After over five years of waiting, I’ve finally had a reasoned, informed discussion with a Brexiter. The specifics aren’t important, but it was perhaps significant that the individual (who is not known to me personally) also has a background in education and the exchange did take place on social media. The former provided a little shared ground – but as the discussion developed, it quickly became apparent just how limiting the practicalities of conducting complex debate by such means actually are.

This coincided neatly with both my finishing Tim Harford’s book How to Make the World Add Up and the final proof reading of my own book on Critical Thinking (now begins the hard search for a publisher…)

After several other recent encounters where my attempts to reason carefully with Brexiters ended in yet more mockery and abuse, my concern about the balkanisation of public opinion had not exactly subsided. Whatever our views, it really is not healthy if all we can do is close our ears and call each other nasty names in lieu of searching for an accommodating way forward.

The Sophists were thinkers and orators of ancient Greece. Over time, rhetoric and winning an argument came to dominate reaching the truth (I will leave aside here the deep difficulties within that word…). Sophistry is alive and well in modern society. It seems that our formal politics depend on it – especially in the system we have in the U.K. where the “winner takes all” – and achieving that winning position in both a general election and more widely seems more important than wise (let alone conciliatory) government itself. It hardly sets a good example to society at large… (With this tail well and truly wagging the dog, much of what passes for governance in this country is now, it seems to me, little more than collateral effects of the supremacy battle within the Westminster Bubble).

Social media also seem to thrive on sophistry, if only because they tap into a fundamental human competitiveness and boost it by removing the usual social conventions that might make one keep at least one ‘glove’ on when debating face to face. So often it seems that the real purpose of interaction is to win the argument, rather than find factual accuracy – let alone approach consensus or deeper understanding of another point of view. Maybe I am being hopelessly idealistic here, but it is still a great pity, since more mature use of social media has, I believe, huge potential to boost proper civic debate.

Both Harford’s book and the art of critical thinking in general can perhaps inform the way forward, and even guide our personal conduct and strategy.

It is all too easy to get sucked into sophistry oneself, when operating in a sphere that encourages it. Regularly reminding oneself that ‘winning’ the argument is neither likely nor necessary can help. The chances of fundamentally quashing another view to the point of abandonment are tiny, as is easily appreciated if one reflects on the difficulty one might encounter oneself in conceding the same. People rarely make fundamental changes to their positions except through profound personal experiences – and the chances of a discussion on social media being one are about nil. A little respect simply accepts that one’s opponent will be in the same position, and it is all the more unlikely if those positions really are the product of genuine thought and experience, rather than dogma.

In which case, shifting the objective towards a genuine exploration of the issues and contrasting perspectives is much more likely to be productive. How to do that? My own approach is hopefully to model good practice, for example by:

• never using ad hominems;
• always being prepared to look for compromise;
• trying to find commonality and consensus where it does exist, even outside the debate itself;
• understanding the difference between fact and interpretation or opinion;
• trying to address opposing points rather than ignoring or rubbishing them;
• conceding when one does not have a good answer;
• maintaining politeness and good humour;
• firmly asserting one’s credentials without bragging or demeaning the other person;
• most importantly, explicitly (and if necessary, repeatedly) stating one’s aims and code for the discussion.

I won’t pretend that I always achieve all of this, particularly under fire but it is still, I think, a good aspiration. Sadly, sheer experience suggests that many people are so preconditioned that they can’t respond in kind – but that too does not diminish the aspiration. Retaining the moral high ground is probably still good advice.

In the recent experience, my interlocutor sadly began by dismissing my points and claiming (without any basis) that I had no experience in the subject matter and did not know what I was talking about. Privately, I knew this was ridiculous – but how to prove otherwise without appearing condescending? However, just for once, continued engagement did shift the argument onto more constructive ground and we proceeded to have detailed and lengthy interactions over several days, before agreeing to close it simply due to the practical constraints. It finished courteously.

What did it achieve? Tim Harford points out the importance of curiosity: curious people are more likely to engage with alternative views because their own are subject to modification, whereas the incurious will simply close their ears and blast away. Such flexibility at least makes it more possible to respect and respond to another position even if one does not agree with or adopt it. It also makes a shifting of positions towards greater tolerance or consensus just a little more likely. A recent feature in The Guardian, which has put opponents face to face over a meal has found something similar: given the right conditions, balkanised positions can be eroded and consensus or at least mutual respect found.

