Elite Communities and Polarization in Neoliberal Society: Consecration in Australia’s and Sweden’s Wealthy Neighbourhoods

Consecration through Objectified Cultural Capital

Large and luxurious houses in Australian and Swedish elite communities are financial assets that can be directly converted into economic capital; but they can also be understood in terms of objectified cultural capital that offer people social and moral elevation, that is, consecration; a distinguishing mark of taste and status to outsiders and to fellow residents, and a signal of belonging and differentiation into sub-classes for insiders.

Houses in Swedish Djursholm, most of which date back to the late 1800s and early 1900s, are often architecturally unique; they are usually in very good condition, often with decorous patios, fine gravel paths, clean facades, and well-kept wood and metal-covered sections. The gardens tend to be lush, many of them almost like parks; grounds are usually extensive, so that the houses are well spaced out. An article from the 1981 Djursholm’s Historic Association’s Periodical, described a typical Djursholm house as follows:

The house was spacious and homely. A large hall on both floors with built-in benches and a staircase ascending two walls. Three reception rooms in line, as was customary at that time. The dining room was large and adjoined a built-in veranda with windows on runner, so that they could slide open and make the veranda entirely open (. . . ). From the veranda one emerged onto a sizeable terrace or for coffee after eating. The drawing room was also substantial and had beams across the ceiling and an open fireplace for many crackling fires (. . . ). The rooms were light, with generously proportioned south-facing windows.

As also witnessed by the case of Australia’s Toorak, large and exclusive mansions have been a persistent feature of the landscape throughout the suburb’s history, and although nowadays they are often hidden behind high fences and walls, their size and grandeur remain visible. Even in more modern and diverse elite areas, such as Mosman, large, and very expensive, mansions are common. As Souter (1993) put it in his historic description of the place,

A few were modern replicas of Edwardian mansions, but the true seigneurial idiom of the 1980s was more temple-like: massive, flat-topped, pillared, high walled, securely gated, and usually painted in some pastel colour. These megahouses, as they became known, invariably faced the harbour. (p. 324)

The imposing character of large mansions, the availability of space for accommodating guests and the presence of servants who maintain these dwellings are all performances of consecration through objective cultural capital. As such, they are critical to residents’ standing. Indeed, residents in these communities often feel pressured to meet the required standard, as one individual in Australian Cottesloe put it: ‘If you’re building a new house in Cottesloe at the moment you probably have to – the minimum is six cars parked underground’.

Reflecting tensions between individual and collective cultural capital, houses are, however, a recurrent source of conflict in these communities, when the size or design of an individual house challenges the dominant aesthetic character of the neighbourhood. One such case concerned, for example, the well-known so-called Concrete Villa (formerly known as ‘Villa Delin’) in Djursholm which has antagonized many residents there. One resident claimed,

There has been a lot of talk about it over the years. It has character and really breaks off. The other houses are more in the same style, regardless of year of construction. It’s more even, nothing stands out. New buildings should preferably not be original here. Djursholm is a unique cultural environment that is worth preserving.

Another example in Djursholm was a large villa recently built by a former ice hockey professional. A politician in the municipality said in an interview with the first author, ‘It must harmonize with existing buildings, otherwise it will be ugly and unbalanced’. And an official commented on the current construction in the following way: ‘We try to persuade him to revise the appearance of the house so that it better fits into the existing environment. I mean, the house is too different’. Thus, while distinction to outsiders is a critical facet of Djursholm, distinctions inside Djursholm are less tolerated, at least architecturally. Hence, consecrated cultural capital is more about fitting in the elite community than being understood to be elite from the outsiders. Economic wealth does not turn you into elite, in the eyes of established elites; you must possess enough cultural capital to mirror what those who have already been constructed as elite see in themselves.

Similarly, attempts to project distinction through excessively large mansions were ridiculed by some in the Australian elite areas as transparent ‘aspirational’ behaviour, as opposed to authentic cultivated elite taste. They were also criticized for blocking neighbours’ views to the beach, a river, a park or the city. In Australia’s Toorak, some established residents mocked the Neo-Georgian architecture of more recently built mansions, as inauthentic replicas. Yet even when ‘new money’ residents of Toorak did not build new Neo-Georgian mansions, rather purchased the authentic old mansions of well-known ‘old money’ families, they were still sometimes ridiculed by other more established residents as ‘aspirational’, well mirroring the polarizing consequences of not having access to the ‘right kind’ of cultural capital.

