Chap­ter 35 – Liv­ing on Your Friends begins by exam­in­ing the time­less con­cept of enjoy­ing a lux­u­ri­ous life with­out actu­al­ly pos­sess­ing the wealth to fund it. Draw­ing inspi­ra­tion from Van­i­ty Fair, it reflects on how, even in mod­ern soci­ety, there are those who thrive through the gen­eros­i­ty of oth­ers, skill­ful­ly posi­tion­ing them­selves in the lives of the wealthy. These indi­vid­u­als may not own a sin­gle estate or for­tune of their own, yet their days are filled with opu­lence, thanks to well-con­nect­ed friend­ships and a knack for offer­ing pre­cise­ly what their afflu­ent hosts desire—be it charm, com­pan­ion­ship, or enter­tain­ment. The plea­sure derived is not one-sided. For many wealthy hosts, offer­ing hos­pi­tal­i­ty to the right kind of guest enhances their own social pres­tige, giv­ing them some­one to amuse their cir­cle or even serve as a buffer dur­ing dull events.

In the Amer­i­can con­text, the prac­tice takes on a new, entre­pre­neur­ial fla­vor. As great hous­es and yachts emerged from new­found for­tunes, hosts were often left scram­bling to fill them with appro­pri­ate­ly pol­ished com­pa­ny. In such sit­u­a­tions, those who mas­tered the social graces—without need­ing to foot the bill—became indis­pens­able. These “pro­fes­sion­al guests” were always ready for a din­ner par­ty, a week­end retreat, or an impromp­tu voy­age. They are not leech­es in the tra­di­tion­al sense. Instead, they are often wel­come additions—people who know how to charm, play cards, lead a con­ver­sa­tion, or sim­ply not be a bur­den. This mutu­al benefit—lodging and food in exchange for company—creates a unique dynam­ic where wealth funds the lifestyle, but charis­ma sus­tains it.

The art of “liv­ing on your friends” has been refined to a sci­ence by some. Their role is sub­tle but essen­tial: they bring live­li­ness with­out over­step­ping, they accept invi­ta­tions with­out expec­ta­tion, and they offer social val­ue with­out demand­ing more than the space they occu­py. For these indi­vid­u­als, life becomes a del­i­cate per­for­mance of always being use­ful, nev­er being too much, and know­ing when to fade away. The trick, the chap­ter implies, is not in manip­u­la­tion but in mutu­al ful­fill­ment. The hosts feel more impor­tant, bet­ter enter­tained, and per­haps even admired for their gen­eros­i­ty. Mean­while, the guest con­tin­ues to live sur­round­ed by lux­u­ry, albeit with­out own­er­ship.

When gen­der enters the pic­ture, the nar­ra­tive acknowl­edges a notable dis­par­i­ty. Men who live this way often do so with lit­tle scruti­ny, need­ing only to be wit­ty at din­ner or good-natured on a hunt­ing trip. For women, how­ev­er, the demands are more lay­ered. They are expect­ed to be host­esses in minia­ture, to tact­ful­ly engage boor­ish guests, to man­age awk­ward sit­u­a­tions with grace, and to main­tain impec­ca­ble appear­ances. A woman may need to be a skilled bridge play­er one night and a con­fi­dante the next. Her val­ue, the chap­ter hints, is con­stant­ly assessed based on her con­tri­bu­tions to the over­all har­mo­ny of the gath­er­ing, rather than any sin­gle charm.

Even so, these arrange­ments are far from exploita­tive when both par­ties under­stand their roles. In some cas­es, these guests are lone­ly or aging indi­vid­u­als who might oth­er­wise face iso­la­tion. For oth­ers, it is an inten­tion­al lifestyle choice—one that offers excite­ment, lux­u­ry, and social cap­i­tal with­out the bur­dens of prop­er­ty or man­age­ment. This type of exis­tence has his­tor­i­cal roots in aris­to­crat­ic courts, where musi­cians, jesters, and sto­ry­tellers were kept not for neces­si­ty but for delight. The mod­ern ver­sion may not wear liv­ery or per­form for kings, but the core idea remains unchanged.

Ulti­mate­ly, the chap­ter casts a neu­tral, even appre­cia­tive, eye on this mode of life. Rather than con­demn­ing those who live on their friends, the author sug­gests that soci­ety, espe­cial­ly one so steeped in con­sump­tion and dis­play, nat­u­ral­ly cre­ates roles for such indi­vid­u­als. Just as high soci­ety needs the sparkle of par­ties and the grace of good man­ners, it also needs peo­ple who can pro­vide these with con­sis­ten­cy and finesse. Wealth alone doesn’t make a house­hold vibrant. It is the pres­ence of those who know how to ani­mate the setting—without ask­ing for too much in return—that com­pletes the pic­ture.

The clos­ing obser­va­tion brings the theme full cir­cle, not­ing how expec­ta­tions have soft­ened, espe­cial­ly for unat­tached men. Gone are the days of cotil­lion oblig­a­tions or com­pul­so­ry opera nights; now, a gen­tle­man need only be good com­pa­ny to be wel­come. The shift reflects broad­er soci­etal changes: as wealth became more acces­si­ble and less tied to nobil­i­ty, the rit­u­als of belong­ing became eas­i­er to nav­i­gate. But those who do it best still rely on an ancient formula—give plea­sure, expect lit­tle, and stay rel­e­vant. In doing so, they secure a lifestyle that rivals any millionaire’s, fund­ed not by gold but by good favor.