestyle: to many in that set, you’ll always be a parasite. This isn’t because they are bad, judgemental people. Some of the most generous, kind and open hearted people you’ll ever meet are going to be from the American elite, and I say that entirely honestly. But if you can’t afford to get that private jet to the Seychelles for a weekend, the next flight to Aspens, or an impromptu joke gucci outfit, you’re not really one of them. You don’t really fit in. And they don’t want to feel embarrassed by having to pay for you or navigating that indignant mess of a conversation (who would).
American elitism- at it’s heart- is a lot less nasty than British elitism. It’s problematic, sure, but the ‘rules’ aren’t there to bully people or keep people out. They don’t base so much of your worth on where you came from, or what your family did. It’s there, sure, but it’s far less of a conversation. It’s possible that any American who happened to develop a sizeable capital stream could mingle with the elite, make friends and be invited to parties. The same is absolutely NOT true in the UK.
So yes: problematic and I could write a whole series of essays on the other 99% of the class systems that are below the elite. Maybe I will. But ultimately, I can see why so many successful Brits leave these shores for somewhere that just might welcome them with open arms.
