“Fake Plastic Love” - The Game of Pretense

Hot, young, desirable, rich.

Tasteful.

Educated.

Dickie Greenleaf epitomizes privilege—an undying symbol and timeless character adored by society for his effortless grace.

As Patricia Gucci once said, “I would rather weep in a Rolls-Royce than be happy on a bicycle.” We live in a world of masks, social climbing, and image curation. We carefully craft how we present ourselves, much like Tom Ripley: calculated and strategic. Perhaps this explains why “The Talented Mr. Ripley” is continually adapted—1970 movie with Alain Delon, 1999 with Matt Damon, 2023 "Saltburn" with Barry Keoghan, and lastly the 2024 Netflix series "Ripley."

Raise your hand if you want to vomit hearing about “quiet luxury.” It’s a super-exploited topic, but before stealth wealth rests in the closet with Gucci belts and Balenciaga shoes, consider this. After the world embraced logomania, flaunting luxury goods left and right, we as a society are now striving to be “classy.” We act classy, change our makeup, but still desire to appear wealthy. It’s an oxymoron: “how to look rich on a budget”?

Why do you care to look rich in the first place? It’s a sign of consumerism, embracing wealth over poverty. But being broke was once virtuous. Devoting oneself to God, denying earthly pleasures was once aspirational. Aristocracy idealized the simple lives of the poor in the countryside, wanting to live like them, dress like them, and embrace their culture and freedom.

It's amusing how the world collectively moved in this direction.

Is it because, deep down, despite freedom and equality, we are a class society in disguise? And there is one thing money can’t buy: birthright.

Are our obsessions with "nepo babies" indicative of our fascination with modern royalty? They inherit rather than earn their lifestyles, embodying a new form of aristocracy. Unlike the ostentatious displays of wealth akin to Paris Hilton in 2001, they exude a relaxed, relatable charm—Hailey Bieber's style is easily emulated by any young girl.

The Talented Mr. Ripley" with Jude Law and Matt Damon remains my quintessential summer film. By the end of 2023, "Saltburn" emerged as a satirical homage to aristocracy, yet it resonated more as a contemporary "Talented Mr. Ripley 2.0," set against the backdrop of the early 2000s. Early 2024 introduced the compelling Netflix series "Ripley," filmed in black and white with a subdued tension reminiscent of Polanski's "Knife in the Water." How many more renditions of Ripley will captivate us?

We love to hate on rich people, and under the current economic situation, we hate money showing off, but at the same time, we can’t stop looking. The 2024 Met Gala wasn’t as exciting anymore with the war in Gaza. As a society, we have expectations towards the rich: entertain us, but be mindful. So, the rich are buying ridiculously expensive The Row coats and bags with no logo just to seem more ordinary in disguise. In the meantime, the poor are embracing “quiet luxury” and “old money” aesthetics; the rich pretend to be less rich, and the poor pretend to be a little bit wealthier. Both forces are part of the same game to coexist and fuel the consumerism machine.

“Old Money” isn't just money; it’s privilege, something money itself cannot buy. It’s your birthright, connections, talent. Dickie Greenleaf epitomizes the “old money aesthetic,” not Mr. Gatsby—the new money embraced in 2013. Dickie doesn’t have to work. Dickie is cultured. Dickie has taste. Dickie has everything Tom Ripley wants to have. Tom is pretending to be like Dickie—changing his outfit, behavior, educating himself. If any future "Talented Mr. Ripley" adaptation will be set in modern times, I bet Tom would be stalking Dickie on Finsta. Is this why this story is so compelling that it’s being retold over and over again? The never-ending paradox of class.

The Hermes Birkin bag, in this context, becomes more than a fashion accessory; it becomes a metaphor for our societal obsession with symbols of wealth and prestige. The presence of The Fake Birkin Slayer on Instagram serves as a poignant reminder of the dangers of illusion and deceit in our pursuit of status. It prompts us to question the authenticity of our desires and the ethical implications of our consumer choices. The irony is palpable: in our quest to display wealth, authenticity becomes a casualty. As The Fake Birkin Slayer rightly unmasks, not all that glitters is gold.

In essence, the Hermes Birkin bag symbolizes more than material possession; it embodies a desire for recognition, belonging, and status. Yet, as we confront the consequences of our consumer choices, we are compelled to question the true cost of our aspirations. Perhaps, in striving for authenticity amidst a sea of facades, we may find a path towards a more sustainable and meaningful definition of wealth—one that transcends mere possessions and embraces integrity, responsibility, and ethical stewardship in our pursuit of status and self-worth.

As we delve into the enigmatic world of Mr. Ripley and the timeless allure of Dickie Greenleaf, we uncover more than a tale of duplicity and desire. Their story resonates because it reflects our eternal fascination with privilege, charm, and the seductive power of wealth. Dickie Greenleaf, with his effortless elegance and cultured demeanor, embodies an ideal that transcends generations—a figure whose life appears as a perpetual summer of leisure and indulgence.

In our modern era, where social media platforms dictate trends and shape identities, the parallels between Mr. Ripley's calculated mimicry and our own curated personas are striking. We, too, meticulously craft our digital facades to project success, happiness, and affluence, mirroring Tom Ripley's transformation to emulate Dickie Greenleaf. Yet, beneath the veneer of luxury and sophistication, lies a deeper narrative of longing and aspiration—the desire not just to possess wealth, but to inhabit a world where status defines destiny.