Being a member of English aristocracy isn’t what it used to be. It used to be all “good day, m’lady” and “no more crepe suzette for me, Jeeves”. You were respected. Your subordinates worshipped you. But no longer. It doesn’t matter if you can trace your heritage back to Henry V, or that you wear a tie representing Oxford because you and four generations of ancestors went there. Nope. Now you’re a bloody nobody unless you’ve got a Twitter handle.
Look at this shit. You see these shoes? I got them as a present from the Countess of Wessex on my 20th birthday. I should be strutting all up and down Prince Street in them, talking with my cute clipped accent and getting all those American panties wet. But I can’t. Why? Because instead I’m trying to connect to a damn free Starbucks/At&T wi-fi hotspot so I can upload this fucking picture of my brunch.
Maybe there’s a Barnes and Noble nearby.
Do you realize how rich my family is? Have you heard of Highclere Castle? It’s my family’s summer home. A castle is my summer home. Let that sink in.
But nowadays being of noble blood isn’t enough. Now I have to compete with some old skanks in New Jersey who have a show on Bravo. Now the only way to get a piece of the public eye is to tweet what I think about Kim Kardashian’s divorce. I only have 500 followers. I’M THE GODDAMN EARL OF PEMBROKE. I have the same Klout score as this blogger that only posts pictures of three-legged dogs.
Anyways, follow me on @DukeofPemBrizoke
This entry was posted on Monday, November 21st, 2011 at 12:51 pm and is filed under Monologues, The Blog and tagged with monologues, social media, the sartorialist, twitter. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.