I got a new insight into the psyche of the super-rich recently, from an article about the planetary middle finger that is the private jet. “A big selling point is the ability to minimise what are known as ‘touch points’: the individual microinteractions that take place as we move through the world, like saying hello to a gate agent or asking a fellow passenger to switch seats,” New York magazine explained. “When you fly commercial, there are more than 700 touch points,” Alexandra Price, a brand communications manager at the jet-charter company VistaJet told the reporter. “When you fly private, it’s just 20.”
It makes being ridiculously rich sound like having very high-end noise cancelling headphones, but for your whole life, so that you exist in a bubble of serenity insulated from the grubby taint of “microinteracting” with the public. It’s babyish – a sort of bought helplessness – and regal, gliding through life behind a protective cordon that prevents scrofulous peasants from reaching for the hem of your Loro Piana leisurewear.
