THE ANGRIEST MODELS OF KADEWE
Rich people aren’t like you or I. We live in apartments, they live in private jets. Whilst we have secret sexual relationships with our bosses in a feeble attempt to rise a quarter-rung higher up the corporate ladder, they have harems filled with movie stars. Nowhere is this difference more noticeable than advertising. See, adverts made for we junk food-snorting proletarians show people being happy. The people in billboards and on TV frolic around some unrealistically clean restaurant or mall, their mouths upturned in what their agent told them is simulated delight. The message is simple: buy this and you can be as happy as these failed actors.
But not adverts for the rich. The models (they are always models) in advertisements for luxury goods always, always look miserable. They pout and glare and generally look as though they’ve been told that being thin and attractive causes bowel cancer. This is because the rich are masochists.
In order to chart this phenomenon, I went to Berlin’s foremost cluttering of rich people, Kaufhaus Des Westerns (more commonly and stupidly known as KaDeWe).
As taking pictures inside the store had me glared at by staff and eyed by security, I took along my two burly assistants/boyfriends. Because no-one will fuck with three bespectacled homosexuals.
With shaky cameraphone in hand, it was our mission to work out exactly what scenarios these models were trying to emulate, and what circumstances the rich people were supposed to aspire to. With that, I bring you:
THE ANGRIEST MODELS OF KADEWE
After taking his new wife to his family’s “ranch” (estate), Warren, having realised his nuptial mistake, subconsciously sabotages the poor woman’s efforts to ingratiate herself with his relatives. At dinner, he subtly criticizes her mode of eating and choice of formal wear, slowly chipping away at her self-esteem whilst making her look like an impoverished cretin. Over dessert he makes sure his parents are aware of at least eight of her faults. As the sky slowly dims Warren takes her for an after-dinner walk, conveying his judgement of his hapless wife through stern silence. Seating himself on one of his father’s many vintage cars, he stares at her with a disapproval which lets her know she will get nothing in the divorce.
As the cocaine and tranquiliser cocktail began to wear off, Stephanie’s increasing sobriety brought her to the terrible realisation that she was, in fact, standing in the middle of a discount supermarket. And that she had nothing on beneath her coat.
He always said he loved her bangs. This would show him. Going into the bathroom and reaching for his nail scissors, she began to attack the innocent strands of her own hair. This would show him. So he liked dispersing the funds they’d been saving for a luxury tour of Seoul’s best restaurants among upmarket casinos did he? Well, no trip, no pretty hair. The job complete, she exited the bathroom and posed against the hallway cube, waiting for him to come back from work, pleased with herself for finding the appropriate outlet for her rage. This would show him.
Tobias has a rare moment of lucid reflection upon realising that his boyfriend’s hatred of his very existence has become so deep-rooted and passive-aggressive that he packed him 30 denim jackets and no shirts.
Whilst on a luxury backpacking tour through Malaysia to repair their failing relationship, Timothy and his girlfriend Imogen (not pictured) decide to be ‘wild’ and walk down a third-world street whilst accompanied by only three bodyguards. In all the excitement Imogen walks too fast, accidentally nudging Timothy’s ankle with her shoe. Timothy milks this for all he can, crying out in pain and then dramatically sitting down, making sure to make angry eye contact with his soon to be ex-lover for a full twenty minutes, whilst rubbing a different part of his leg entirely.
‘I hate you. By every hair of this kittenfur coat, I hate you.’
‘This is the worst picture of me I’ve ever had commissioned. How am I supposed to send this as a Christmas card to my pauper relatives? How will they know that I’m better than them when I look like I’m fading into three separate dimensions? You’re fired. Watch your back.’
Having read every last one of his diaries, Sandra contemplates the appropriate revenge, knowing full well that her father’s judicial contacts will protect her from the futile retributions of the criminal justice system.
‘Oh my! Oh my! Look how my arm is weighted down with the 24 karat gold bracelet inlaid with flawless diamonds you didn’t buy for me. Oh, it’s so heavy and imaginary, and it was so thoughtful of you to not buy it after I sighed four times whilst gazing upon it at the jewellers. I love you so fucking much, I probably won’t even have an affair with your father.’
Although Gunter is actually highly attracted to the naked man before him, he makes sure to give the individual’s bare torso a look of quiet, regretful disdain, so the appropriate power dynamic in the budding relationship is established. This could be The One!
Sheldon ensures his interior decorator knows his full disgust at this choice of mural, and that not only will he be fired, but his entire professional career is finished.
With their ageing mother having finally passed away, Wendel and Estonia are finally to come into their inheritance. Knowing that owning a mere half the family fortune would be an insult to their dignity, each agrees to go on a bonding trip to Switzerland’s finest ski resort. Each hiding the appropriate weapon within the elegant lining of their formal wear, they agree to take a lovely walk in the snow. As they find a quiet, secluded spot in the isolated forest, each knows it is time.
No-one is going to share the beach house.
Gazing upon their own reflections in the mirror of a ruthlessly upmarket department store they had patronised (in every sense of the word) in order to make themselves feel better about their own lack of monetary funds, each of the three boyfriends realises they’ve made a horrible mistake in devoting their lives to pursuits they actually enjoy. Slowly, whilst still staring into the cold mocking void of the reflective surface, each makes the individual decision to dedicate their lives to gloomy material gain – feeling lighter as a result. There is a brief moment of internal panic at the realisation that this sensation of lightness is simply that of their souls departing, the terror quickly alleviated by the realisation that they would soon be able to afford hand-stitched cashmere coats.
The woman in the red hat notices nothing.
Join us next time when we’ll be screaming at random strangers in the street! For no reason!
- Wealthfern
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