Snobbery

Strange to think that here in the modern world, as they say, with everyone having been declared equal, both at birth and before the law, alike in dignity no matter what the circumstance, equivalent in standing, commensurate in outlook, celebrated as participants and full-fledged also-rans, careful observers may discern a low-flying series of petty snobberies and vendettas, i.e. randomly arrived-at pretexts for feelings of intense superiority and preeminence, such that they are now driven by a subterranean set of ambitions, to escape the anonymity of statistics,  secretly, even desperately pining for avenues by which to stand out from the crowd, for a more benign form of social hierarchy - an official weekly mapping out, no less, of "winners" and "losers," complete with updated rankings and bell curves. Alongside the wellsprings of good-will and compassion, side by side as it were with sentiments of sharing and cooperation,  those old, unruly, unsavory, primordial demands make their appearance, demands for naked attention and garish recognition, for  awards, titles, prizes, entitlements, perks, special privileges - under the facade of humbly interacting with one's fellow citizens as fellow citizens.  Notwithstanding these forbidden thoughts, it was unavoidable that along with such desires, there should be fears as well - fears of "falling behind," of "not measuring up," of being found out as "deficient" in some crucial regard. As if to guard against gnawing insecurities, or to insulate themselves against any snide-yet-subtle comments from various self-appointed elites, people continue to do as they have always done in setting up little bubbles and enclaves for themselves to thrive in - by arranging it so that their best features, their interests, tastes, avocations,  possessions, acquisitions, shopping patterns, etc. would be highlighted to optimum advantage making it so that "those who are not like us and of us and with us...of our type and our ilk"  shall be, will be (how does the saying go?) - oh, let them be anathema. Chloe (who had grown up in this milieu and was a fine observer of human foibles) saw it as "one big game" (as she explained to her friend Fiona) in which the participants must continually vie for leverage and/or supremacy in myriads of little ways without (and this is crucial...) coming across as snooty or pretentious. Drama and intrigue carries over from high school - wouldn't you say, doll? Fiona would remark with her sardonic wit. It's sad to watch people get burned in middle age, sometimes just a repeat of what happened to them as teens. Needless. So needless... But tell me something that I don't already know... Chloe would reply in a voice of contempt that evoked her investment in this topic and perhaps her fear. It was still a dog-eat-dog world out in the suburbs, but the rhetoric of egalitarianism left no room to acknowledge the bestial cravings of the would-be victors in pursuit of their spoils. And so it happened on a bright summer morning in late June that a certain gathering took place - call it a "casual brunch" or a "sumptuous pot luck" among the established up-and-coming families in town, neighbors and friends of a select group mingling cheerfully and comfortably, while sipping libations and sampling home recipes. Nothing unique here: the usual spread, new furniture to announce, a debate about paint colors for dining rooms, someone's deck project or gardening plans, the loud banter interspersed with laughter or playful gibes, the preeminent ladies of the group proudly yet tacitly displaying some new item of clothing or jewelry, the men transfixed on sporting events, golf tournaments, betting strategies, hockey, basketball, the upcoming playoffs. It was all very safe and familiar until an unusual couple strode in and immediately turned all heads their way....because...well...for starters something about how they were so damnably well-dressed and polished and coiffed without even trying, not that they were dressed up at all really, but just well-put-together which could not help but place into stark contrast the nondescript attire of the other guests. Husband and wife, these sudden debutantes, with their amazingly well-behaved daughter, seemed bemused by the scene before them - like aliens from another planet - they waltzed in - perfectly poised, comfortable, and were summarily introduced, the husband that is, as someone or other's second cousin (?) or brother-in-law of Danny's uncle down in Florida (?). No matter. It was that look on their confident faces that said it all - that sardonic smile combined with a glance of partial elan and partial wonderment. The woman was literally accosted by two queen bees who pummeled her with compliments. Oh I love your necklace. Would you like a drink? How old is your daughter? Where did you get that? She was immune from everything - it seemed, from their opinions, their gossip, their subtle digs, their middlebrow sensibilities (Don't be shy...Come on in... join the party...We'll introduce you...)  This couple glided through the midst of them, greeting everyone with perfect tact, sampling appetizers, accepting beverages that were handed to them without complaint. The husband spoke effortlessly about the latest sports highlights while his spouse made vague positive comments about the size of the place - its "clean decor"  its "modern kitchen space" its "very nice big yard"- but the effect of all this was maddening. The way this woman looked at these surroundings - unable to hide a certain puzzlement, unable to repress a twitch on the cheek that was not quite a raised eyebrow. It was not a matter of money - oh no - far from it; everyone there was well provided for. Income was not the issue here. Trust funds, stocks, bonds, health care, spending cash - no cause for complaint, no reason to feel upstaged based strictly upon a financial ledger. But there it was - that feeling of inferiority, creeping out, permeating the room, fomenting ripples of mild, unconscious panic, first among the ladies and only secondarily among those men who could only surmise for the moment that the air felt stuffier,  thinner than usual. One comment in particular had the effect of an explosion when this well-put-together arriviste (for lack of a better term) - her name was Eve or Eva for the record... when this "Eva" casually mentioned to the others the name of a favorite clothing designer in response to persistent questions about what she was wearing. She named the designer as if to say, oh don't you know him? But then, adding insult to injury she gravitated to a print on one of the walls and began speaking rhapsodically at first, before catching herself, about an artist she knew who made similar sketches....And what do you do? - they asked as if expecting to hone in on some hidden secret. She "worked" at "such-and-such," she said, offering only a casual disjointed response, "in the arts...with patterns and colors...buildings... homes...rooms...design projects..." And what were they to make of that? Her mention of names and places and books only served to confirm what the women had expected - that she was from some far-away exotic place and had actually touched and tasted the tapas of experience that they had not even begun to have dreams about...