The Bookless Club: Could manners become the new status symbol?

Sure, I know how algorithms work.

We all get pandered to these days. Without truly realizing it, we’ve been backed into an echo chamber. The thing about algorithms is that they tend to reinforce our biases, and I have plenty of ‘em. Judging by the stuff that I get fed online it would appear that the world is full of cantankerous gardeners with dry elbows who have it in for skateboarders as well as Vladimir Putin. Now, I’m not saying that all isn’t true, but I don’t think it qualifies as an accurate representation of the larger world. Except for, maybe, that part about Putin …

What I’ve noticed of late, however, is an emerging conversation around where values are heading. There seems to be a groundswell against the effects of social media, personal branding and the like. People are saying, “Enough”. And this revolution is showing up in a variety of ways.

For starters, the “luxury” supercycle seems to be collapsing. Retail analysts note that there has been a five per cent drop in luxury brands in 2025. Questioning the inflated prices of, say a Prada purse, millennials have turned away from these aspirational acquisitions. Their reasons are manifold. There seems to be a recognition that luxury goods are poor facsimiles of what they used to be — where they used to signify quality, they now only signify status. For many millennials, experiences have replaced commodities as the luxury of choice, and often those experiences include digital detox. As social media engagement hoovers up virtually all free time — it’s said that, in 2024, the average Canadian spent six to seven hours online daily across all devices — people are wanting their lives back. The influence of influencers is eroding as young people return to churches, citing a desire for community that feels authentic.

I’ve noted a few people online — yes, influencers — magnanimously shooting themselves in the foot by advocating for a return to reading books … actual books and actual newspapers. Apparently, knowing the synopsis of War And Peace is not the same as having read the masterpiece in its entirety. They’re telling people to get outside. To meet up with actual friends and do actual activities. There was someone — I wish I could find it again — noting that critical thinking and “owning the big words” is becoming the new status symbols. Words — language — are more than useful tools. Language is an art form and a discipline for the mind. This woman — was it Brené Brown? — said that good manners were becoming a status symbol. After all, there’s no AI that’s going to do that for you. Things like saying “Excuse me” when you cut in front of someone, even if they’re just looking at the tinned tomato section at the grocery store, holding doors, giving way in traffic, saying “Hello” to strangers — all signifiers of something valuable embedded within you. All indicators of quality that, before, one might have thought to be conveyed by a Dior handbag. I mean, anyone can go into hock and buy a Gucci logo belt, but only you can demonstrate the sophistication and self-governance that good manners announce.

But maybe I’m entirely wrong. Maybe the world is going to hell in a handbasket. I sure hope not. My suspicion is that we’ve realized we are being mercilessly exploited for commercial gain but we’re becoming slightly wiser. But maybe — just maybe — in the near future, personal branding is going to become something genuinely worthy.

Jane Macdougall is a freelance writer and former National Post columnist who lives in Vancouver. She writes The Bookless Club every Saturday online and in The Vancouver Sun. For more of what Jane’s up to, check out her website, janemacdougall.com

This week’s question for readers:

Question: Could manners and critical thinking become the new status symbol?

Send your answers by email text, not an attachment, in 100 words or less, along with your full name to Jane at thebooklessclub@gmail.com. We will print some next week in this space.

Last week’s question for readers:

Question: How do you handle Vancouver’s wet weather?

• I have lived in Vancouver almost all my life. And when I was young I went to California for university. After a few months there, I noticed I was feeling a bit antsy every day. I couldn’t understand why … until it rained. Then I felt much more relaxed, more at home.

Paul Clapham

• I walk every day, rain or shine. Neighbours and strangers often comment, wondering how wet I get when they have seen me walking out and about in the rain. I always tell them, “If you dress properly, you’ll stay dry.” A little rain won’t hurt you, unless of course, you’re the Wicked Witch of the West.

D.W. Peter G. Kettler

• My wife and I have a foolproof solution to rainy weather blues. We make a point to get out of the house and find new hot soups for lunch. We already discovered pho, laksa and ramen, and are now trying Thai hot pots. Nothing like a bowl of steaming hot Asian soup to dispense the gloom, and far cheaper than a full meal.

Michael McCarthy

• I am definitely a “pluviophile” — I love the rain, and I love to “hoppipolla” too. My husband, who worked outside for years, would lie in bed dreading going out in the rain, especially when it is cold, but I love the sound of the rain pattering on the roof. Walks in the rain are the absolute best — and I am a true Vancouverite and do not own an umbrella.

