Douglas McWhirter
03/01/2008
The British evolutionary theorist Oliver Curry made headlines in 2006 by predicting that over the course of the next 100,000 years, the human race will evolve into two distinct species: an "upper" group that is physically beautiful, intelligent and privileged, and a "goblinlike" subspecies that will be "dim-witted, ugly and squat."
Leave it to a Brit to offer a theory of evolution that reads like a surreal version of one of Anthony Trollope’s 19th-century novels of class, envy and aspiration in Victorian England. In Trollope’s narratives, the privileged have it all while those of lesser station aspire to having it all—or resent those who already do—resulting in an awkward, fascinating interplay between the classes.
In the United States, we tell ourselves that we are all created equal, and that silly European notions of class are archaic. While we acknowledge racial, gender and a host of other social inequalities, Americans don’t speak too much about class division—which is odd, given that the United States is as socially stratified as any society on earth. Class informs almost all of the issues we as a nation grapple with today: healthcare, jobs and education, to name a few. Furthermore, class in America is nothing new. As the framers of the Constitution clearly spelled out all those years ago, only male members of the landed classes originally had the right to vote. Citizens in the South who owned land and slaves drove the Confederacy to secede. President Franklin Roosevelt, considered by some to be the greatest class traitor in American history, saved the republic by redistributing wealth across class lines during a moment of extreme economic peril.
Yet despite this rich history of social stratification and its impact on our nation, Americans still prefer not to acknowledge class. Instead, we euphemistically frame the entire matter in purely financial terms: Those with lots of money are upper class. Those with less money are middle or lower class. Those who have little but strike it rich go immediately from lower class to upper class. With a little luck and hard work, we can all be upper class, right?
In this issue, Judy Martel examines one of the gray areas of our peculiarly American system of privilege: the affectation of class, achieved by purchasing luxury items associated with wealth. In an age of easy credit and Machiavellian marketing, she writes, it has become increasingly easy for members of the middle class to acquire, often in small amounts, certain luxury products that stand as hallmarks of wealth and privilege. French couture, German luxury automobiles, jewelry, fine wine—all of these products that were once the exclusive domain of the wealthy are now being marketed to the aspiring masses, who are devouring them like candy. As a result, it is becoming difficult, if not impossible, to discern who is or is not wealthy—and to which social station they belong. The fact that luxury goods have become a force for social equality must have Karl Marx spinning in his grave.
This blurring of class boundaries—which is happening not just in the U.S., but, as Martel reports, around the globe—is a phenomenon that undermines Curry’s grim predictions. One wonders how aspiration fits into his calcula-tions. Will the majority of human beings on the planet evolve passively into goblinlike creatures as others become tall, beautiful and creative?
Not if the marketers of luxury goods have any say in the matter.