Of all the things that make my skin crawl, it is the petite bourgeois which I hate the most. The human failures which crowd upscale haberdasheries on Sunday afternoons are best described as mediocrity in expensive jeans. I know all too well, having wasted too much of my time amongst them, that the status symbols sought after by the monied classes are nothing more than cloaks meant to distract people from the fact that they have nothing interesting to say.
An aristocrat once had the gumption to talk down to Beethoven. Beethoven dressed him down explaining to him that at the end of the day, his money, crowns, and titles were not really his and could always be taken away – but he would always be Beethoven.
Oh I loathe New Money.
Human nobility is measured by the stoic-ness of ones countenance. German cars, lawn- front statues, and faux Georgian homes are for the riff raff rabble.