Being a Member of the Bourgeoisie

Those of you who know me know I am a capitalist and espouse the ideals of wealth and sophistication. In America that proved easy, sitting cross legged on a chair in a tweed jacket smoking a pipe reading a respected newspaper. In England, that image doesn't really come easily because practically no one does that publicly and you come across as an eccentric dandy with no place in this world or Tory Toff that the lower classes get angry at. You may find a man in a tweed jacket reading a newspaper, but that normally happens in Internet cafes nowadays that does not befit a member of the bourgeoisie. The fact is that Britain is not made up of cigar smoking, posh sounding, rich, wine tasting, members of the bourgeoisie. Most people in Britain are beer drinking, foul mouthed, fag smoking people who get drunk down the pub. These are all stereotypes so please take them with a grain of salt, but can be applied to the population at large. That said, just because the sophisticated bourgeoisie don't appear in public doesn't mean they don't exist. And tonight I found one of their unsurprising hideouts: The theatre (with the r before the e because that is the correct spelling).

Tonight I managed to grab a ticket for Hedda Gabler at The Old Vic Theatre with my godmother (Don't judge; family friends are important and provide free bubbly). I enjoyed the play itself and won't bore you with a review of that, but rather the atmosphere. Members of the lower classes could be found in their T-shirts, but never mind them; I was nicely dressed in a button down shirt and peacoat, a nice red paper poppy in my lapel. And when the lights went down I couldn't see them anyway. The fact remains I was not the only well-dressed person and all the staff were very sharply dressed to remind people that theatre is a cultural thing to be subsidized so the rich can enjoy it for less at the expense of taxpayers. Those were the days, when the rich governed in their own interest (I'm not saying those were the good days, just the old days). But there were also bars at The Old Vic selling overpriced drinks with nice tables and a posh, sophisticated atmosphere. You could even buy drinks for intermission before the show started that would be on a table waiting when you came out at half time. And I'm not talking about fattening pub beer, but wine and champagne in nice glasses.

I had been worried with only pubs and cafes in sight that the bourgeoisie would be gone from Britain. I knew the ideal Bourgeoisie Britain was gone (if it had existed at all), but I had been hoping for some vestiges of it. Fortunately for me, the world of wine tasting, well dressed, posh speaking people isn't dead, just hiding, only opening its doors to those with means and connections. If I do come to Britain in the future, it will take time, but I'm sure I'll find my way into Bourgeoisie at a theatre bar.