Who me, a yuppie?
A young city or suburban resident with a well-paid professional job and an affluent lifestyle. Read more on Answers.com
A friend and I met up at one p.m. last Sunday at a brunch place swarming with Tribeccan yuppies. I took one step in the door and was ready to do an about face. Strollers and screaming tots abounded, all of them dressed in shit like this. Barf. I can’t be sure why it bothers me so to see super-affluent New Yorkers luxuriating in their weekend rituals. But it does.
Don’t think it’s the kids thing that bother me, really. I love children. A lot, actually. And it’s not that I’m jealous because I’m anxious to have kids of my own. Luckily, I don’t suffer from the biological clock complex. Yeah, some will say ─ easy to say when you are 31. Check back in four. Well, there are no guarantees that I won’t change my mind, but the way I see it, fundamentally: que sera sera. Today is the tomorrow we worried about yesterday. You can’t force it, you can’t control it, so why obsess over it?
So what is it, then, that irks me when I come across such scenes? Is it the affluence? The privilege and contentment? The materialism and conformity? Am I jealous that I have less money and more doubts? Or ─ worse ─ am I afraid that I am in fact no different? Is it a kind of self-flagellation because I’ve seen the enemy, and she is me? Yeah … that’s the most likely answer. Whether or not it’s true, I’ve never liked to think of myself as one who takes the beaten path. And these days, the yuppie path in Manhattan is increasingly well trodden.