How to Lose at Status Games

Help, I’ve fallen into one, and I can’t get up!

I meet her at a party during peak wildflower season, an unassuming older Asian woman against a backdrop of purple and pink flowers. I’m always drawn to the older Asian women I meet. Growing up, most of the older Asian women I knew waterboarded their kids into doing Kumon, and I’d light up inside whenever I met someone who didn’t fit that mold. Even now, I feel starved for Asian women who channel their ambition in other ways. I want to know Asian women who feel accomplished and alive. Maybe if I meet enough of them, I’ll feel hopeful for my future self.

We’re at a ticketed event for famous creatives. I don’t know it yet, but she is here by invitation of the organizers. I am here not because of my own merit but because one of my friends, Tina, is rich, sophisticated, and open to bombastic people like me. When Tina and I first met a few years ago, I expressed so much enthusiasm about getting my fancy gala cherry popped one day, and that must have made an impression on her. I’m in awe of Tina’s memory and generosity.

The organizers rented out the local botanical garden for the evening. The scenery is jaw-dropping, beautiful people wearing the latest couture. I don’t look out of place — I thrifted a hand-beaded dress a few days prior — but I still stick out badly. People can tell if you feel out of place, and I do. They talk about the recent article they have published in the New Yorker and the latest companies they’ve funded recently while eating coin-sized pieces of beef wellington and drinking wine out of crystal goblets.

The main tool in my social toolbox is to smile, act really enthusiastic, and, depending on the setting, name drop Harvard. Usually just doing the first two things has pretty great results, but sometimes people won’t take you seriously unless you meet a minimum bar status-wise. During those situations, I drop the H-bomb. I decide to approach the Asian woman and cross my fingers that we don’t devolve into status games. I’m really bad at them.

Her name is Maxine. She runs a ghostwriting company. She’s written for some extremely successful people, went to Stanford, knows a bunch of high-status people, and has enough money to retire already. How do I know this? 

Well, thirty seconds into our conversation, I quickly realized we were in an all-out status war. We were stabbing credentials at each other, seeing if we could draw blood. The stakes were high. After all, the politician Patrick Henry once said, “Give me superiority, or give me death!” I thought I could survive with H-bombs, but I was poorly mistaken. They were nothing compared to the board-of-multiple-companies nuke! 

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I’ve seen my fair share of status games. In high school and college, I’d be talking to my classmates about upcoming breaks, and they’d bring up swimming in Bora Bora or skiing in the Alps, and make weird faces when I’d mention finding a good deal at a local restaurant in Michigan. Or, more frequently, I simply wouldn’t talk to the rich kids at all. We mutually excluded each other. After all, I was a little toad compared to their pristine, swan-like selves. There was no reason to interact. 

After graduating from college, the status games became more subtle. People are still sizing you up, but they can do it smoothly in the middle of conversations. They’re answering the conversations about what you do, but there’s a little too much extra detail for it to not be bragging. 

Take this moment between Maxine and me: