Money. There are television shows about it, books written on it, websites dedicated to its discussion. Empires rise and fall on the ebb and flow of the greenback tide. We handle it every day. Its existence is unavoidable, omnipresent. But when it comes to talking about cash, one-on-one, what’s appropriate?
“No Makeup.” That’s one of the first categories of Google-able images you’ll find of Romanian model Andreea Diaconu, second only to “Street Style” – which basically means bitch has a wardrobe and a face that will make you hate her desperately. And let’s not even talk about that body. Jesus Christ. Life, as many know all too well, is not always fair. It doles out its blessings unevenly, like a crappy saltshaker with half of its holes corroded with an old, brackish crust. Some people get nothing, most people get something, and others get it all. Andreea falls into the latter camp.
The following is an excerpt from my piece “Too Much is Never Enough” on Lady Clever:
Four years ago, a friend of mine was going through relationship troubles with her then-boyfriend. Struggling with the idea of letting go of a person she loved very much, she, like many models tend to do, sought the advice of another half-naked coworker, an older Brazilian girl with whom she had often been trapped in a closet with for long stretches of time, alternating between trying on clothes for strangers and talking about life. Before the break-up that inevitably came, the Brazilian, in her deep, sexy Portuguese accent told my friend, “Girl, do not worry. You have too much sand for his sand truck.”
By the grace of the travel gods I have been upgraded to business class and am currently sitting next to a successful art director wearing very expensive sneakers and a pair of well-cut jeans. We bonded when he handed me, without even saying a word, a copy of Interview Magazine. Soon after our dinner accompanied by actual silverware was delivered, we became good chums, toasting the good life with plastic wine glasses filled with cheap Chardonnay. This is the type of stuff that occurs in the forward of an aircraft, unlike what routinely happens to me in coach, which is to be harassed by oafs for pieces of gum and starved out for about six hours. Apparently, getting upgraded isn’t just about the cookies; it’s about the company.