Inclusivity is, by all accounts, having its moment in the sun. From universities lowering entry requirements, to country clubs reimagining their membership criteria, the clarion call is that exclusivity has had its day – out with the old ivory towers, and in with a shiny new era of open doors.
On paper, that sounds wonderful. Who wouldn’t want everyone to have equal access to the finer things in life, from upscale dining experiences to dress-code-mandatory sporting events? Yet, there’s a catch – a small one, but crucial all the same: the very essence of these institutions is their snobbery.
Strip that away, and they lose the identity people are clamouring to join in the first place. Take “the races,” for instance. Those meticulously groomed horses, the flamboyant hats, the waistcoats, the faint aroma of champagne drifting through the air – this is a pantomime of elitism so refined it borders on the absurd. In the stands, everyone pretends to understand the difference between “going” and “furlong,” and money changes hands in a spectacle of polite gambling.
Now, imagine transforming the event into a giant welcome party, complete with generic festival music and plastic cups. The distinctive whiff of aristocratic pomp? Gone.
So is the centuries-old tradition that grants the races their allure. You don’t buy tickets just to see a horse run in circles; you want the pageantry, the history, the satin dresses you’ll never wear anywhere else.
Lose the snobbery, lose the mystique.
This phenomenon isn’t limited to the track. Consider the old British boarding schools, or rather, the postcard image we have of them: the immaculately striped blazers, Latin mottos, the promise (or threat) of developing a hyper-precise accent.
The moment you flatten out the entry barriers and open it all up, you transform the place into yet another run-of the-mill secondary school, albeit with suspiciously large sports fields. The point is not that diversity is evil or that privilege is somehow virtuous – no, no, let’s not get melodramatic. The point is that such institutions derive their entire raison d’être from their exclusiveness, their “touch of the forbidden,” that strange old whiff of “we’re not like you.”
A similar argument might be made for elite private members’ clubs, those bastions of leather-bound chairs, pricey whiskies, and discreet alliances. If you swing the doors wide open, converting them into communal co-working spaces and kiddie play zones, you’re left with exactly the sort of “public square” that is already on every high street.
The romance dissolves, and so does the sense of occasion. Meanwhile, members who once felt like aristocracy, cradling their brandies in dark-panelled rooms, would find themselves wincing at the sudden influx of prams and laptops.
Yes, yes, we’re all supposed to recoil at the suggestion that institutions should remain exclusive for the sake of exclusivity. But let’s be honest: the sense of “otherness” is the beating heart of many a prestigious event or venue.
It’s the ultimate paradox: that which draws in the curious crowd – the aura of untouchable glamour – also excludes them. Turn that aura off, and you end up with something that neither stands out, nor commands admiration. So, is the solution to keep everything frozen in Edwardian times? Absolutely not.
There’s plenty of room for open-mindedness, subtle evolution, and even a sprinkling of modern values without bulldozing the very traditions that give these places their peculiar charm. Perhaps the races can expand seating or even introduce more affordable tickets so the masses can spectate the aristocratic soap opera without feeling obligated to don a top hat.
Maybe that posh boarding school offers a few scholarships to open the gates just enough – but not to the point of turning away from its storied customs. Balance, after all, is the watchword.
But let’s not pretend that stamping out the alleged “snob factor” does anything other than flatten the entire cultural terrain.
Sometimes, people crave a whiff of elitism, a dash of spectacle, even if it’s only to roll their eyes at it. Without that, we’re all left milling about in a grey, flavourless democracy of experiences.
And deep down, we suspect that would be infinitely more boring. So, here’s a toast – to snobbery! Not because it’s inherently virtuous – it isn’t – nor because it should reign unchecked – it shouldn’t – but because in small, controlled doses, snobbery has the uncanny ability to give the world its texture. Without it, the races are just horses, the clubs are just pubs, and the boarding schools are just, well, schools. And that would be a crying shame.
Illustration by BerenikaMurray_@photograberry_