Modern Aristo-Plutocrats

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

Marie Antoinette's infamous, "Let them eat cake" has entered the popular lexicon as a byword for sociopathic disdain for the poor.  There is some serious doubt as to whether poor old Marie ever uttered the phrase.  It was attributed to her by one Jean Jacques Rousseau who never let the facts get in the way of a ripping slander. 

Rousseau's Confessions (in which the slander appears) was written in 1768--two years before Marie Antoinette moved to France.  The line also appears in Rousseau's journal notes "years before Antoinette was born."  Ouch.  But it proved a useful pretext and propaganda tool to stir up envy and anger, inciting the odd riot or two.  [Jonah Goldberg, The Tyranny of Cliches: How Liberals Cheat in the War of Ideas (New York: Sentinel/Penguin, 2012), p.172.]

The picture of an uncaring, wealthy aristocracy who hate the poor abides.  It appeals to our baser instincts.  It certainly appealed to Rousseau who, himself, was an acute despiser of the poor and a "suck-up-to-nobility-kind-of-chap".  If Rousseau could not join the aristocracy, he hated them; when he was welcomed and celebrated in their circles, he fawned over them.  He was a pathetic fellow in so many ways. 

But his bitter word, falsely attributed to Marie Antoinette, lives on.  Ironically, it is amongst modern democrats and socialists that the sentiment conveyed by Rousseau has the most traction.  Uber-wealth and gaudy displays are the hallmark of the modern celebrity culture, along with a fashionable assuaging commitment to socialism.  The latter serves to salve the conscience for all that wealth so ostentatiously on display.  Marie Antoinette had nothing on our modern aristo-plutocrats.

From medieval times through the end of the Enlightenment, kings and queens draped their monarchies will sumptuary laws and rules of grammar to communicate to all, including themselves, that they were special.  The only place in America where such arrangements endure is in the oxygen-enriched confines of Hollywood doyens (and those outposts of modern medievalism known as college campuses). 

Jennifer Lopez bars people from photographing her elbows.  Mariah Carey has an assistant whose only job is to hand her towels.  Also, wherever Mariah goes, her courtiers must first remove posters of rival "divas", lest they offend her delicate sensibilities: Thou shalt have no divas before me!  Kim Basinger is "allergic" to the sun and requires an assistant to carry an umbrella to protect her on the off chance she might be exposed to solar radiation. . . .

Sylvester Stallone . . . once refused to continue with an interview until his hotel room was painted a more "likeable" peach.  Mike Myers almost quite the filming of Wayne's World because he didn't have any margarine for his bagel.  Sean Penn had an assistant swim the dangerous and polluted currents of New York's East River just to bring him a cigarette.  Only members of Jennifer Lopez's double-digit entourage re permitted to gaze into the windows of her soul.  Various stars travel with full-time aromatherapists, masseuses, acupuncturists, and, one presumes, court jesters.  Oprah Winfrey has a bra handler.  Sylvester Stallone, Tom Cruise, and, of course Barbra Streisand are just a handful of the folks who think they're on the same plateau as Japanese emperors, Turkish pashas, and medieval kings.  [Jonah Goldberg, op cit., p. 175f.]

Poor Marie would have been left gasping with incredulity.  But virtually to a man or woman these latter day monarchialists also espouse socialism for the masses--by which they mean others--most notably business corporations and "rich people" (that is, people less wealthy than themselves), should be made to pay for the poor via government extorted redistribution.   Ah, that noble member of the lumpen proletariat who swam the river to bring Sean Penn his cigarette!  The glory of the heroic labourer displayed for all to gaze upon with wonder.  And Sean choreographed it all.  Long live King Sean.

Just a few days ago we were treated to the embarrassing spectacle of Oprah Winfrey taking umbrage at a member of the lower classes in Switzerland who apparently did not realise just how wealthy Winfrey was.  A shop assistant (like all good thrift-conscious Swiss) tried to steer Winfrey to consider a cheaper handbag. (In Switzerland they call this customer service.) Winfrey was offended. Cheaper!  Does she not know who I am?  Winfrey then reportedly went on a crusade of self-affirmation, grandly disclosing to the world that for a while she considered  going back to the store to buy out all the stock just to make the plutocratic point that she could.  But maybe that was a bit too gauche.  Instead she made herself out to be a victim of racism, which was fifty times worse. But, let's be clear.  Winfrey was the victim here. Her aristocratic sensibilities had been offended.  Maybe her bra-handler mishandled her underwear that day and Winfrey was in a bad mood.  Good help is hard to find, after all. Who knows.  More importantly, who cares.

For our part, we recall the proverb learned at the kitchen table: "a fool and his money are soon parted".  And so it shall no doubt be for our modern monarchial plutocrats. In the meantime, spare a thought for these poor creatures, having to live one's life surrounded by fawning Rousseauesque bra-handlers, elbow protectors and cigarette fetchers.  They deserve the prison walls of their self-spun cocoons.