Last July, in the middle of an interminable stretch of high-90s heat (very unusual for Rhode Island), I found out that I am a snob. Actually, I already knew that but appreciated the confirmation. This produced the essay below, in which I invite everyone to join with me in celebrating what makes each of us special (and also better than everyone else!).
A few days ago a Facebook acquaintance, who apparently lives in San Francisco, posted a link to an article from the latest edition of Travel and Leisure entitled “America’s Snobbiest Cities”. His post drew attention to San Francisco’s being at the top of the list; my lifetime interest in snobbery caused me to click on the link and see what other cities had earned this distinction.
Travel and Leisure runs an extensive poll every year to generate a “favorite cities list,” and used selected questions from that poll in producing the list of urban snobs. “To determine which city has the biggest nose in the air, we factored in some traditional staples of snobbery: a reputation for aloof and smarty-pants residents, along with high-end shopping and highbrow cultural offerings like classical music and theater,” the article explained. “But we also considered 21st-century definitions of elitism: tech-savviness, artisanal coffeehouses, and a conspicuous eco-consciousness (say, the kind of city where you get a dirty look for throwing your coffee cup in the wrong bin).” I made a few guesses as to who might be on the list, then proceeded to see how well I had done.
2. New York (makes sense)
4. Minneapolis/St. Paul (Really?)
5 (tie). Santa Fe (I lived there for four years and don’t understand why it isn’t #1)
I don’t like ties in polls—how can there be a tie in snobbery? I thought for a moment about what a “snob-off” competition between Seattle and Santa Fe might involve in order to break the tie for fifth place, then continued.
Wait a minute!! PROVIDENCE??? My town? You’re sure you don’t mean Provincetown? This is effing fabulous! I immediately shared the link to the article with my Facebook friends:
“Guess who made #8 in Travel and Leisure’s “Top 25 Snobbiest Cities,” behind only San Francisco, New York, Boston, Minneapolis/St. Paul, Santa Fe, Seattle and Chicago? Our fair Providence! I love it!”
I tried moving on through the remaining top twenty snobby cities (I think DC was next), but couldn’t get past Providence being number eight, nor the fact that I thought this was really cool. As I continued to think about it, supposing that those taking the poll had probably only visited Providence’s East Side around Brown University and Rhode Island School of Design (we all know that any place close to establishments of higher learning is snobby), something even more interesting dawned on me, prompting another Facebook post:
“After thinking further about the “Snobbiest Cities” poll, I realized that Boston (#3) is my favorite big city, I married a New Yorker (#2), and did my BA in Santa Fe (#5). And I have lived and worked happily in Providence (#8) for eighteen years! What does that say about me??”
This second post generated more comments than anything I’ve ever posted on Facebook. A sampling:
This explains a lot . . . (this post is from a current student—I’m intrigued)
Santa Fe is only #5? (from a former classmate in Santa Fe)
I don’t think Boston is snobby! Who said Boston is snobby? They aren’t worth your time. (Who said Boston is snobby? Umm . . . only every person who ever visited Boston??)
San Francisco is number one. Having lived there, I can say that it should be number two, behind New York. (Though maybe in per capita snobbiness it is number one.)
That you are well influenced?
That the poll was flawed?
I am surprised … New Orleans and Philadelphia are more plebian than Chicago and MINNEAPOLIS?
Wait, wait … there seems to be some confusion between “snobbishness” and plain old “xenophobia.” (Maybe, but that requires far too much thought)
All liberal. Go figure. (I knew that one was coming)
And from a good friend and colleague at my college: Despite your protests to the contrary, you’re an extrovert.
To which I responded, Bite your tongue, Christopher! But I very well may be an introverted snob. I feel an essay coming on . . .
Christopher knows me well, and knows from our many conversations, most over either beer or something harder (scotch for me, Rusty Nails for him) that my extreme introversion is a fact about myself that is not only definitive but that I embrace happily. I get along fine with extreme extroverts, or at least a few of them (Christopher, my wife), but my own experience shows that it is more difficult for an extrovert to understand an introvert than it is for an introvert to walk a mile in an extrovert’s shoes. It is not easy being an introvert in an extroverted world. Don’t believe me? Check out Susan Cain’s Quiet: The Power of Introversion in a World that Won’t Stop Talking. In a world in which extroversion is taken to be the norm, an introvert can easily be misread as aloof, superior, stand-offish, or rude. My introversion has been misread regularly since I emerged from the womb. It doesn’t help, of course, that my vocation is one that screams “ELITIST!” to many. I have been encouraged as a child, adolescent, and adult to be more outgoing, to be friendlier, to be easier to get to know. And it hasn’t worked. Why? Because I don’t want to. It’s not that I enjoy being a snob, aloof, or having a superiority complex. It’s that I enjoy my introversion, which regularly sets me up to be misunderstood.
I found the range of Facebook comments concerning the confluence of snobbiness in my life to be amusing, primarily because there was no agreement amongst the commenters as to whether snobbiness was a good or a bad thing. One person gets hot and bothered because her beloved Bostonians won the bronze medal in snootiness, while another person is annoyed because obviously superior and patrician Philadelphia and New Orleans lost out to a bunch of obviously bland and plebian Minnesotans. One person says “don’t worry, I’m sure you’re not a snob,” while another congratulates me on having a long history of snobbery. Bottom line, I think, is that all of us look for ways to separate ourselves from the crowd; it’s just that not everyone does it overtly. But under the surface, lines of division and hierarchy are always being drawn.
Which leads me to one final observation about snobby cities. You may have noted that there are no Southern cities in the top nine on the list, but there should be. I have lived in a number of cities in my life. The snobbiest was a large Southern city (which shall remain nameless).This city, on its surface, oozed the fabled Southern charm, friendliness and hospitality. Living in this city for three years as a Northern fish out of water, however, revealed that this charm is only a few molecules deep and evaporates as soon as one seeks to get beyond “How y’all doin’ today?” Navigating the lay of the land required knowledge of and respect for iron-clad economic, social, and racial divides that were not to be crossed, especially by those who, to use Jeanne’s description, were “from the deep North.” I admit it—I’m an introverted, overly educated, bibliophilic, solitude-loving, liberal Northeastern snob. But stop pretending that you aren’t a snob of a different description as well. Let’s all embrace our inner snob (you know he or she is in there) and enjoy knowing that the vast majority of human beings are inferior! You know they are!