Why do the rich always have to be so loud about it?

The Age

2 days ago

Does anybody who is honest ever buy a Lamborghini? The only time the car rates a mention in the pages of this newspaper, it seems, are in stories written by the crime reporter. The person in question often also owns a Rolex watch. And a gold chain. Perhaps the police could triangulate the owners of all three and arrest the lot on 'suspicion of … well, just suspicion'.
Conspicuous consumption, of course, is back in fashion: witness the Bezos wedding. As sequels go, Jeff in Venice was even sadder than Death in Venice. A man notorious for underpaying his workers – and for making them walk at a near-jog called 'Amazon pace' – wanted to show off the wealth that had resulted. He also made sure it was in sight of the cameras, so the world could see his triumph.
Meanwhile, there were reports this week about the funeral, some months ago, of a Melbourne criminal. It's emerged that his body was transferred, at the last minute, into a golden coffin. His friends, apparently, thought the wooden one in which he'd been delivered sent the wrong message. Appearances are everything, it seems, even when you are dead.
The wealthy didn't always behave like this. Many decades ago, as the Herald's correspondent in the UK, I had the chance to interview the occasional member of the aristocracy. Over time, I developed what I called 'the threadbare carpet index', which enabled me to guess the wealth and status of my subject to the nearest fraction of a baronet. The more threadbare the carpet, the larger the estate. If you could see the floorboards through the holes, they'd own half of Scotland.
They all drove beaten-up Land Rovers, right up to and including the Queen. If I were lucky enough to score a cup of tea, the accompanying biscuits would be a supermarket own-brand. The blokes had patches sewn onto their jackets to cover the bit where the elbows had worked their way through.
I guess they were just saving up to pay for new plumbing in the east wing, but I still found the attitude refreshing. You had the feeling they'd rather drop dead than buy a new shirt. Maybe they agreed with Henry David Thoreau: 'Beware all enterprises which require new clothes'.
This was long before the era of the $100,000 handbag, but had I predicted its existence, they'd have laughed out loud. They would regard such an object as 'vulgar' or 'ostentatious' and, moreover, a sign that the purchaser had lost their tiny mind.
In fact, the more useless watches have become – superseded by our devices – the more they have become a signifier of wealth.
I wonder, sometimes, whether those so keen on ostentatious consumption are aware that not everyone is cheering them on in the manner they so keenly desire. When an expensive sports car pulls up next to you at the traffic lights, a young man at the wheel, what's your first thought?