Class in American Society
(Class in American Society presents the kind of profiles you’d find in a field guide annotated by a disillusioned anthropologist with a flair for satire and a taste for mezcal.)
In 1983, Paul Fussell published Class: A Guide Through the American Status System, a book that sliced through the polite fiction of a classless America with the precision of a scalpel dipped in acid. Fussell, equal parts cultural critic and social satirist, mapped out a hierarchy not of income but of taste, behavior, and the subtle codes that govern who gets to feel superior to whom. His taxonomy–Upper, Middle, Proletarian, and their four shadowy subtypes–was less about economics than about the semiotics of socks, cocktails, and conversational gambits.
Today, we live in a society that still insists it has transcended class–while obsessively performing it. The script for that performance does not contain the old markers–leisure, length of driveway, and lineage. Their parts are now taken by vibe, platform, and aestheticized labor. What follows is a reimagining of Fussell’s seven-class schema for our post-status era: a taxonomy of meta-classes defined not by birth or bank account, but by posture, platform, and the artful deployment of ambiguity
The Curated Poor Not to be confused with the actual poor, who remain invisible, the curated poor arrive on a bike that has only one gear and was named after a French philosopher. They favor hand-mended denim and a tote bag from a defunct anarchist bookstore. Their speech is a blend of Marxist critique and Etsy hustle, punctuated by phrases like “late-stage capitalism” and “I’m off email this month.” They drink coffee brewed in a Chemex rescued from a yard sale and refer to their apartment as “the collective.” Their status is built on aestheticized precarity–poverty as performance art, curated for maximum authenticity.
The Algorithmic Middle This is the true dominant class, though it denies its own existence. Clad in tech-branded quarter-zips and sneakers designed for silent ambition, they speak in fluent productivity jargon: “circle back,” “optimize,” “scalable.” Their homes are filled with smart devices that monitor their sleep, hydration, and self-worth. They commute in leased electric vehicles named after weather patterns and believe in the gospel of Notion, Calendly, and cold plunges. Their lives are a spreadsheet of self-improvement rituals, each one designed to impress an invisible audience.
The Crypto Nouveau They dress like a failed video game protagonist–hoodies with slogans like “decentralize everything,” sneakers that glow, and watches that display Ethereum gas fees. Their conversations are riddled with jargon and prophecy: “We’re building a DAO for artisanal salt,” “I’m bullish on vibes.” They travel by hacked Tesla or helicopter share. Their wealth is theoretical, their taste is nonexistent, and their homes are decorated with LED panels and ergonomic chairs.
The Wellness Aristocracy Swathed in linen and moonstone, they glide through life like sentient incense. Their speech is soft, deliberate, and mystical: “My healer says I’m entering a new frequency,” “We’re unschooling our twins in a forest-based curriculum.” They drink water that’s been sung to, and walk barefoot on curated moss. Their SUVs contain crystal grids and emergency tinctures. Their children are named after Norse runes and attend schools with no grades, only “growth spirals.” They believe in ancestral healing, but not in public infrastructure. Their status is measured in detoxes, retreats, and the number of syllables in their oat milk brand.
The Disavowed Elite They wear Patagonia over $900 shirts and speak in the dialect of strategic humility: “I’m just a guy who cares about systems,” “We’re trying to decolonize our investment strategy.” They drive vintage Volvos with activist bumper stickers and fly private to climate conferences. Their children attend schools with Latin mottos and composting programs. They perform elite guilt with precision, always pretending to be adjacent to power while quietly running the world.
The Content Serfs Draped in fast fashion that mimics slow fashion, they live in a state of perpetual hustle. Their speech is a blend of brand strategy and emotional vulnerability: “I’m manifesting a collab,” “My brand is chaotic good.” They travel via Uber, narrating every moment for TikTok, and their homes are ring-lit shrines to the algorithm. They are told they are creators, but they are actually indentured servants to the dopamine economy. Their status is measured in likes, not dollars.
The Unclassifiables These are the true aristocrats of post-status America. They do not post. They do not explain. They do not engage. They live in a state of cultivated ambiguity–off-grid but somehow omnipresent. They arrive in vehicles that do not appear to move and speak in gestures that resemble language but defy translation. Their clothing may include robes, lab coats, or nothing at all. You hear rumors of them: a dinner party in a decommissioned observatory, a novel written entirely in emojis, a child named “?” They are rumored to exist, and when they reemerge, it is marked by a single post: “.” They are beyond class. They are myth.
For more red-hot cultural dispatches from a culture in decline, clickhereand duck for cover.