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!

If you want to be an accountant you go to university for three years. If you want to be a lawyer you go for six. There’s a lot to be said for these university type places isn’t there? Do a degree in your field of interest, and then get a job in your field of interest. Easy, right?

But not quite so if you want to be a… Rock Star. And that’s unfortunate because there’s a lot of people who would like the idea of becoming a Rock Star by doing a degree, in er, Rock Star-ery. If only it were that simple.

But no, it’s just a little harder than that. You need talent, ambition, persistence, charisma, and preferably an ability to work the media. Like Oasis used to. Bigger than the Beatles? Heck no, but did they stir up controversy (read: publicity) with those comments, or what?

As a Rock Star you also need a thick skin. And not just to stop bags developing under your eyes after partying for 21 days and nights non-stop (which is compulsory in this line of work, but the way). You need it so that when (your former friends) the media trash that “difficult second album”, you’ll take all it with a smile, and say “Well, third time lucky, then.”

Being a Rock Star isn’t just about zapping around the world, in a Learjet, playing sell out concerts in super-sized arenas. It’s about dealing with your fans ever declining expectations, as each album succeeding your brilliant “the next Beatles” like debut, slides further and further into mediocrity.

Being a Rock Star isn’t about penning Led Zeppelin “Stairway to Heaven” type classics with each and every album, it’s trying to work out there the creative spark went, and why you can’t write a single decent chorus, let alone song, anymore.

Nor is it about flying to tropical island paradises to record albums, or having queues of groupies waiting outside your hotel room, but rather never being able to walk along the street unrecognised, or being able to buy a coffee without getting mobbed. In fact, you can’t even enter the meat tray raffle at the local pub anymore, because if you win the press will say you rigged the contest!

So I ask, is it really for you? Being a Rock Star requires cool and attitude, something a university degree can neither teach, or impart.

Then again Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones considers the iconic band a business enterprise, not a creative collective. How’s that, then? The original bad boys of rock were in fact working to a business plan, not a desire to rebel.

Righto then, I’m cancelling the guitar lessons, and if I’m quick, I just may be able to grab one of the last places in this year’s accounting intake at the local university…