At this time of year it's all too easy to forget the less fortunate as we surrender ourselves to the annual holiday orgy of conspicuous consumption. Fortunately, Allure magazine is there with an inspirational tale of triumph over the darkest tragedy you could ever imagine even if your family was killed and you lost both your legs and then went blind and your dog was run over.

Prepare to be spiritually cleansed after the jump.

Hankies at the ready, girls. Meet 'Jeanne McCulloch', former managing editor of Paris Review, whatever that is.

Poor Jeanne had the misfortune, nay, the curse of growing up unimaginably wealthy. As she notes in her bio, "My boyfriends used to sit through our family meals with a butler and finger bowls, and my mother throwing champagne glasses." Bummer, huh?

Anyway, in an essay entitled 'The Perilous Dune', Jeanne endeavours to explain to us lumpen proles how 'Growing up rich brought privilege and comfort' to her, but also, 'confusion and a sense of a life that was fleeting.' Hoo! While we know there must be a few HIV-positive crack whores out there who have arrived at the same conclusion, they had it way too easy, growing up without the burden of Yves St Laurent couture and a chauffer. So they don't count.

The gist of this heartbreaking tale is that our Jeanne grew up rich because her dad was rich, and one day her dad bought a beach house which was really nice. And then, after her parents died, Jeanne and her sisters had to sell the place to appease the evil INS. I mean, can you imagine the pain? We mere mortals are fortunate indeed never to have to endure the unbearable agony of selling a beach house, and we thank the Lord Almighty for that. Amen.


Oh yeah, some beachside neighbor killed himself one time, which led Jeanne to the revelation that 'a mansion by the sea can just as easily be a jail cell as a dreamscape'. While there may be a few thousand residents of Rikers who would quibble with that assertion, they are deluded because they have never had to shoulder the burden of an Armani suit. Fools.

And so, post beach-house sale, laden down unendurably by the proceeds, Jeanne takes her son Sam to the beach, where she experiences her most profound revalation.

"His legacy isn't about any cushion of wealth that's going to soften his ride. His legacy is infinity, the sense of infinite possibility."


And a few million dollars. Poor defenceless child.

We weep silent tears for you Jeanne. Really, we do.