I have an acquaintance who’s attitude to people always bugs me. I haven’t been able to figure out exactly why he bugs me so; after all, he isn’t really sexist, or racist, or homophobic. Yet, he still bugs me.

I figured it out this morning on the bus to work.

He is hideously CLASSIST.

He’s a nice, straight, white, middle class boy, with rather leftist views. He reminds me sometimes of the boy in Moulin Rouge, with his romanticised perspective on life. I find his attempts at cynicism vaguely irritating actually, because he is such a hopeless romantic.

He is quite aware of his sexism, and his homophobia, and makes a really worthy effort of eradicating those prejudices. I admire his willingness to ‘check his privilege’ in those areas, and accept a tongue lashing when he’s being a tool.

However, he still says things that rub me up the wrong way. Although he expects humanity from men in general, what can be expected from a truck driver/construction worker/ tradesman? He finds it difficult to find dates in Canberra, cos we are such a ‘bogan’ city. (For any american readers, ‘bogan’ is Australian slang for working class, or unrefined… the reality which Kath and Kim is modeled off)

Sometimes I suppose he musn’t have twigged about my background as the offspring of a single mother, one of those ‘welfare queens’, or he probably wouldn’t speak to me so often.

I think that classism is quite an insidious prejudice. I tell my fair share of bogan jokes, but I also know that ever level of Australian society has its own value, and you cannot disregard someone as worthless merely because they appear to be from a different social class.

Myself, I blend in as pretty much perfectly middle class these days. I am in fact, significantly more educated than the average Australian. Even though I may be ‘broke’, I will never again be poor, and there is a tangible difference between the two.

I love the luxury that I live in. Whenever I am really feeling the financial pinch, I vow to get rich, but my interest in that wanes once I hit financial equilibrium again.

I think that is why some of my friends are so disdainful of my desire for wealth. If you haven’t ever been really *desperate*, then one tends to be able to live by romanticised notions about what is true and noble. Who cares how much you are earning, if you could do something you *love*?

Me, I am terribly concerned about the amount I am earning. I can love anything if its paying me well enough.

My only remaining childhood friend understands. We both grew up ‘poor’. We didn’t have new clothes, we didn’t have enough food, we didn’t have this or that or the other. 

I have never handled a graphical calculator, even though I did the highest level of math at my high school. My nice middle class friends all OWNED graphical calculators. I didn’t have internet access at home. I didn’t get piano lessons, or get to play tennis, or any other sport. (I didn’t even get to play many school sports beyond primary school, I was limited to the ‘free’ sports… soccer, and power walking) Going overseas on exchange was out of the question. My brother might not be a criminal now if my mother could have continued to justify spending hundreds of dollars on schizophrenia medication.

Paul and I, we have a shared dream, to be rich. Last time we discussed this I pointed out that even if we were broke or hungry again, it didn’t matter… we still wouldn’t be poor. He’s most of the way through his medical degree, I have a job as an IT Specialist. Most importantly though, we are educated. We have the social resources to call upon, to ‘blend in’. 

I can be an attractive young lady. If I felt the desire to sell my soul, I could in fact, schmooze some fellow with money, play the patriarchal “You pay for it dear” card, and deal with my money problems that way.

Well, I probably couldn’t do it in Canberra, having been asked on a date by a young gentleman from the ‘wealthy young people’ type set. I unfortunately didn’t realise it was a date, I thought that he wanted to be friends. Anyway, the evening ended in disaster when my feminist sensibilities got me into an argument with him. My reputation for being a ‘complete weirdo’ has no doubt spread since then.

Just a note on that… those people? They are really really fucked up! It was a group thing, and so I got to observe Rich Snobs in their native habitat, first hand, for the first time in my life. Can I just say, the patriarchy is ALIVE AND WELL there.

Also, I have never been so aware of my gender/sex conflict, as standing there amongst fashionably attired young ladies, who were all vying to be the cutest/prettiest/sexiest.

Frankly, selling my soul for security isn’t something I am willing to try. After all, I tried it with my ex-fiance, and he didn’t really pay off. I have a new plan for getting rich, since discovering feminism. Instead of marrying a ‘good catch’, I shall BECOME a ‘good catch’.

Its much more reliable, and a lot more fun. (Going along to HIS work functions, doing the cute, attentive, *sober* girlfriend thing? YUK.)

I just realised. I’m classist too… just against the top end of the scale, instead of the bottom end…