I know I know, what the f*ck is even a socialite? And who am I to make a commentary about it?
Well, first thing first, let’s define this term
Oxford English dictionary explains “socialite” as
a person who goes to a lot of fashionable parties and is often written about in the newspapers, etc.
— defining socialites by the attention they receive.
Cambridge dictionary, on the other hand, defines them as:
someone, usually of high social class, who is famous for going to a lot of parties and social events
— focusing on the place they come from — “high social class”
To me, they really are just the combination of both:
Privileged kids who think they are entitled to attention and hence, might die, if the world doesn’t revolve around them.
In essence, 90% of these are “narcissists”
Hear me out, I know I’m in no position to qualify myself as a “socialite” or to give you any perspective as an insider. I was born into a family with 0 generational wealth. My father was the first generation in his family to go to college. My grandparents were farmers.
Most of my achievements could probably be attributed to my own hard work, my parents’ sacrifice and godly luck blessed upon by my ancestors and the deities. We do take care of the altar and pay our respect very regularly indeed.
So, why am I making such a bold claim? To be very honest, I made up that number. My sample size was rather small: N=1 plus some of their acquaintances. I spent my last few years in Hong Kong and Singapore, cities quite vain and extravagant in itself. I got a glimpse into the circle of a socialite.
All these clubhouses, private views, penthouse parties — they were fun and games, until I ran the f*ck away for my life realizing:
- First, how much I was losing myself
- And second, all for the sake of a narcissist’s sense of self-importance
So…how could someone so lucky also be this problematic?
The other day, I was reading another book by my favorite author — Amor Towles’s Rules of Civility. There was a character called Eve whose dad was a wealthy Texan businessman. Eve turned out to be one of the most psychotic characters in the whole plot. This girl, though, was unlucky as hell: abuse, accidents, abortion and divorce — she went through them all.
This might be fictional, but I see it resembling reality.
1. These people, somehow, are always in pain
for the world they come from severely lacks morality and sympathy. I love how this guy from Tumblr summarized Bernard Shaw’s view on morality so well.
Morals are for the comfort of the middle class — the rich simply don’t have them and the poor can’t afford them.
Morals were probably built and reinforced by the rich to prevent us all from getting there.
Ironically, these people probably also didn’t it coming — the pain borne by their children in the absence of their morals. How do you expect your father to care for your assault incident if he himself is a violent man? Same to the guy in the same circle who are your boyfriend but also someone else’s husband: will he ever truly love you?
Love, sympathy, attention seems so rare that they are out there seeking for ours.
2. Pity becomes their tactics
Used to getting things they want, yet not having any actual sympathy from their parents, they turn to us: the gullible ones, expecting everything in return. Divulging their innocent insecurities and mishaps to strangers turns out to be a privilege in itself.
That’s how I was pulled into that world to begin with. This girl shared with me her darkest and deepest secrets that I could barely fathom. I thought: Now that I know, how could I leave someone behind, that hurt and alone?
I forgot that to some people, sharing is not an act of trust.
They dump their emotions on anyone who is available. And if you don’t push them away, they will never leave.
They stay in your world and use you as an instrument to elevate their self-worth. Whenever you feel worse about yourself, they feel a little bit better about theirs.
I forgot that they don’t see the world like I do. I see it for its corruption and limits, instead of sponsorship and possibilities. If the only one who can change thing is yourself, then what’s the point of sharing with others?
Pity doesn’t look good on or given to me, so I don’t share it anyway. I suffer alone most of the difficult time in my early twenties: my drunken nights, injuries and wounds, these scary 2AM taxi rides, moments of feeling lost and abandoned.
It was depressing, but I find it rather helpful in this world. Regardless of one’s background, as we grow up, things become equally unchangeable: the fact that people will judge, the fact that there will always be someone who gets “there” before you.
Adulthood will never stop being difficult, so I’d rather understand, accept, and learn to move around it until it ends.
3. Pain and love (even though from pity), altogether, become their pride
I think a lot of people from this circle function on the assumption that people envy what they have: the parties, the yachts, the “invites” and the exclusivity, even their pain. I mean, how often can you rant about your parent being involved in a global financial scandal? Funny, isn’t it?
These things sure look pretty. And I do love pretty, until I had to numb myself emotionally to be there: to see men in suits laughing on their homophobic jokes and about cheating on their wives; to see girls hugging and holding each other’s hand while calling them pigs behind their back.
It’s probably unfair to generalize this based on my one experience. Yet again, the risks seem too high. Not that I will ever become them, but that to be surrounded by them, I will have to constantly question who I am.
Summary
It was a good phase to have, to learn and have these new experiences as part of my cultural capital. However, having seen it all, the cost of being a socialite seems unbearable to me: lack of morality, your independence and rely on pity for love, and eventually, the self-hate and insecurities.
Maybe it does prove that I’m part of this middle class: comfortable talking the talk of morality and upholding it. After all, I’m still writing my ass off hoping this goes viral one day (wink wink) so I don’t have to work again. Hard work seems to be the only way when you cannot abandon your own morals.
I’m okay with that though, as long as I can sleep at night (very well in fact).
It’s been a long post to conclude the week. My topic for next week will be:
Narcissism and Friendship: How my experiences with a narcissist has changed my view on friendship?
I hope you stay around and let me know if any feedback. Thanks for your time, and have a nice Sunday :)
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