Valets were working the muggy street outside our client’s downtown party last night, and so was I. I’d parked my dented prius a block away, and was immediately reminded of why people pay me: 

The sun was setting as I parked, casting long shadows from skyscrapers on beautiful green spaces. There, a plethora of homeless were blasting music and moving in a drug induced spastic dance that fluidly moved from fighting to gyrating to screaming and back again. Throw a few punches, do the Macarena, screech, repeat. Like that. 

A professionally dressed lady leaving work late passed by, and a couple broke off from the scrum to beg whilst jumping back and forth in her path and screaming. The lady stared at the ground, and started fast walking in an attempt to weave through. Breathe out, switch my mindset to that well-worn groove; feel my eyes narrow. Slam my door and stare. The dirty scrum notices me, and the two bugging the lady divert my way. We meet eyes, and the old recognition clicks. 

Like third-graders, we engage in a brief staring contest. I move my right hand a few centimeters closer to my belt, and their eyes track. One yells “FUCK YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE” and they all go back to their dance, the well-dressed lady now long forgotten. I shrug and walk to work; I’ve probably got more in common with them than the businesswoman. 

Inside a high-priced restaurant I’ve never eaten at, I meet my co-workers. The place is bought out for the night, and the standard spread is getting prepped. Ice sculptures, musicians, concierges prepping goody bags, waitresses with cocktails, and us guys with guns. Our client, on one of the highest rungs of the wealth ladder, is hosting those a rung below them for typical business purposes.  We go through our plan and divvy up the sectors. I take the street, in line with the dual purpose of our job:

1. Protection: intercept any threats from making it inside/facilitate the client’s quick exit if things go loud.
2. Feels: keep the riffraff from jacking up guests as they drop their cars at the valet station and walk the 50 feet to the doors. 

It’s hot out there, but the shade from the high rises takes the edge off, as does the gust which constantly flows through the city. The guests keep flowing in; most show up in BMWs and Mercedes, but there’s more than a few stealth wealth dropping minivans and civics with the valet. I’m drenched, but having fun bullshitting with the valets and people watching. The client sends us out some cold drinks. Always nice when they think of the help. 

The Rolls

An hour in, a Rolls-Royce pulls up. I don’t recognize the occupants, but they obviously fit the profile of our guests. As the valet goes to open the hand made door, the driver shoves out a palm, halting the kid. He asks where they’ll park the car. Apparently the answer is unacceptable. They drive off towards one of the private garages about eight blocks away. Some time goes by. Maybe 20 minutes?

The driver and his date arrive on foot. The guy looks exceptionally groomed, and he’s wearing a beautiful blazer worth more than my prius, which is as soaked as my dri-fit polo. His supermodel date does not look happy. Their walking route probably took them through a gauntlet of people similar to the ones I’d encountered earlier. 

The pair go inside. An hour or so later, they walk out smiling. My client is good at what they do. Then reality seems to physically descend on the couple, as they come to terms with the trudge ahead of them. Their upright posture drifts to Neanderthal and they set off. One of the valets looks at me, smiles, and rolls his eyes. People and our stupid status games.

Some Italian Guy

Recently Nick Maggiulli wrote yet another great article, this time about how rich people continue to do stupid things. I don’t think that’s how he would put it, but as a rich person who constantly laughs at his own stupidity, that’s how I chose to interpret it. If you haven’t already, go read the article. Don’t worry, you won’t be missing anything over here. 

Still here? That’s weird, but whatever.

Ok, well so Nick came up with this framework for classifying people by their net worth:

• Level 1: <$10k
• Level 2: $10k-$100k
• Level 3: $100k-$1M
• Level 4: $1M-$10M
• Level 5: $10M-$100M
• Level 6: $100M+

He then used these data to make some bitching charts, like this one:

Note: Nick didn’t chart L5&L6 on the above because there ain’t that many of them in the SCF dataset. 

