Bernie Sanders
In reply to the discussion: This guy would like to know how much we donate to other politicians. [View all]Divernan
(15,480 posts)Vance Packard's study of the habits of really old money found that they served bowls of salted peanuts at their parties (as opposed to catered selections of elaborate hors d'oeuvres), furnished their vacation "cabins" with sturdy Ethan Allen pieces, and prided themselves on getting "value for the money". The women don't get new wardrobes every season, but rather wore simple, well-made styles (albeit Chanel) which they kept and wore for years.
"That's a nice color on you, Anne." "So kind of you to say - I got this 20 years ago in Paris."
My "Value for the Money" experience.
I lucked into spending an afternoon with some titled Brits at a race meeting in Kent. I took the train down from London to go to the races on a chilly March day. As a crowd of us walked from the train station to the racetrack, I politely asked one elderly gent (in a very lovely camel's hair topcoat) if he could tell me which was the Club House entrance. (You pay more for entrance than to the regular track, but the club area is heated, with a bar and comfy seats, along with big windows overlooking the race course.) He told me. I thanked him and went my solo way - always being careful not to be a pushy American. After watching a few races at trackside, I went indoors to warm up. He came up to me and said, "I've had a spot of luck. Can I buy you an ale?" I accepted, albeit ordered something non-alcoholic.
We talked briefly. He asked me what part of America I was from and how I happened to decide to come to the Kent races. Then I went back outside to watch more races. When next I came back inside, a lovely woman who looked and sounded like Diana Rigg, and her equally elegant husband came up to me and introduced themselves to me. "You must be Nancy, from Pittsburgh." There were about 30 "regulars" in the Club House and I was the only stranger, so they'd all asked Hugh who I was. They were so gracious to me, and we talked thoroughbreds and racing. At another point, "Diana" brought a man up and was waiting to introduce us until I finished talking to someone else.
Being an attorney trained to multitask my listening skills, I heard her describe me: "She's not your typical American. She's got balls!" (this because I had made a last minute, solo trip to London - only my second trip abroad, and enjoyed racing so much I had figured out how to get to the Kent races on my own). She introduced him to me as one of the trainers.
At the end of the afternoon, there were chauffered Bentleys and the like waiting to pick up these folks. The old fellow I'd initially met (whose wife wasn't there because she was at a board meeting for the Royal Ballet) turned down a proffered ride, saying he wanted to take the train back to make sure I got off to London all right (the train only stopped at the Folkestone station on race days.) He got off several stations before mine in London, and gave me a tip for a lovely little restaurant discreetly tucked into a back alley in the Covent Garden (theatre district) area. "Tell the maitre-d that Hugh and Inga sent you. He'll take good care of you. And it's good value for the money."
And I did go to that restaurant, after I went to a matinee of Miss Saigon, and I was taken care of by the maitre'd, and it was very good value for the money. It was really a great afternoon, and a great trip. But the only winner I had at the races that day was from my hunch bet on Jemimah Puddleduck - a character from the stories I used to read to my kids.
Oh, and p.s. - not a one of them ever bragged even remotely about their wealth or status. That, my friends, is class.