Jeanette Langmann

• When I first came to Vancouver after university, it was late October and I was full of plans for things to do in my new city … “as soon as it stops raining.” I turned down invitations with, “I’d love to, when it stops raining.” After several months, I realized that if I wanted any kind of life, I had to go out in the rain, so I bought an umbrella and haven’t looked back. I now think of rain as cleaning the lungs of the city, and as everyone told me, at least you don’t have to shovel it.

Carol Jones

• It is interesting that people generally dislike rain, even knowing that we cannot live without it. I heard people complain this summer on that one rainy day among 24 days of sunshine. So I have been telling myself, “I love rain. It makes everything beautiful when it is sunny.” And I love rain because it makes me appreciate the sunny days ahead.

Soon Loo

• When the rains of November and December descend, my husband and I put our dog’s rain jacket on her and we head to the forest. On the Sunshine Coast, even on the darkest, wettest days, there is something renewing and energizing about walking among the trees. Canadian Indigenous beliefs see trees as sacred, living beings, ancestors, and vital partners in a holistic ecosystem. No wonder we feel so alive after a walk in the forest.

Tammy Hartmann

• Simple answer for me — moved to the Okanagan.

Julie Halfnights

• Such a delightful word — hoppipolla. Like me, happiest when “singin’ in the rain”, sloshing through puddles (even at age 83) wearing my brightest red raincoat, a matching squall hat, with a bunch of red cherries tucked in its brim.

My adult granddaughters reminded me just the other day of their fears as little ones — of the thunder that sometimes accompanies our rain — and how my image of the angels bowling in heaven comforted them and made them giggly at the thought.

After that restorative walk, the brightness of home beckons as I decide what to do — paint, write, read or just meditate — while the musical rain-splatter drizzles down the window pane. That’s me in my beloved Vancouver rain.

Jo-Ann Zador

• I am a self-described pluviophile and, in fact, it would be one of the words I would wish listed on a memorial bench in the future. As Ferron wrote in her heartbreakingly beautiful song Cactus: “When I was young I was in service to my pain. On sunny days you’d find me walking miles in search of rain.” There is no better place to cry, releasing all the sorrows, than a walk on a dark and gloomy day — refreshing, mood-shifting, life-affirming.

Debra Dolan

• For me, it’s all about perspective and expectations. I live in a “rainforest” near the base of Mount Seymour on the North Shore. I just expect it to rain all the time and it rarely disappoints. So any break in the weather is appreciated and celebrated. I love the fresh smell after a good rainfall and the swelling of mini waterfalls that come cascading down the mountain. What I love most, however, is the camaraderie of those I meet on the trail while in the throes of a downpour. There is a tacit acknowledgment of respect for nature and like-mindedness.

Avrum Miller

• When someone grumbles about the rain, I answer with one of the following: It’s good for the complexion. We don’t have to shovel it. It keeps us clean and green. We live in a rainforest. We need rain — we’re in a three-year drought.

Janet Cowley

• I love the rain and know the world is all right when it rains. It hasn’t been raining enough lately. I was born and raised on the then-Queen Charlotte Islands where you didn’t think about the rain — it was how it was and didn’t stop you from doing anything. When it rains, out comes a rain coat and hat and off we go.

Debbie Morreau

• Having been born here and lived here most of my life, the rain hasn’t really bothered me. If you are a Vancouverite, you wear coats and jackets with hoods and invest in waterproof footwear. My younger son went to school in Colorado. When he came back, he said he missed the rain. And when I talk to my family back east, I always say: You don’t need to shovel the rain.

Sue Hector

• I enjoyed your column on rain. However I wondered why you quoted the annual amount of rain in inches. We are supposed to be metric. I realize we as a country are not 100 per cent metric, but we certainly are for weather, distance, speed, and groceries. Although I do still weigh myself in pounds.

Michael Jones

• I don’t mind the rain. Like you, I rarely use an umbrella. It has to be really pouring before I bother to open one. I love a rainy night. The sound, as you pointed out, is so soothing. My husband and I enjoy visiting the beach in the rain, sitting in the car watching the ocean waves and the sea birds, listening to music and chatting. It’s very relaxing. And after living for a while in Toronto years ago and experiencing snow most of the winter, I fully embrace the statement, “Well, at least you don’t have to shovel it.”

Susanne de Pencier