Editor’s notice: The Hungarian Countess Louise J. Esterhazy was a revered — and feared — chronicler of the highs — and customarily lows — of vogue, society, tradition and extra. Over the course of a number of a long time (though she by no means actually counted and firmly averted any reference to her age), the Countess penned her missives from her pied-à-terres in Manhattan, Nantucket, Paris, London and Gstaad, in addition to wherever her travels took her, from California to Morocco.
And it appears the Esterhazy clan by nature is stuffed with sturdy opinions, as a result of WWD Weekend has now engaged the Countess’ long-lost nephew, the Baron Louis J. Esterhazy, who has written from Europe to specific his abhorrence in regards to the rising sense of entitlement among the many wealthy and aristocratic.
In fact, expensive reader, you’ll be solely too conscious of my title, Baron. However I’ve to confess that I’m shamefully low within the household pecking order. For the Estarházy’s have been the preeminent Hungarian noble household, with origins within the Center Ages and the best landowners, since lengthy earlier than 1776 was even a notion within the thoughts of Thomas Jefferson. Which is why my cousin, Prince Anton, the top of the household, is to be addressed as “Your Serene Highness.”
And, boy, don’t everyone knows of a sure resident of Pennsylvania Avenue who would possibly solely dream of such groveling deference. However you smart People swept all that away if you turned on outdated King George III. Nonetheless, we additionally know that America has lengthy had an unstated class system — each of start however more and more primarily based on wealth.
A latest article in The New York Instances profiled Olivier Ferney, a journey adviser for the uber rich who has began posting a few of her shoppers’ extra outrageous calls for on TikTok and Instagram. Suppose flying in spring water to a Caribbean island as a result of a feminine consumer thought the native water irritated her scalp. Or how the super-rich suppose nothing of asking for a reduction.
I, in fact, am not on Instagram or TikTok — my household could be appalled. However I’ve encountered way more tales of American entitlement than Ms. Ferney and so they would possibly make even the best European noble blush.
There was the marvelous story about an aged and immensely rich American girl who, because the scion of an outdated insurance coverage dynasty, lived in splendid isolation on an unlimited property close to Far Hills, N.J. She didn’t like going into Manhattan, was willfully “unfashion aware” and disliked the very notion of “procuring” much more. Sooner or later, lengthy earlier than the arrival of the web, she requested her assistant to phone Bloomingdale’s and order a lot more white tub towels.
Just a few days later, a half dozen white fluffy towels arrived, all monogrammed within the nook with “YSL.” It was Saturday and the assistant was off responsibility. So the grand dame acquired on the phone and known as the division retailer.
“You may have despatched me another person’s towels,” she barked. “They’re monogrammed with another person’s initials.”
“No, madam, they’re Yves Saint Laurent towels,” got here the response.
“Properly, my level precisely,” she responded in frustration. “They aren’t mine, and I might think about as we converse, this Mr. Laurent is little question questioning the place his towels have gotten to.”
She had actually by no means heard of Yves Saint Laurent and couldn’t think about the thought of shopping for towels marked with a designer’s emblem.
That exact same doyenne was mentioned to have commented, upon being provided lasagna in an Italian restaurant: “What is that this?”
“Why, it’s lasagna.”
“And what’s lasagna?”
“An Italian pasta dish, in fact,” got here the reply, with a tone of incredulity. To which she snapped again, “Properly, how am I meant to know that? I’ve by no means had an Italian chef.”
There’s a wealthy trove of entertaining tales of the rich and entitled interacting with their servants.
The outdated Queen Mom, King Charles’ grandmother was keen on her similar cocktail (Dubonnet and gin), day-after-day at exactly 6:15 p.m. Sooner or later, the required tipple had not arrived. At 6:30 p.m. she known as downstairs on the intercom to the teaming military of flouncing footmen and butlers and mentioned, “I don’t know what all you outdated queens are doing down there, however this outdated Queen up right here wants her drink.”
