Yuppies first appeared on our cultural landscape around the time we began to regard culture as having a landscape. They were part of a new way of looking at the world. No longer were people to be defined by where they came from, or what they did, but by what they aspired to be. A new Jerusalem, built on glorifying re-invention, excessive consumption of consumer goods and the final, glorious realization that you were what you spent. The year was 1983, or maybe it was 1982. The world was just emerging from the first monetarist inspired recession and the old way of doing things (loyalty, integrity, humanity) was being rapidly dismantled by the two dismantlers of the free world, Ronnie and Maggie. In the place of trade unions and work to rule and collectivism, they brought a new set of ideals - absolute, unwavering devotion to the cash value of any one or anything. Forget about the past (their greatest philosophical inspiration, and manufacturer of cheap cars had taught them "history is bunk"), forget about society ("there is no such thing as society" Margaret Thatcher, 1982), forget about good taste, as long as the Gucci label is showing, and showing big. All that mattered in this Darwinian world is survival. And what survival means is crushing those around. And how do you crush them in a world that unfortunately still frowns on actually killing those who oppose you? You show them how much richer you are than them. You show them how much better you are doing than them, and above all, how much better you are going to do.
The world has always had arrivistes, at least since the Neanderthals were raised from their evolutionary slumbers by the advent of homo sapiens from Africa. No longer was it enough to sit around all day picking the lice from your nearest and dearest and grumbling about the problems of getting a decent meal in a world full of saber tooth tigers with a brain only marginally bigger than a household dog. Suddenly you needed kit. To begin with it was fire. Then it was a hunting sword. Then it was nifty set of religious beliefs than entitled you to kill anyone who stood in your way. Then it was a short skirt, a collection of philosophers, a nubile rent boy for duty and a watermelon for ecstasy, the Olympic games and a theatre. Athens came and Athens went, and it did okay for a while, but to be honest with you, it was never going to last. Socrates believed in argument. He didn't believe in possessions. Plato believed in Socrates. He believed in him so wholeheartedly he forgot that he was an angry dwarf who forgot to actually write any books. Socrates never received a royalty check. He was never on the cover of People Magazine. He was never going to create a lasting civilization. The Romans knew all about that.
Romulus dealt with Remus the only way he knew. Sure they had suckled from the same wolf's teet, but enough was enough. Remus wanted a share of the glory and above all, a share of the profits from this Rome property investment thing. Romulus knew there was only room for one at the top, so he topped Remus. Good riddance to bad rubbish, a sound piece of business or a brutal piece of fratricide, if you're a big girl commie.And then it was all good in the city. The short skirt, gave way to the bed sheet wrap as togas became all the rage, with the ultimate detailing, a purple hem, for those who just knew that in eighteen hundred years, Prince would be very popular. The Roman influence can also be seen in a few other Yuppie phenomena that were to trickle down through the ages. Italian hair had to be slicked back initially using any household animal fat, but later using Brylcreem or any other restorative tonic (a look later copied by Charlie Sheen and James Spader). Slaves were to be owned. Possessions were to be shown off. "Oh, I conquered Gaul today and repressed an up-rising in our northern territories, what did you do? Fancy a game of squash? Nice chariot." was a popular greeting amongst Yuppie Romans, as was stabbing each other in the back, for the good of the company. Et tu, Brute? Of course it was me. Your hair looks rubbish, that brushed forward look is SO B.C.
Rome was ultimately undone by a decadence that would be mirrored in the excesses of the late 1980s. For epic gladiatorial contests killing thousands, read the Big Bang. For sacrificing 50 Vestal Virgins, read big hair and shoulder pads. For making your prize horse a senator, read electing Dan Quayle to high office. The rise and fall of the Yuppie had now established an historical precedence. Italian designers, hair, health clubs, bulimia; all of these Yuppie staples first came into being during the Roam era. Venni, vidi, Gucci.
The Dark Ages were like the 1970s. Crazy times if you like that sort of thing, but really not my cup of tea. Everyone looked like shit, and the place was chaos. William the Conqueror moved in and did a little bit of hostile takeover on England. The first fil-o-fax was created, the Doomsday Book, but it didn't catch on, as people were more interested in farming turnips than in elegance of a one-stop shop personal organizer in a ring binder format. Some even accused the Doomsday Book of being, horror of horrors, an early attempt at regulation. More astute observers noticed the early opportunity at bribing, "paying off ye officialdom" and "Greasing thine master's palm" as it was known in those days.
