Melissa C. Morris, nee Stanley, and her old-enough-to-be-her-father, pedigreed husband Chappy are rich. But they’re not our kind, you see.
She enjoys a good headband, buys a Herend trinket for her Italian greyhound Monty, goes to soirees, benefits and galas, comments on the value of and previous owners of the properties where the black tie and ball gown affairs are held, takes photographs of the food she and her husband eat at restaurants, and marvels at the size of the bathrooms and amenities contained therein at swank hotels. Maybe it’s all new to her. Or maybe that’s just how the people who are featured in the New York Social Diary do things these days.
Living right in the same town is The Grande Enchilada, a Jewish Aztec Princess just back from Buenos Aires, where she reflected:
I had a conversation with my client in which we agreed that upper class Mexicans are the most insufferable of all upper class people in the world. (Let’s have a competition!) There may be some exceptions here and there (I know good friends of mine who are fine, fine people), but in general, the rich in Mexico are truly insufferable (compared to for instance the Venezuelans, who are as filthy rich, but much more personable). I think this comes from living in a society where the downtrodden are servile and the rich are haughty and entitled, and they do everything in their power not to resemble anything that may confuse them with the humans around them. I’m sure the Argentinian rich are a close second, or at a dead heat, though. It’s just a hunch.
I’ll opt for the Mexican rich over the WASPs any day of the week. At least they have better taste and manners.