Maybe it’s the ironic self-deprecation of the aristocracy that may typically be so humorous, with out them ever that means to amuse. In midst of the First World Conflict, the Marquis Curzon of Kedleston, who had married a Chicago heiress and was then Britain’s overseas secretary, was approached by his chief steward about the necessity to make some family economies.
“And what do you counsel?” he requested.
“I’m pondering, your lordship, that we are able to dispense with the under-pastry chef.”
Lord Curzon regarded crestfallen and responded, “It’s certainly a sorry day when a fellow can’t have a biscuit.”
People of a sure sort might be simply as imperious as their European cousins. Earlier this month, the GeneralQuartierMiester (aka the German spouse) and I have been staying in a stupendous home in Tuscany, which had been rented by some outdated American mates who all appeared to return straight from the pages of the “Gilded Age.” We have been the one Europeans staying in the home. Sooner or later, as the massive group assembled for lunch al fresco, some employees appeared with a handful of dishes giving off a relentless plume of smoke.
“What are these?” inquired a well-turned out Park Avenue princess.
“Smoke, madam.”
“For what?”
“To maintain the wasps away from the desk.”
There was a pause, earlier than she answered, “Expensive god, we’re all WASPs right here.” For sure, solely the Italian employees did not get the joke.
Certainly, it was a type of similar American visitors who some a long time earlier, when residing in London, was chatting together with her hairdresser. It was the early days of the U.Ok. lottery and the week’s prize cash had reached the heady heights of 1 million kilos. Excitedly, the crimper requested her buyer, an heiress to a powerful old-school Wall Avenue fortune, “Golly, what do you suppose you’ll do for those who had 1 million kilos in your checking account?”
The reply, delivered in a languid New York accent: “A million kilos, you ask? I feel I might sue my dealer.”
It’s advised that within the days of F. Scott Fitzgerald, a younger and fearsomely grand Yale scholar introduced his altogether much less well-to-do roommate residence to the rarified environs of Tuxedo Park, N.Y., for a weekend. He launched his new pal to his mom: “Mama, that is my roommate, John. He’s from Iowa.”
The mom gave her son a sideways look and answered: “Expensive boy, the place we come from, it’s pronounced ‘Ohio.’”
Plainly entitlement is usually about turning the traditional on its head.
I not too long ago heard the story of an enormously aristocratic Frenchman — who had by no means labored a day in his life and had due to this fact by no means been in want of taking a “trip” — in an airport, receiving his boarding move. Because the agent handed over the slip of paper, she mentioned, kindly, “Bonnes vacances.”
“Vacances?! Vacances?!” countered the grumpy Marquis, “What a daring and wholly incorrect assumption you make.”
In any case, when your whole life is one in all idle leisure, whoever wants “les vacances?”
For anybody aware of London, it will likely be well-known that there’s been a steady low degree, however humorous snobbery about those that reside “south of the river” (that will be the Thames). In fact all of the “good” neighborhoods resembling Kensington, Mayfair, Belgravia and Chelsea are north of the river. One grand dame, with an angle and temperament akin to the Dowager Countess of Grantham, took the snobbery to a complete new degree when she requested her not too long ago married granddaughter the place in London the joyful couple could be residing.
“We now have purchased a home in Battersea, grandma,” responded the enthusiastic new bride.
“Battersea?” got here the query.
“South of the river, grandma.” There was a protracted and silent pause.
“What?…There’s a river?” was the incredulous come again.
Lastly, there’s the fully absurd. I do know of an English baronet (an quaint “sir” to you and me), who, upon driving by Portugal approached his first toll sales space barrier on the freeway. The signal learn “Retire o Titulo,” which is the instruction to take the toll sales space ticket and permit the barrier to raise. Not understanding Portuguese, and believing the machine was demanding to know his “title,” he sat immobile on the wheel, repeatedly bellowing: “Sir James Cuttallworth…Sir James Cuttallworth.”
Finally, he realized the lesson that nowadays, being aristocratically entitled not removes life’s limitations.
