I grew up in a military family. In that world rank is everything. As an army brat I was not invited to the homes of the officer's kids I went to school with because we were not really “class” mates. In high school there were the guys my middle class parents considered off-limits due to differences in our upbringing, our grades and our opportunities for social advancement. My mom used to say, “You're going to be somebody and it's just as easy to marry a rich guy as a poor one.”

I followed my mother's advice and married a rich guy. A British subject in line to inherit the throne, albeit in a roundabout way. He grew up on a rambling country estate complete with stables and an uncle who was an advisor to the Queen. When he took me home to announce our engagement, let's just say his parents were not amused. Mum and Dad had planned on him walking down the aisle with a “Sloane Ranger”, that Princess Di look-alikes who frequent the shops in Sloane Square near Central London.

Was it mixing up the fish fork with the salad utensil at a formal dinner at the house on the Thames or was it the fact that egad - I was a working girl, which kept us from living happily ever after.  I don't know but it was certainly fun getting a glimpse of how the other half lives.  As the tempest in their teapot, I'm sure they would have paid me to go away if my ex-husband hadn't been so stubborn. After all that's what happens in the movies.

As an adult I've climbed up and down the social ladder, maintaining my position as an equal opportunity dater. I've entertained hotel valets, house painters, bartenders, the occasional student, and a pedicab driver. My friends are exasperated with my social “slumming.” Most recently I mistakenly ended up dating down when I went out with a guy who asked for my number at the gym.  Things started out on the right track. He seemed polite, smart and interested. 

But we quickly changed directions when he asked me over cocktails, “Do you always talk like that?” “Like what” I responded warily. “You know all uppity and sh-t. Don't you know how to talk like regular folks?” I quickly informed him that I was raised to speak with proper enunciation and no my tongue wasn't flexible enough to wrap itself around a little street slang. “Well, it doesn't matter. I was just wondering,” he responded. Oh it mattered all right. I discovered as the evening wore on that all we had in common were our gym habits and the color of our skin.

Can you date outside your class? I used to think that my friends were afraid of what they might find on the other side of the tracks. Now I wonder if they know that it's fruitless to act out “My Fair Lady” in real life. And yet the disparities in the numbers of college-educated black men and women may force many of us to consider “makeover” men. “ I think we need to think about getting a man when he gets out of prison…I'm not saying it's a great option, but a lot of our men are in jail,” comments Teri Woods, a single mother and business owner in a recent Newsweek story.  When I mention this alternative to another black woman she comments “You don't see Oprah Winfrey, Star Jones or Halle Berry with guys out of prison.”

Nikki and her husband, CJ are a typical well-educated upwardly mobile black couple, who own a “mansionette” in an old money Oakland neighborhood. She offers another perspective on the barriers to class cross dating. Nikki suggests that people are attracted to like-minded partners, explaining that when you're “used to steak you can't go to meatloaf.”  Since most of us live in our own economic and educational comfort zones; she believes you're less likely to meet individuals from another social strata anyway.

And when you do meet, it's the new caste system in the city. At a “Ladies Nite” at Ruby Skye, the popular upscale San Francisco dance venue I overheard a totally non-pc conversation.  A “Superfly” brother, as in the movie and not the hip rating, made the moves on a twenty-something designer-clad hottie.  “What makes you think you can talk to me?” she snapped, putting up her hand and turning her head for emphasis. I was stunned to hear her comeback to socially undesirable males- the modern day untouchables. As he walked away, one of her gal pals objected to her brutal rejection, but she simply sneered, “ Puhleeze! What's that guy gonna do for me besides wash my car?”

I can't help being reminded of the relationship flameout between Miranda, the lawyer and Steve, the bartender on Sex and the City . When he stands her up on their date to the firm dinner, he shamefully admits, “You need to be with a guy who's more on your level. There's always going to be things out of my reach.” In the current season, they're back together and love does triumph over money. But should it?  How much does a high-powered female partner in a law firm have in common with the college dropout pushing tequila shots at the neighborhood saloon.

Because I've learned the hard way that class differences aren't all about money. There are inherent clashes in values which can become evident in a class-crossed relationship argues Deb Trent in her book Notes and Essays on Classism.

As in Terry MacMillan's bestselling novel Disappearing Acts Franklin's working poor acceptance of his on-again-off-again employment status frustrated Zora's middle class can't-you-keep-a-job mentality. In the end his drop-dead gorgeous appearance couldn't compensate for the differences in their backgrounds.

My friend Amy who loaned me Trent's book when I mentioned I'd be writing on the subject was eager to share her experiences with me as we relaxed on her sofa after dinner. “I dated two guys who were working class and I'm firmly entrenched in the middle class. I loved the sense of living in the moment and the groundedness. There was something really easy and warm in their acceptance of where they are.” 

“What got to me was there wasn't the sort of intellectual spark. Neither of these guys were dumb but they weren't bookish in the way middle class people are seekers of education.”  Amy's now married to my friend, Ben and she finds that the tradeoff for being with a “class” mate is that “neither of us is grounded and it's difficult day to day for both of us to be here in the moment because we're both seekers.”

Jeremy, a middle class British import, is a firm supporter of class conscious dating. Over the phone his proper English accent charms me immediately and then he brings my caste shifting elevator to a quick halt by saying, “having grownup in a British class society, I'm still a bit of a snob personally. Class is a good thing. There's a sense of security because you know your place and you know their place.”  He argues there's no embarrassment or misunderstandings when everyone knows their place. Class jumping just adds another stresser to relationships.

I for one still want to believe that one should look high and low for love. After all Prince Charles married a commoner, Bill Gates tied the knot with a tech worker bee and elevators still take us up and down.

Let me know: Are you class conscious or unconscious?

Email me at JERUSHA@viplineup.com