How to Hang with the Haute: A Guide to Navigating the World of the Ultra-Rich

“Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to rub elbows with the ultra-rich? As someone who has had the opportunity to spend time with the very wealthy, I’ve noticed a peculiar set of behaviors and social norms that seem to be a prerequisite for entry into this exclusive club.

Here’s how it’s done…

First and foremost, the very rich never say “nice to meet you.” Instead, it’s always “nice to see you.” This subtle difference acknowledges that, due to their status and the circles they move in, they encounter countless people who will inevitably remember meeting them. It’s a way of navigating the complex social landscape of wealth and fame, where everyone seems to know who you are.

When engaging in conversation, the ultra-wealthy often exude a sense of knowingness, as if assuming that you, too, have experienced the same luxuries and privileges they have. They might casually mention talking to Oprah about the unnecessary extravagance of owning a boat over 165 feet, leaving you to nod along and pretend that you’ve had similar discussions.

Another common tactic is the allusion to potential future plans — a sailboat excursion, a business deal, or perhaps trading rare first editions of Stendhal — that you might embark on together. However, these shared mutual plans remain vague and noncommittal, lacking the concrete details of dates, times, or even the exchange of contact information. It’s a kind of close-up magic, a misdirection that leaves you feeling like you’ve entered rare air, only to realize later that the possibility of actually sailing with Oprah remains as remote as ever.

At big parties, the very wealthy always seem to have an escape hatch nearby, a more exclusive space or a waiting car to whisk them away to a more interesting, less ordinary gathering. As a friend once told me, “There’s always another door,” referencing the fact that there’s always a more VIP experience than the one you’re in. If they want to make you feel special, they might invite you and your friends to join them there, leaving you scrambling to gather your group, who now feel lucky to know you.

It’s not all glitz and glamour, though. The prevalence of these social tactics is staggering, and it’s hard not to notice the very rich constantly trying to pry the most interesting “normies” away to one corner or another, as if picking teams in junior high. And despite their seemingly enviable lives, many of the ultra-wealthy appear to have deep-seated dysfunctions, never truly enjoying the present moment, always focusing on the promise of a perfect future that never quite arrives.

In their defense, the very wealthy face a constant barrage of requests and demands from nearly everyone they encounter. From photo ops to business pitches, charity donations to party invitations, the asks are endless. It’s no wonder they develop a set of social skills to navigate this world, always keeping an eye out for someone more important or interesting, not to mention less likely to ask them for things.

As for me, I first learned to under-react to strangeness at the age of 16, in a Detroit club where the bartenders sported Mohawks and the patrons looked like extras from an early Madonna video. It’s a skill that has served me well in my encounters with the very wealthy, allowing me to maintain an air of “I’ve seen this all before,” even as I marvel at the peculiarities of their world.

In the end, the world of the very wealthy is a fascinating, if sometimes dysfunctional, place. It’s a realm where social norms are turned on their head, where the currency of conversation is name-dropping and casual references to luxuries most can only dream of. But beneath the glitz and glamour, there’s a sense of unease, a constant striving for the next big thing, the next perfect moment that always seems just out of reach.

As Fitzgerald so aptly put it, the very rich are different from you and me — and perhaps, in some ways, that’s both their blessing and their curse.