With the Renaissance came a renewed influx of values which we can now view as Yuppie. First there was discovering great new holiday destinations to tell your friends about. Columbus, Vasco De Gama, Magellan, Cooke. A romantic cruise followed by two weeks in an exclusive beach resort that won't be over run by tacky German industrialists - so what if you had to drink your own urine on the return journey. It was exclusive. It was desirable. There by monsters. There by Prada. Columns reappeared in architecture, as the retro look appeared for the first time, while Michelangelo represented the first in a long line of incredibly camp interior designers, painting ceilings with the most flamboyant homo-erotica imaginable. Men were taught to excel at everything. Archery, science, poetry, love and be patrons of the arts. In later days, men would have a similarly diverse range of talents, practicing the modern art of badminton, the drinking of Beaujolais and the wearing of Hugo Boss with equal aplomb. Above all, they discovered perspective. A third dimension which made the idea of ownership possible and led inexorably to property speculation, a nice weekend retreat in the Hamptons, Donald Trump and the pinstripe shirt with cufflinks.
In England, Henry VIII and his daughter Elizabeth deregulated the church, in order to facilitate the ultimate Yuppie leisure pursuit, divorce, and encourage "Ye Broken Home," the better to enable "teen angst" the better to inspire the makers of early soap operas, Shakespeare and Marlowe, both of whose influence can clearly be seen in the work of John Hughes, although most modern critics don't attempt to deny Hughes was a much greater artist, if a lesser man.
The seventeenth Century was instantly forgettable, apart from an early outbreak of Yuppie Flu, in the form of the Black Death, and the charity record, Ring-a-round-the-roses, along with an early, Oliver Cromwell inspired back to basics fashion thing. Black was the new black for every one from Procurator Fiscal to Witchfinder General, although John Milton occasionally liked to cut a dash in a muted gray and earth tone number, at least until he went blind. After this, he gave up fashion, and got all spiritual, writing poetry, and warning of damnation, much like Anita Roddick who founded the Body Shop. As for the Eighteenth Century, least said, soonest mended, especially when one is trying to construct an argument out of absolute gibberish.
By the end of the Nineteenth Century, the world seemed fit for Yuppie takeover, hostile or otherwise, as robber barons begat northern industrialists and urban development allowed people to make a fortune in property. A proper disrespect for workers' rights, a genuine distaste for the new found evil of Socialism, and the understanding that a woman's role was in redecorating the home made this the last of the great proto-Yuppie eras. Home furnishings flourished and wallpaper was invented, when William Morris thought "What does that wall say about me as a person? It says I've got a wall without printed flowers on it? Where's Laura Ashley when you need her?" Cocaine first became fashionable. So did holidaying the in the South of France in speed boat with the members of Duran Duran, although the Birmingham new wave boys were a bit younger then. Real celebrities emerged - Oscar Wilde, Charles Dickens, Phil Collins - and real celebrity gossip appeared. Oscar was gay; Dickens was a woman; Collins was older than he claimed.
The early part of the Twentieth Century was a disaster. Apart from two major world wars and the emergence of Chanel, nothing good happened whatsoever. People tried to help each other, industries were nationalized, health services were created in order to justify a high rate of taxation. Yet out of this darkness, a new light emerged. And its name was Ronald Reagan-Margaret Thatcher. Suddenly, in the shape of a twin headed beast, divided into a failed B movie actor called Dutch and a psycho in drag called hormone replacement therapy gone seriously wrong, they took the world, shook it up and gave it back to the people who mattered. Those who were prepared to stab their best friend in the back in order to get a table at a restaurant. Those who drove German cars. Those who liked polo and nouvelle cuisine. Anyone whose self worth could be measured in the size of their bonus and the number of people they'd destroyed on their way to the bit of the middle just below the lowest echelons of the top, but with enough of a view to keep you striving for more. Network became a verb. Shoulders became padded. Armani became God. For 6 years, there was peace on earth. The fittest had survived and God saw that it was good. The yuppie multipled, everyone wanted everything, everyone got everything, as long as it was a company car, an expense account and CD player complete with Wham - The Final. Wham split up. George Michael turned out to be like Oscar Wilde, only not talented in any way whatsoever. The stock market crashed. Ronald Reagan was replaced by George Bush. Margaret Thatcher was replaced by the more feminine John Major. Suddenly there was another recession. The moment was gone. All of history had pointed to this moment, and now it was no more. History is bunk, after all.
Damn, I love those guys.