Harford suggests that when it comes to real sticking points, it can be better to ask people progressively to elaborate their understanding of their own position, rather than attempting to contradict them. If they cannot, then this self-realisation is more effective than anything one can say oneself. It does not necessarily mean that they will concede openly, of course. In other words, the key to a successful debate is to pay attention not to your own views, but to those of the other, no matter how much you disagree with them.

In the recent discussion, it became clear that the other person was (unsurprisingly) no more likely to shift wholesale to my point of view than I was to hers. I felt there were omissions and contradictions in her stance – ironic given her claim to authority, and precisely a criticism she levelled at mine. I did my best to respond accordingly, though I felt that fewer of my own points were directly addressed in return. When presented with a challenge, it can feel easier to shift the argument that address it – but it is a weaker and less persuasive response. I drew my own conclusions – privately.

It seemed as though we were seeing the world in through parallel lenses: broadly the same information interpreted in diametrically opposite ways, nothing profound enough to alter that fact.

Nonetheless, the discussion was civil; over time we found there were areas of agreement, and at the same time, I suspect some points were raised by either side that the other had not previously considered. If our interaction has any longer lasting effect, I suspect it will be incremental – and this is perhaps why we need to see such events as the ‘sowing of seeds’ that may just germinate given time and modify someone’s long term view. It works both ways, of course – and perhaps that is the final benefit: it is better to talk properly to our opponents than abuse them, give a little, learn a little and then part, disagreeing if necessary – but perhaps slightly the wiser.

“C’est pour offrir?”

“Oui. S’il vous plaît”

I watched, enchanted, as the assistant deftly turned a small white card box into a minor artwork. But I also learned: how the paper needs to be only a little larger than the surface area of the contents; how thicker, better quality paper folds and cuts more cleanly than cheap stuff; how one should fold it in as closely into the corners as possible; how the end flaps should never stray onto the main surfaces, how to wrap tricky objects by starting from the largest surface, and how to use a minimal amount of tape so as not to mar the effect.

The package was expertly quartered with ribbon, the loose ends made into a bow and drawn across the back of the scissors blade to curl them, a decorative sprig attached. The Swiss are masters at such small acts of hospitality. My hosts were delighted; I went home and practised.

The giving and receiving of presents is a significant gesture and worthy of care: an expression of appreciation and understanding from one human being to another. Choosing something to give, gratuitously to delight another involves effort and insight; it means assuming proxy powers to enhance another’s life.  Dig deeper and you find yourself confronting profound questions about whether humans are fundamentally competitive or collaborative creatures: the act of voluntarily giving something away could even be counter-evolutionary, which may be why the sense of beneficence it generates can be so pleasurable for the giver too…

But while the giving and receiving of presents can be a delightful thing, offering moments of innocent joy, it is also a minefield of potential misjudgement and faux-pas; in this apparently simple act, there are so many judgements to be made – which may be why it is so often played down, made more pragmatic than symbolic, just another tick on the to-do list.

Perhaps the French phrase gives an inkling of this: something to be offered. Not insisted upon, nor taken for granted; perhaps something artfully chosen and presented, highly personal – tentatively, humbly proffered for acceptance. Therein lie imponderable questions about whom the present is really for, and what its purpose is:  the stage is set for a delicate pas-de-deux between giver and recipient. But while the obvious answer might be the latter, there is more to it than that.

 One can begin by wondering whether it is the act or the artefact that is more important; “It’s the thought that counts” might give us an answer – but which thought? Whose? Not all presents are chosen or given wholly willingly. And what if it’s wide of the mark?

An artfully-given present demands empathy from the giver towards the recipient, in order to know what will both delight and be of use. As important is the implied care that was taken in the choosing; to that extent, a present says much about the giver too, and this therefore allows him or her some sovereignty over the act. Thus it also requires receptivity, good grace and a willingness to be delighted on the part of the recipient.

So presents may be as much about giving as receiving; while I appreciated that as little as a child as anyone else, over time I have come to enjoy the act of seeking out suitable gifts that I hope will delight their intended recipients – but which also say a little about me and our relationship in the process. For there are, after all, two people involved in this act.

