He walked into the room with an air of practiced pretension. After air kissing with the hostess, he slowly strolled towards the buffet table. He wasn’t being coy, but only waiting for his entourage to acknowledge his arrival. He was clad in the standard intelligentsia garb of black turtleneck with matching cargo pants and combat boots. He had a satchel slung over his shoulder.  The top of a water bottle peeked out from one of the compartments. His dark hair was swept back in a lacquered back ponytail.  

I elbowed one of my friends and discreetly motioned towards the commando-clad figure. We exchanged bemused glances.  

“Nice bag,” my friend quipped.  

“It’s a satchel,” I corrected, trying to prevent my lips from twitching with full-blown laughter.

As if sensing we were discussing him, ponytail man whirled around in our direction. We tried to look absorbed in conversation, but it didn’t work. He was headed our way.  

Instinctively, we tried to sidestep away without giving away the pretense of being absorbed in conversation. Thankfully, one of his minions came out from nowhere and began engaging him in a serious fawn session. We breathed a sigh of relief and hightailed it to the other room. 

Ponytail man was the enemy. A self-proclaimed member of the intelligentsia, he had an opinion about every work of art, literature, film and play ever produced. Usually, if the work was commercially popular, then he automatically hated it. He ranted about the “pedestrian tastes” of mainstream culture. 

Baring his teeth in a feral fashion, the thick wavy ponytail swayed with indignation. The first few times his anti-pop culture tirades were moderately entertaining and somewhat educational. Then, I began noticing that his repertoire was severely limited to three specific tirades: the fine arts, gourmet food, and the evil of corporations. Even the most confirmed counter-culturalist could tire of these rants eventually. But he still had lackeys and minions lapping up his every utterance.  

Even though I find the self-proclaimed intelligentsia annoying, I still find them and their merry band of minions fascinating. How does one become part of the intelligentsia? Is there a vocational program or correspondence course that make someone the official arbiter of all matters of intelligence? For the past ten years, the subject of intelligentsia has held me in rapt fascination. So, I started monitoring how one can aspire to become intelligentsia. 

Clothing is important; you want to make the right impression with clothes that are classically stylish, but with an edge. Instead of wearing wedge heels with a sundress add some lace-up boots. Wear a real utility belt with the black turtleneck and cargo pants ensemble. Hair can be slicked back into a moussed ponytail or worn wild and woolly. It is really a matter of preference.  

Next, limit your conversation repertoire to obscure artists, writers, and musicians etc. that are being overlooked in favor of the evil commercial types of people.  Keep your voice dripping with sarcasm and slightly condescending, so the listeners won’t mistake the sound of impatience in your voice as you explain to the simple folks the significance of your random ranting. Also, be sure to have a head minion around at all times to fetch refreshments and comb the vicinity for possible romantic muses or captive audience members.  

Your satchel should contain notebooks and other obscure materials, including a CD of the B-sides of a one hit wonder band. Don’t forget to acquire the merry band of minions, who admire you for not selling out.  

Author's Biography

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