The Woes of Being Wealthy

By Anastasia Toufexis

Growing up, Tracy Gary lived in opulent homes in Manhattan, Bal Harbour, Fla., and on Lake Superior's Madeline Island, traveling among them in the family plane, helicopter and yellow Rolls-Royce. Parties and presents were plentiful, including a Ford Mustang for high school graduation. At 21, Gary received the ultimate gift: a $2 million inheritance. Most people would have been overjoyed, but the windfall only intensified her long-held feelings of guilt, isolation and impotence. "I was overwhelmed," says Gary, now 36, who lives in San Francisco. Her problem: the plague of anxieties that seems to afflict a growing number of the very rich.

In well-off circles around the country, they call it "affluenza." It is a malady that draws little sympathy in a society that cherishes money as the solution to most ills. Even so, psychologists are slowly recognizing that great riches are sometimes accompanied by a wealth of crippling emotional and psychological fears. Affluenza can be acute, striking lottery winners or newly minted doctors and M.B.A.s. It can also be a chronic and pervasive condition in families where riches extend through generations. Says Aryeh Maidenbaum, a psychoanalyst in New York City: "The children grow up in a sheltered environment, a kind of golden ghetto without the walls."

Frequently brought up by nannies and servants and insulated from the stresses of having to hold jobs, many fail to mature emotionally or intellectually. "You can avoid growing up," says one wealthy Chicago woman. "My brothers and sisters are in their late 30s, and they're still complaining about this mean thing someone did when they were kids." Notes John Levy, a San Francisco-based consultant to heirs and heiresses: "There's a lack of reality because there's no price to pay. They can go out and do ! something stupid or wrong and be bailed out. It's almost like being in a movie."

Along with their self-absorption, many harbor a sense of worthlessness. "It's hard to build self-esteem if you don't deal with the challenge of getting a job," says George Pillsbury of Boston, scion of the flour family. There is also a feeling of guilt for having been born with money. "That was the worst problem I had," admits Chicagoan Abra Prentice Wilkin, great- granddaughter of John D. Rockefeller. "I didn't earn it." The knowledge can taint even the pleasure of making expensive purchases. The first time Wilkin spent $100 for a pair of shoes, she was so upset she never wore them. And nagging twinges persist. "I still rationalize buying a $3,000 set of sheets," she says. "Well, shoot, why not? You spend a third of your life in bed, and they last." The sheer social inequity of their gilded circumstances gnaws away at some. Declares Paul Haible of San Francisco, who inherited $1 million: "I'm still confronted with people sleeping in the streets. Money may filter that out, but it's not a shelter."

Affluenza victims often go to great lengths to hide their privileged status. Swanee Hunt, the daughter of Texas Billionaire H.L. Hunt, kept her identity secret from schoolmates. Marriage and a change of name were not camouflage enough; at her request, she and her husband moved to Europe. "I spent a lot of years trying to escape," says Hunt, who now lives in Denver. As a student at Yale, Boston's Pillsbury regularly denied any connection with the well- known name and steered clear of talking about his exotic vacations. "It was a question of coming back from African safari. It was too different." Ellen Malcolm of Washington, D.C., avoided telling office colleagues that she was the granddaughter of one of the founders of IBM and purposely dressed down to fit in. She explains, "I thought that they would see me as a walking dollar sign instead of the person I am."

Dating is often a source of anxiety, particularly to women attracted to men of lesser means. "I've had to make certain choices in seeing men who don't have as much money as I do," says one Atlanta heiress. "For example, driving on vacation instead of flying. But some wealthy women measure how many rungs of the ladder a man has climbed." Others are paralyzed by fear of being used by potential lovers or marriage partners. Declares Wilkin: "You can get paranoid and stay home and watch TV and eat bonbons."

| Many sufferers are terrified of losing the fortunes that give them a sense of identity, but they are often woefully prepared to handle them responsibly. "Over and over, I talk with inheritors whose parents will not talk about money with them," says Consultant Levy. "It's treated like a subject in bad taste." When parents do talk, the instruction is likely to be minimal. Tracy Gary remembers one such childhood directive. "This is a quarter," her mother told her. "You have a lot of choices. You can donate it, save it, loan it to a friend."

The last option can prove especially painful when borrowers are late making payments or even ignore debts. "I didn't need the money," says Pillsbury of a $4,000 default. "I felt emotionally ripped off." Partly to avoid personal anguish, younger members of the rich set have established more than 200 foundations in the past 15 years to channel their financial contributions.

More often than not, victims of affluenza find it difficult to seek help. Notes Mark Goulston, a Los Angeles psychiatrist: "Many rich people believe that they don't have the right to have problems. They often feel ashamed of complaining. There is an incredible loneliness at the top." Some efforts are being made to ease their plight. Six years ago, Gary began holding seminars and weekend retreats for the wealthy, where they could discuss the pressures on their lives candidly and confidentially. Such self-help gatherings are now held nationwide. Says one attendee: "It was the very first time I had been able to sit in a group of people and admit I have money." Cost of a seminar: around $20. For some, it may be the cheapest and soundest bargain they ever struck.

With reporting by Georgia Harbison/New York, with other bureaus