Literally and figuratively wrapped up in all this is the nature of the gift itself: should it be useful, or simply beautiful? Whom should it most delight – the giver or the receiver? Is the purpose to say, “Here is something I hope you will like” or “Here is something that I like, that I hope you will too”? In an ideal world, they will overlap of course – but let’s not get too ambitious… People nowadays tend to have very specific wishes, but there may be times when something more generic but genuinely charming comes closer to hitting the spot – as we tend to do with people we know less well.

If it’s really the thought that counts, then the nature of the present itself perhaps matters less, so long as it is not actually rejected. Most people are realistic and tactful enough to understand the occasional failures, though it is still an opportunity lost and a disappointment gained, for what is a present if not genuinely loved…? What is perhaps more difficult is misjudgements that persist year after year, with neither side apparently learning very much. A kind of entrenched resignation sets in at yet another tea towel from….. A seriously mis-received present can cause embarrassment and cause nearly as much offence as does a good one pleasure; see www.dauphin/henryV/tennisballs.…..

And so we very often play safe. We fall easily into judging a present by its content rather than its symbolism; I am as guilty as the next, though I am still as delighted by something genuinely unexpected, provided it genuinely pleases me – but that is the difficult bit, for that involves knowing me more than a little…and I’m not keen on the subterfuge required to cover up the less successful ones.

If specialness is the main criterion, a present doesn’t need to be large or expensive; I would rather receive something nice to eat or drink (nicely wrapped of course) than an ugly but ludicrously expensive watch, a bubble-packed green plastic smoke-emitting toy dragon with illuminating LED eyes, a baggy orange acrylic pullover that I really will never bring myself to wear even once, or even a pair of Beolab-28 speakers, which Bang & Olufsen’s website is (without apparent irony) offering in its ‘gift suggestions’, for a mere £10,750. A badly misjudged present suggests that the person giving it either does not understand, or does not care – or both; it wasn’t a present, just an obligation. Repetition only makes it worse…

Sadly, I think a lot of the charm has already been lost. I blame the usual suspects, namely commerce and the media, who shamelessly devalue everything they touch so long as it boosts the bottom line. Modern retail couldn’t care less about the niceties, so long as we all part with shedloads of cash in the process; it benefits from turning present-giving from a symbolic act into a utilitarian and expensive one. Many have been conned, seeming to believe that the important criteria are the size, number and cost of the presents, rather than how well-considered or genuinely delightful they are. Why does anyone need to give the same person multiple presents? Do two presents delight twice as much as one? If nothing else, the Law of Diminishing Returns says not…

With the loss of ‘well-given’ has also gone ‘well-received’: particularly now that we often know what the wrapping (if present) will contain, much of the delight is lost before we have even started, replaced by inevitability, no matter how nice the item. Once the present is opened, it is put aside on the pile with all the others, possibly (if it is lucky) to be revisited another day. Just another act of material acquisition.

Yet despite the foregoing, I admit I have become a complete Present Pragmatist. I think it was the realisation that this is indeed a two-way process that did it – and it seems I am, once again, in a very small minority. I’m not sure where else the best resolution can lie between two people who for whatever reason (perhaps great distance?) only have a rudimentary appreciation of each other, for whom presents may be bought more because of the relationship involved than a deep desire to delight that individual. I would rather receive no present at all than an inappropriate one, just because someone did not think hard enough about the pas-de-deux. That may sound ungracious, and appear to contradict my earlier point about the respective prerogatives of the giver and receiver – but the solution surely lies in the level of understanding necessary between those people in the first place. If the price of resolving that issue is to do my own legwork, then so be it.

It is not a matter of having expensive tastes. I would rather receive something small but well-chosen – or else add my own contribution, to make affordable something that otherwise might not have been – than be given something useless to me just because it was cheap, of an “appropriate” size/value, or because it briefly amused to the person who bought it. Not that this has proved much defence against “I changed my mind and bought you this instead…” – leaving me to pick up the entire bill for what we had previously been agreed would be shared….

All manner of complexities can simply be sidestepped by either specifying very closely what one would like (sending a hyperlink is almost fool-proof), allowing only a very small number of people to do one’s shopping – or even mutually buying one’s own, and settling up later. This seems to avoid most of the tide of polyester pyjamas, sugary snacks and joke socks (that play Jingle Bells) that might otherwise arrive. It even avoids some (but not all) of the gaudy, sticky-tape-plastered (and definitely not recyclable) wrapping paper that seems to be that national norm when it comes to ‘presentation’, Swiss standards being rare here. And given that much of the symbolism is already gone by that point, I am also mercenary in my use of online shopping to minimise the tedious logistics.

