Gigolo: Inside the Secret World of the Super Rich by Ben Foster & Clifford Thurlow

Author:Ben Foster & Clifford Thurlow [Foster, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thistle Publishing
Published: 2018-05-03T22:00:00+00:00

I left them to complete their business and drove back to Twickenham thinking about everything Rudy had said. I wondered if it had all just been a pitch to make sure I went to him if I ever needed a mortgage. Not that I imagined I ever would. But that was negative thinking – negative on both counts. You have to look for the best in people and you have to believe that, one day, you’re going to buy your own home. Rudy was giving me a life lesson because he knew I needed it. As to why Rufus required a mortgage to buy property, his money was probably locked away in an offshore trust.

The atmosphere at home was still tense. It was beyond Kelly’s comprehension that I had bought six suits at once, and I had been unable to invent an excuse that would explain that I didn’t pay for them at all. After giving Carly her massage that morning, Kelly had watched as I emptied the wardrobe and drawers of everything I owned. I filled six bin bags with my worn out clothes and took everything to the Oxfam shop. I only had new things now, new clothes, new car, new watch, new shades. I was going to have to grow into my new image.

Clothes are a flag, an emblem, a walking notice board. It doesn’t matter if your shirt is stained or frayed, as long as it was custom made to begin with. Shoes are a personal signature. You can wear torn jeans and your shoes may be worn out or pushed down at the back, but the jeans are Levi’s and the footwear is hand-stitched by Crockett & Jones Hallam, Church, Barker Alderney.

What you wear has its own glossary, gauche, gaudy, loud, kitsch, overbearing, frumpy, dowdy, subtle, unassuming, flattering, tasteful, discreet. It is easy to get things wrong but sometimes, as Vivienne would say, ‘when it’s wrong, it’s right.’ Clothes don’t maketh the man. They do say who he is, or who he is trying to be.

Clothes, your accent and your choice of words are class indicators. For the PLU folks (people like us) flashy displays of wealth are signs of new money, nouveau-riche, social-climbers. The old rich never say ‘pardon.’ They say what or sorry. It is never the toilet. It’s the loo or lavatory. The word serviette makes high class ladies wince as if they have just bitten into a lemon. The word is napkin. The rich eat dinner. The poor have their tea. That place for resting your backside is called a sofa. Never a couch or settee. You don’t invite guests into the lounge or living room. It is the sitting room or drawing room. Sometimes the parlour. The rich stay thin by eating pud or pudding. The poor get fat filling up on sweets and dessert. Just a word can make all the difference.

The poor use the word posh to describe people and items beyond their reach. The PLUs use posh for irony, as in: Are you going to the Russian Debutante Ball? No, it’s much too posh for me.

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