Nice to see that his unfortunate lapse into NeverTrump cuckoldry hasn’t blunted PJ O’Rourke’s edge completely quite yet. I’d pretty much given up on him at this point.
There was a time when wealth was distributed far less equitably, but we weren’t as resentful of the rich. We resented our poverty, but we were relieved that we didn’t have to put on striped pants and spats to have breakfast.
Being rich looked very uncomfortable. Rich people’s clothes were stiff and starchy, and they wore lots of them. Rich men were choked by tall collars and pinched by high-button shoes. Rich women were corseted to the point of kidney failure, constrained in so much crinoline and brocade that they might as well have been wearing off-the-shoulder burqas, and encumbered by bustles large enough that they couldn’t turn sideways without knocking over a footman and the parlor maid.
Now we have Jeff Bezos in a New Kids on the Block bomber jacket, Bill Gates outfitted in Mister Rogers’s sweaters and Gloria Steinem’s old aviators and cutting his own hair, Elon Musk smoking pot on a live internet show, and Richard Branson looking like the guy at the end of the bar muttering lines from “The Big Lebowski.” That’s not counting the various plutocrats caught in Us and Star magazines wearing nothing much at all.
If rich people start getting any more comfortable, police will be shooing them off park benches.
It’s a short one, especially for O’Rourke, but it’s good ‘un.