I hasten to say that I do apply the same logic the other way round: people should have what they tell me they want, no matter what I think. I learned years ago that there is no point going to great lengths to acquire something special for someone, only for it to be utterly lost on them. Nor to wrap things especially nicely if they are routinely shredded without a glance. My belief that nice things always cut through was shown to be hopelessly naïve.

So, I largely save my efforts for those who do understand, and accept that I will be buying a fair number of the watering cans, car tyre pumps, underwear and novelty nick-nacks that some people would just buy for themselves rather than requesting as presents. That is, I suppose, another form of good grace – the acceptance that one should completely suspend one’s own input when giving, and just do what was asked. I suppose it means that I accept (reluctantly) that my idea of Giving is not the only valid one. Except that inwardly, I don’t; too much of the essence has been lost.

There are, however, certain lines I will not cross: I always buy the best present I can afford rather than the cheapest (or first) I can find, I do not dilute my budget by adding needless extras – and I still wrap tightly and with minimal tape.

I don’t intend this post to be taken too seriously, but neither is its message unimportant. It may speak of ships passing in the night, of people who, for whatever reason do not really understand or value or think hard enough about each other, even when they may supposedly be close. Present-giving easily becomes tokenism, ritual, routine, rather than a genuine expression of delight, appreciation and respect – not of the thing itself, but of one person in another.

Happy Christmas.

As another year eases down with scarcely a bump onto the runway leading to Christmas, even this occasional curmudgeon must admit that he likes this time of year. Indeed, it is probably the single most Sprezzatura event in the calendar – the time when even those who progress through life heads down, pedalling furiously are supposed to let up and acknowledge that life can be good. Indeed, even should be good. That we can spend a little time just being mellow, and appreciating and sharing our comforts.

I tend to feel, though, that rather too much hinges on one day; particularly if the religious side of Christmas is of no concern, then quite why the rituals of one particular day are put on such a pedestal is rather mystifying. I suppose the whole thing needs a focus in order to be what it is – but it is also worth remembering that 25^th December is not pivotal everywhere; for some, Christmas Eve is of more importance. And that’s without the flip side of the coin, of course, namely that rituals can easily become a rods of unwelcome familial ‘duty’ for the back, even without added complications such as for those who must work on 25^th.

I have always preferred the growing anticipation of Advent to The Day itself, not least because there is longer to savour it. It is not as though there is a scarcity of short, dark days in need of uplifting…

I think one of the great things about the online world is the way in which one gains a far greater sense of things happening elsewhere, than was the case in the bad old days when most of us were much more locked into our respective narrow national conversations. It is great that I can watch a webcam from Spitsbergen or Namibia as I have been doing in recent days. And I can see how many of my favourite places are preparing.

Especially in the past two years, I have appreciated the opportunity, courtesy of YouTube, to take walks through cities, rides on trains, and view domestic interiors and routines across the world, that has done a little to make up for the total absence of physical travel. In recent weeks, I have visited the decorated streets of a dozen countries, and strolled virtually through the Christmas markets of some of my favourite continental cities.

I will leave the real Bah-Humbug to the Christmas Nationalist (my description) who seemed incapable of letting even the season of goodwill interrupt his steady stream of Brexit tosh, to the irritation of quite a few. It was not I who pointed out that nearly every ‘British’ Christmas tradition is actually a continental import. Speculation followed about just what was the original, insular British Christmas; it’s almost impossible to say, of course, given the amount of cultural to-and-fro that has always existed between these islands and the rest of the world, and the near-continent in particular.

In true Brexit style, the CN seemed not to be listening, however, as his various totems were overturned. What is apparently important is that we have OUR OWN British Christmas now! Forget all those lousy foreign imports such as panettone, lebkuchen, stollen, Christmas markets, turkeys, port, and Christmas trees for heavens’ sake. It felt as though The Queen at 3pm was all there was left. And that I can well do without…

Christmas is the time of year when our supposedly shared values and culture are most on display – be that through the general belief in “peace and goodwill”, the way in which a formerly Christian festival is now the closest thing we have to a secular, global one, and (sadly) the extent to which we have let it become an orgy of commercialised material consumption.

Culture in this sense is not the stuff of museums; it is simply what all people everywhere value and do in their lives; at this time of year, that is more on show that usual.

