That’s what the rich Canadian girl wanted from me, just as much as she was attracted by my overeducated working class dilettante life, meeting all my friends and schmoozing her way into new social spheres, it was equally a ploy to try and turn me into some kind of stiff that would sacrifice everything for the someday nepotistic approval of her ultra-wealthy father and grandparents. But she wanted it all at once. I was supposed to figure out how to make at least six figures starting immediately (eventually $1M salary), convert to Islam, but also write a few hit songs and have a music career, but also go to law or engineering school, and of course befriend more cool artists, move to and afford living in London, dress like a twat, commit to having children in the next two or three years, buy her lots of vintage designer clothing… all for someone with the emotional intelligence of a 13 year old who often behaved like one too, and who’d hardly ever earned a single thing in her life.
But to the topic, her orbit was actually pretty cool, she had surrounded herself with small-time musicians and painters, and not the rich kid silver spoon types, people who work in pizza shops or painting houses, going to art school on the cheap, couples living modestly while pursuing their creative interests. She wanted their and my ‘cool’ but doesn’t realize it can’t be bought and that these orbits can only produce so much of a venn diagram, and that there’s a big difference between acutely observing and adjudicating cultural trends, and being the sort of person that practice idealizes.