#238: The class ceiling
I’m 22, staying in Norfolk at a friend’s parents second (or third) home.
As we walk through the door I see three Barbour coats hanging up.
Last year I bought a Barbour coat and it was the most expensive coat I’d ever paid for, here are three spares. Ok, this is different.
That evening we’re out for Dinner (not Tea) and I watch friends fold napkins and place them on their lap.
I see White Wine graciously poured into my glass. I quickly bristle that I just poured myself a glass of water and nobody else.
I’m learning, fast. Napkins on the knee, ok, offer to pour drinks for others first before your own, ok. I wish I could write this all down.
Wait, this third home is probably more expensive than my family home? How?! I have a lot to learn. The world is clearly much bigger than I thought it was.
Years later I’m at the stately home of an exited entrepreneur. A cannon was just fired across the grounds.
I’m in a swimming pool missing the session inside the house that’s about the diversity of the founders community I’m here a part of.
Last night I was referred to as the token “Northerner” I’d never even identified as Northern before moving to London. I’m categorically not Northern, but the label gave me an identity and an edge, so I’ll take it.
I think “Northern” might be code for; didn’t go to private school, grew up north of London and doesn’t speak the queen’s English.
There’s wine and cheese tasting. I’m not sure I like either, but I’ll have another glass of the Malbec please.
This curve is steeper than I thought.
I’m in Fulham and meet Geoffrey, he’s just bought the penthouse flat above ours. He’s 5 years younger than me, working in property. I found him on LinkedIn and googled his family name.
Meanwhile, I can’t get hold of Malcolm our landlord to sort out the mildew problem we have in the flat. The estate agent tells me that Malcolm will get in touch when he’s back from sailing in Antigua.
I’m sitting in the kitchen with my laptop propped up on cookbooks pitching to raise money for Sanctus.
It’s 2021, we’re in and out of COVID and this investment round is life or death. It’s been a steep climb, I’m fortunate to have a safety net that will always catch me. Always a family home to go back to and now a nest egg of savings that recently trickled upwards during COVID.
I do well to shield my desperation that this will work and we’ll land the cash. My imposter syndrome is now an old friend.
I’m not sure they know it’s taken me years of graft and failure to feel confident to ask for money, to understand how “the game works”, to have built a network that can get me through doors, to live in a place that’s a foreign country to where I grew up.
I’m embarrassed to smell my desire. Annoyed that I need this to work. Angry that I’ve had to climb high and that falling down scares me so much.
I can barely see my safety net it’s that far down.
When I was a teenager I remember telling Dad that the class system didn’t exist.
He laughed and asked me why. I can’t remember what I said but I remember believing that all doors and paths in life were open to me. That says a lot about my innate confidence and how good my parents were.
I could describe a million scenarios where I’ve felt like I’m not meant to be somewhere or when I’ve felt frustrated that I had to earn something that others were given for free.
It’s actually been mostly fun, feeling like I’m in rooms I shouldn’t be in. It’s a thrill and has made me feel good.
It’s exhausting though. It’s tiring to constantly feel like you have to heave doors open or be invited in. To have to learn yourself what others learn at 16. To have to pay for your own education.
I’ve not spent too much time resisting this. I’ve not spent too much time complaining about wealth inequality or class divide. What’s the point?
I’ve decided not to be bitter and resentful towards people who grew up with more money and opportunities than me and my family. What does that achieve?
I thought though, that it would go away. That I would reach a point where I might feel different, where I would be different and where I’d suddenly feel “one of them” whatever that means.
I thought I’d catch up. I thought it would stop being hard. I thought I’d feel like I deserve to be in every room I walk into. I thought I’d stop feeling weird and out of place. I thought I’d catch up on all the experiences I didn’t get.
I haven’t caught up. It hasn’t stopped feeling hard.
Class is sticky and confusing and hard to define. Its family, money, education, experiences, knowledge, role models, area, network and more.
I grew up in a working class area, in a stable middle-income household, my Mum is a nurse, my Dad is a teacher. I had a brilliant childhood, full of love and fun.
I’ve not felt held back at all in my life and I’m very lucky to say that. I've grown up feeling like I could do or be anything.
Yet what I’ve realised recently is that when it comes to class, when it comes to that subtle, sticky feeling you get when “this is not normal for people like you” - that feeling will not go away, ever.
I will always feel different in some rooms. I will often feel like I’m playing catch up.
Poor me. I might have to learn to ski in a few years, because I didn’t when I was 6.
I’m sure I’ll survive.
The good news is that being conscious of your class background, keeps you humble and keeps you grounded. It gives you an edge. A way of seeing the world differently and an empathy for those less fortunate than you.
There are a lot of people who can’t even heave the doors open. I’m becoming increasingly aware of that and it’s only when I see my own experience do I see others more clearly. I believe that will make me a more rounded person and help me make more positive contributions to society.
Your identity, whether that be gender, race or class doesn’t just impact you practically through discrimination, networks and opportunities. It’s the stories about yourself you hold onto as well, the limiting beliefs, the lack of confidence and the low aspiration.
The class ceiling is real, it's inside and out.
James x
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