Yet there is a tension here: at a time of supposed togetherness, individual self-determination has never been stronger; while Christmas as an international (retail?) phenomenon still seems to be growing, I suspect there is more divergence than ever in what individual people actually do. And so, we arrive at a cultural pick-and-mix, where we are all left to compile our own particular versions of Christmas, as with everything else. They may not always mesh well; CN and I found ourselves on resolutely opposing sides. The defender of British libertarianism in effect demanded that we should all now follow the same narrow, laid-down (imagined?) British-only version of Christmas Freedom – whereas I, a little to my surprise, ended up advocating the kind of cultural magpie-ism that might also be the source of some of my worst Christmas nightmares.

It can turn into a very personal minefield (I feel a post on the art and politics of present giving coming on…). Personally, I am very happy that my festive season is now a little internationalised in a way it wasn’t as a child: there are Italian and German goodies in the cupboard alongside the Christmas Cake; there are Scandi-styled decorations on the tree rather than tinsel; I enjoyed my virtual walks through the Christmas markets, and I take my present-giving lead from what I have seen elsewhere. The images in my mind are, if anything, more of Christmas in Milan, Berne, Strasbourg or Lille than closer to home. Except, to varying degrees, that is my cultural home – it has all melded into a comfortable, pleasurable whole that reflects my sense that home is no longer constrained by a narrow stretch of water. We are all parts of the same thing, which is in a sense, surely part of the message of Christmas.

But there is also the risk of disappointment; as the options have multiplied, we cannot assume that even those nearest to us share the same tastes and values. Despite my best efforts, I struggle to appreciate many aspects of the home-grown effort. It’s not just the scam “Winter Wonderland” mudbaths; the homegrown ‘Christmas Markets’ we have visited have always been disappointing jamborees of junk food and tack – pale imitations of the continental versions; why do we always have to adulterate and dumb down? I don’t understand, either, those who want flashing plastic widget-fixers for presents; a present, even a small one, should be something special. I don’t understand the need to get paralytic or to make the outside of my home look like Piccadilly Circus. That said, I have yet to find anywhere in the U.K. whose municipal lights come even close to the spectacular displays found on the continent. Many here are sad, embarrassing and/or garish.

I still don’t understand where the instinct for Christmas to be a time of either Bah-Humbug or inane bad taste came from (whether tacky pullovers, weak T.V. or daft behaviour). My best guess is the only other nation that seems to do Christmas as badly as the U.K. – that found on the other side of the Atlantic, whose “Holiday Season” seems even more toothless than ours. But then, they have Thanksgiving too… Noel Edmonds may have a fair bit to answer for, too. I suppose the answer is that we are discussing a nation that largely doesn’t know how to enjoy itself gracefully in normal times, so there is no reason why Christmas should be any different. It either ends up hidebound, forced, daft or paralytic, while those who beg to differ are (mercifully) left to their own devices, but tacitly agreed to be party-poopers.

But we’re back where we started: Christmas is about Sprezzatura to all wo/men – and as in the rest of the year, the British are not collectively very good at it.

I’m not a real curmudgeon: I enjoy Advent and Christmas – because all it really does is amplify my normal approach:

 A (good) Life is for Life, not just for Christmas.

Many years ago, my wife bought a rather sleek pair of Italian sunglasses (with only a little encouragement from me). But when she first saw them, a close acquaintance remarked, “Those are a hard person’s sunglasses!” A throwaway comment – perhaps – from someone close enough not to cause offence – but I remember it as an example of rather stark social discrimination.

All dark glasses inhibit eye contact – thus compromising a fundamental part of human interaction; I suppose this is why they supposedly make the wearer look cool (for which read distant). But why some sunglasses might be deemed to be more extreme than others, is intriguing – a matter of fine, perhaps-unconscious differentiation (maybe it’s down to how dark they are?). Behind it lie all sorts of assumptions about a relationship between an inert item and the decision of an individual person to own and wear it – and it is this that has given me lasting curiosity about such issues.

It is not clear, for a start, whether the critique was aimed at the glasses or the wearer. The implications are quite different, since one is an evaluation of an inert item, while the other is a potentially hurtful personal criticism. Probably, it is the interplay between the two that is most meaningful – and the hardest to unpick.