This chart is central to Nick’s point. The lower class has shrunk, and the upper middle class and upper class has grown. The middle class is disappearing because most have moved up a rung. This has led to an existential crisis for those people who’ve worked their ass off clawing their way up. The exclusive status they yearned for is no longer exclusive. Too many rich people competing for the same shit. Nick describes it better than me:

“…I saw it when I went on vacation to the Bahamas. I was told that Baha Mar was the place to go. It’s an expensive resort that has a waterpark, casino, and lots of dining options. The only problem? There isn’t enough space for everyone to enjoy everything. If you don’t book ahead, good luck getting a reservation at one of their prized restaurants. If you don’t wake up early, forget about getting chairs by the pool.”

Boo fucking hoo you say. Yeah, that’s what I say too. But as a collector of existential crises, I can’t help but recognize some of me in that stupidity. Luckily, the same thing that propelled me to a comparatively high net worth also provided one way out of this dead end. You know, that whole FIRE thing. Specifically, this ethos we were all down with 13 years ago. 

Back in my day, we didn’t refrain from spending to save money so we could eventually buy more shit than our peers. We believed that spending more usually didn’t make anyone’s life better, especially our own. Most of the rest of the world was tied up in a game called status.

Understandable, given that we are social creatures to our core. Compared with other animals, we’re slower and weaker. The only things that kept us alive were our brains and our ability to cooperate. Those that couldn’t play well with others didn’t eat or got eaten. Even the most introverted of us today still have those social genes buried in there somewhere. Which was great and all until we figured out how to monetize our base drives. Keeping up with the Joneses is making someone rich, and if you’re invested like me, that someone is us. But like any good drug dealer, we got to remember this ancient proverb:

“Don’t get high on your own supply.”

Part of this is recognizing our motivation for the games we’d like to play. Me, I prefer games that

1. I have a decent chance of winning
2. I enjoy playing even when I don’t win

If it doesn’t meet at least one of those, it’s a Stupid Game.

Winning

Such games are stupid because when we objectively look at them, we either can’t win them, or they’re not fun to play. But still, we keep playing them because they appeal to some part of ourselves, which has usually been twisted by a clever game designer to suck us in. Like Candy Crush, heroin, or slot machines. Alas, we can rely on yet another morsel of wisdom, which I believe was first uttered by Sir Henry Percy:

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

Let me ask you this; what kind of game is picking your vacation spot based on status? On the surface, it may seem to make sense to choose a spot all of your peers keep talking about, as Nick alluded to above. But go a bit deeper. Who are these peers? What do they value? Is it the quality time to relax in a conducive environment, or is it bragging to their friends about the exclusiveness of the experience?

How about that guy with the rolls. What game is he playing? That car costs more than my first two houses combined; the comfort and experience are probably totally worth it🙄. I’m guessing that wasn’t the primary motivation. Perhaps being able to arrive in it is the main appeal. But what happens when the next guy shows up in a Bugatti? Or when you’re so afraid of scratching it, you’ll walk 8 blocks in 90 degree heat while getting pelted with cigarette butts from persons experiencing homelessness? 

Both of these just seem like examples of playing the status game. 

Can you ever win that game?

 Is it fun to play, even when you lose? 

If you meet anyone who answers yes to either, please let me know. Otherwise, it would seem that such game would fall well within the stupid game category. Charlie Munger once said “If you can’t stomach 50% declines in your investment, you will get the mediocre returns you deserve”. Let’s turn that around: If you play stupid status games, you will get the stupid prizes you deserve.

I’m guessing that most of the readers here fall somewhere in Nicks Level 1($10K-100K) to Level 4($1M-10M). Level 3 and 4 are getting bigger as we all get richer. Which is great, but if you’re hoping for exclusivity, you’ll be let down. The good news is that exclusivity was just another hook for the status game, and it was a stupid game to play in the first place. 

Maybe….just maybe, it’s better to spend that money on games you enjoy playing. Me, I like freedom. And games which are more dependent on actual merit than skill at flaunting. It’s up to you what you play. I hope your prizes aren’t stupid.