The pay is non-existent and the hours are long. Yet it’s a “job” many would give their right arm to have.

Why?

Because office holders are usually “kept” men or women, who live like princes or princesses, and the “long hours” usually entail whiling away the small hours at cocktail parties thrown by the rich and fabulous.

But calling it a job is just a little bit “common”, don’t you think? So let’s refrain.

Besides, being Just Over Broke does not make for a good socialite, now does it? Plus office gossip just doesn’t rate when compared to A-list gossip.

You do not study at university, or trawl the classifieds looking for “openings”, to become a socialite. Either you are born into it, talk your way into it, or marry into it. Period.

So what’s it really like? You know, what’s a day on the (for want of a better word) job all about?

You know, it really strikes me as being like acting. Like a movie star. But you substitute acting ability for pretense. There are air kisses, superficial greeting hugs, and gratuitous use of the word dah-ling (if that’s even a word) aplenty.

I used to live next door to a socialite. I never met her, though I considered it a privilege to catch a fleeting glimpse of her dashing out of the building, and into a waiting taxi limousine.

I think she had a closed circuit TV that monitored the hallways of the apartment building, and she only made an entrance to exit, as it were, when the “coast was clear”.

She was also the only person in the building whose apartment had a balcony, so being a socialite obviously has its advantages when it comes to deciding “who” (such a FAB magazine, by the way, dah-ling) is allocated balconies.

I used dread her parties though, and you had to watch your step if you were walking below her balcony when she was entertaining her (non A-list) friends, lest you were hit by the wayward cork of a campaign bottle.

Incidentally an idea of the grandness of the previous (simply enchanting) evening’s (simply delicious) frivolities could be gauged by the number of discarded corks that littered the courtyard in the morning.

Wait up though. A socialite living in an… apartment block? Yes indeed. Who would have thought it?

But that also says something about being a socialite, doesn’t it? It’s all about appearances and how you carry yourself off. It’s about the face and the cocktail dress. And the ability to explain away unknown quantities.

“I live in an older style apartment building, you understand. Classical yet quaint. But without an elevator. Something to do with the building’s heritage listing, you understand. Therefore makes my place unsuitable for entertaining, you understand.”

Enough about my brush with celebrity though.

Is being a socialite for you? Well if you can handle the A list, the champaign, the tax havens, learjets, and hanging out with movie stars, rock stars, and fashion photographers, then maybe.

And appearances aboard Royalty yachts, and at polo matches don’t bother you either? Brilliant! So if you have that certain something, and the gift of the gab, then go for it!

Any down sides to this sort of “work”, you ask? Well, yes, unfortunately there is. You can never, ever, apply for the unemployment benefit. And that has nothing to do with shame, or pride, either. Unfortunately the welfare office just won’t buy it when you try and tell them you are an “unemployed socialite”!

Soooo sorry, dah-ling!