The opportunity did not arise to enquire what supposedly made those glasses ‘hard’, what ‘not hard’ ones might look like – nor what new feelings had been provoked about their owner. As our friend knew, my wife is not remotely a ‘hard’ person, so perhaps it was the perceived incongruity that was her point. In fact, the glasses had been chosen simply because their owner liked them, and felt they suited her face particularly well – though it would be disingenuous notto wonder what unconscious awareness also went into that thinking. Were the effect of what we wear unimportant, no one would ever bother to differentiate: like it or not, sunglasses have become more than just a practical means of shading one’s eyes.

Trying to understand what drives our own tastes can be difficult enough, but it’s even more so with others, whose real motives we can often only guess at. To what extent may even our own aesthetic be influenced by its likely impact on others? How much more so with others? Which is more important – our own preference or the desired reaction? Can we even separate them? How much disapproval are we prepared to tolerate for the sake of personal expression? How much deception for the sake of approval? This little incident neatly brings us back to the confusion that repeatedly arises between social and aesthetic ‘language’, and its significance for both personal relations and one’s freedom innocently to do as one chooses.

The exchange of social messages is a hard-wired human behaviour, which human ingenuity has extended into a vast array of new fields. Even by default, everything we do is laden with social meaning – a projection of how we see ourselves, but also in some eyes, of our social and economic status. The variety and sophistication of our means of expression now far outstrip our sensory abilities to differentiate with confidence. (Those sunglasses were produced by Laura Biagiotti, whose founder was a progressive Italian businesswoman – but I doubt they were widely seen as a feminist political statement….)

Thus, misunderstandings arise all the time and there is little we can do about them, for the reading of our own signals is barely in our own hands. It is exceptionally difficult to know how others really perceive us; the only clue we have lies in their outward reactions, which themselves may or may not be sincere. Those reactions are interpreted in a context supplied by the recipient and if that is faulty, the message taken may be quite different from any intended. Appearances can be deceptive – and it is worth remembering that people may under-play as well as the converse… Yet if we attempt conscious control, we can end up imposing a straitjacket on our own choices simply from fear of giving offence or being misunderstood.

Underpinning this may lie a question of trust. Behind the sunglasses comment was perhaps the belief that stylistic naivety is a virtue, and those who do make conscious choices must therefore be revealing something undesirable. For sure, people who knowingly control their outward messages are perhaps more capable of cynical deception than those with less self-awareness, though it does not mean this is always the case. There are sound instinctual reasons to consider this – though it may also be a function of prevailing social norms: those suspicions are not necessarily well-founded, and the errors and suspicions are not necessarily the same everywhere.

In reality, the message might simply be, “I like this”.

It is profoundly difficult to achieve objectivity about the sensory experiences that influence taste, even though we often experience them as a seemingly absolute phenomenon. I suspect it lies in the way which certain things tickle the senses more vigorously than others, which can have a striking effect on the receptive observer. This may be why certain sounds, sights, smells, tastes and feelings elicit stronger reactions than others; things which somehow ‘speak’ to the recipient, and which people often consciously seek out. One’s appreciation may become more refined over time, but the sensations themselves tend to be fairly consistent between individuals. But importantly, receptivity (whether innate or learned) may differ between people.

An aesthete might be defined as someone who deliberately seeks and learns a refined appreciation of such experiences. The rewards are fundamentally internal (which is why people struggle to express them in words) – but it still inescapably involves differentiating between superior and inferior experiences. Over time, discernment can be learned and refined, and perhaps becomes increasingly important for influencing personal decisions.

A status-seeker might be defined as someone who believes they can boost their social standing by the possession and display of rare, valuable and (sometimes) beautiful things. This too implies differentiation – but also an attitude of superiority towards those who do not have them: that is the whole point. It is competitive in a way connoisseurship is mostly not. Often it conflates quality and quantity and places more emphasis on displays of ownership than quiet appreciation. It is perhaps more prone to poor judgement, since its preoccupation is status and external approval, rather than beauty – and there are many overblown, even grotesque, things that in some eyes, at some times, confer status.

But since beauty often also commands a high price, it is at this point that we enter the minefield where social statement and aesthetic merit overlap.

We are so used to associating sumptuousness and ‘luxury’ with high social standing that it can be very difficult to separate the two in our minds – not that certain aesthetic movements, notably modernism, have not tried to point out that beauty can be found in all sorts of simple and non-exclusive things too.

This tendency may be modified by societal contexts. In strongly hierarchical societies, status-seeking is probably more prevalent than in more egalitarian ones. Consequently, one’s acts may well be judged more for their social implications than their aesthetic. Everyday signs of this abound: “That’s posh” is rather different from “That’s beautiful”.

Due to its competitiveness, social differentiation is also likely to be more polarised. It seeks external validation, whereas truly aesthetic judgements are inherently a graded, individual matter, and therefore harder to dismiss. Experience suggests that in Britain, conversation (and hence attention) habitually revolves around social interpretation rather than expressions of individual taste. It is not necessarily the same everywhere.

Savoir-Vivre is not a particularly status-laden term in France. It can apply to doing even simple things with personal style, grace and skill. La Dolce Vita and La bella figura are similar in Italy. It is striking that we do not really have equivalent terms in English – and what’s more, we tend either to lampoon or envy those who manage to embody them.

In France, chic is an aesthetic – but the British have misappropriated the word to make a social statement. Yet none of those phrases is about having: they are about doing or knowing. Quality of life is not something you buy – it is something you create.

Habitual British life is not so much about artfulness as positioning, status and ambition – and where not that, a dull, indifferent uniformity prevails, that refuses to do more than shrug at anything. There are many, many people whose tastes and habits, judging from their behaviour, are indistinguishable. I fail to believe this is because they really are clones – so what is going on?

Accusations of getting “above oneself” can occur anywhere in society where people are thought to be sticking their heads above the parapet, for snobbery is not by any means the preserve of the especially privileged. For the majority who do not want this, ‘taste’ therefore means belonging to a homogenous mainstream whose only real social reference is not to be a snob. Anyone who acts differently risks certain conclusions being drawn…

Another give-away is transience. Societies that are driven by social advancement need fashions to move quickly, since being ahead of the curve is a powerful differentiator: exclusivity depends on keeping the masses at bay, and one way of doing this is through rapid change so that others have no time, money nor inside knowledge to keep up. Fashion drives conspicuous consumption: those who wish to send the ‘right’ social messages may be more prone to rapid shifts in their (current) tastes as they repeatedly gravitate to whatever is on trend.  In reality, it is mostly all just more of the same: robotic consumption with eyes, ears and other senses firmly closed; only social antennae awake. Things that move this quickly never have a chance to register or bond deeply with their owners. Those who are motivated more by personal style may stick to what they like, whether it is currently fashionable or not. Fashions change; styles do not. In Britain, the ephemeral eddies of fashion dominate the social uniform of those who strive to exhibit their ‘class’ – except amongst the elite, who retain an unchanging style all of their own…

The problem is that aesthetes and social signallers often appear to appreciate the same things, albeit for very different reasons. In an opera-house audience, how many people are present because they genuinely love the music, and how many because the moment’s social kudos demands it? Does that piece of art on the wall reflect a deep sensitivity, or an investment opportunity to impress? If you ask someone whether they like Bruckner’s Eighth Symphony and they reply, “Which conductor?” are they being pretentious or knowledgeable? Superficially, it can be impossible to tell – but I suspect that those who are concerned with status simply don’t experience the joy of genuine appreciation.

The problem awakens when these groups encounter each other: the majority will form views on minorities, be they (supposedly) superior or inferior – and minorities may have reciprocal views about the ignorance, banality or superficiality of the mainstream majority. Judgements and criticism may be inferred even when none is intended – usually based on perceived arrogance, condescension, or elitism (though sometimes also coarseness). There is a risk that people may choose to self-exclude from things they would otherwise appreciate, rather than attract adverse comment or challenge their wider self-image or tribal allegiance.

Groupthink can balkanise attitudes and behaviours – and this can certainly curtail individual liberty, particularly for those who step outside prevailing norms for even the most innocent of reasons. Elites tend to define and possess the means to exclude those they wish, but self-exclusion by others – inverted snobbery – only makes the job easier. Status-seeking makes it worse because it hands one’s personal validation over to others. Much better just to define, and stick to, one’s own terms.

Behind the outward disapprobation, I suspect often lies a sense of personal insecurity, or else a sneaking respect for those whose independence of mind allows them to escape or ignore such pitfalls. True appreciation is the innocent celebration of our good fortune, not sulking about what we don’t have. The error is to believe that such people are somehow super-human, rather than simply ordinary individuals who have made the effort to learn, to know and think for themselves – and in the process perhaps become rather less ordinary.