The interior of houses is also an important aspect of the objectified cultural capital in elite communities and its importance for consecration. These are projected not only to other members of the elites when socializing inside homes, but also to outsiders through the media and, especially in Australia, real-estate advertisements, making these areas stand out and appear unique, typically in a positive sense. One furnishing shop owner in Swedish Djursholm who was interviewed suggested that the furnishing style in the homes ‘is overridingly classic – not provocative’. A sales person in a different boutique, explained that ‘The houses are big and classic, modern style doesn’t look good here’. When visiting private homes in Djursholm, the first author observed the popularity of crystal chandeliers and designer furniture of various kinds, especially Scandinavian design; these were also commonly portrayed in lifestyle magazines based on reports from Djursholm homes. Furthermore, much of the furniture was made of dark oak, a relatively expensive material, also known for its robustness and high quality. Oaks are also a defining character of Djursholm, many of which were planted when the area was created in 1889. IKEA furniture (a Swedish brand, which in Sweden is considered low status, particularly among the established classes) was notable by its absence in the ‘official’ parts of the homes; instead they were found in the ‘back-stage’ (cf. Goffman, 1959) areas such as children’s rooms, thus illustrating the ‘front-stage’ character of consecration; what is projected to the outside world is essentially a façade that aims to make Djursholm a ‘shining city upon a hill’ (Fitzgerald, 1981).

In addition to the homes of these areas, another important source of objectified capital that contributes to their consecration is the abundance of luxurious cars, typically European premium brands, all of which were rich in cultural capital. As one woman in Australian Mosman described it to the second author:

. . . on weekends . . . they all get their Maseratis out. There’s a lot of nice cars parked in garages somewhere that come out in the weekends. You can drive along the beachfront, any morning, I go down to the beach every morning. The cars are Mercedes and Audis and BMWs.

Indeed, vehicles have long been an object of competitive display among elites, and projection of status to other classes (Daloz, 2009: 73–74). One of the interviewees in the Australian study, when answering a question about his choice to move from his previous middle-class neighbourhood to Toorak, joked about the difference in how his luxury cars appeared in each of those environments:

My cars looked rather strange in [previous neighbourhood] where I lived for the previous 15 years. So I brought them all to Toorak. The Rolls Royce looked better in Toorak.

Of course, different brands may create different reactions, where, for example, a Rolls Royce or Bentley might evoke associations to ‘old money’, style and class. Yet display of wealth through certain types of super-cars were sometimes interpreted as ‘aspirational’, Nouveau Riche lack of cultural sophistication, which could potentially desecrate the community:

You see the occasional super-car cruising through Mosman, and to me it looks out of place. The driver clearly has a lot of money but that doesn’t surprise me, a lot of people around here have a lot of money. What’s surprising is that car in an environment where you don’t have splashing displays of wealth. (. . . ) I see extraordinarily wealthy guys walking around Mosman on a weekend in daggy old shirts, and a pair of sandals.

Thus, any signs of ‘internal segregation’ based on economic and cultural capital appear less tolerated, than any projections of wealth, taste, manners and success to the outside world.

Consecration through Institutionalized Cultural Capital

As is the case of objectified cultural capital, there are a variety of expressions of institutionalized cultural capital in both the Swedish and the Australian cases that also are critical to these places’ consecration. Below, we will concentrate on residents’ membership in schools, which are the most comprehensive and obvious institutions of community capital that contribute to their unique aura and social status. However, there are other aspects of institutionalized capital worth noting briefly in both the Australian and Swedish cases. One example is membership in prestigious local families. This was particularly important in the Swedish case, where families whose time of residence in Djursholm goes back to 1889, that is, when the community was created, were considered role-models by new families, in their quest for integration and social elevation, making them appear as ‘representatives’ of Djursholm in newspapers, magazines and other arenas where the lifestyle of Djursholm is portrayed. Although it could also be seen as an expression of social capital, these families can also be understood as institutions with varying levels of prestige or institutionalized cultural capital attached to their membership. Another example of institutionalized cultural capital is the municipal status of these suburbs. The importance of this status for residents was evident in Mosman’s local campaign by some residents to announce a new suburb comprised of Mosman’s Balmoral Beach and adjacent streets, separated from the rest of Mosman, which includes some less prestigious parts. In both Mosman and Cottesloe – which are recognized local government areas – residents were also involved in campaigns resisting forced mergers with other adjacent municipalities, which clearly would have jeopardized the unique status of these communities, that residents obviously cherish.

Turning now to elite community schools, these play a key role in accumulating varied types of social and cultural capital: accumulating social connections in elite networks, for both the children and their parents, and, as discussed in the following section, accumulating an embodied cultural capital through socialization. The importance of schools in inter-generational transfer of elite status has been demonstrated in studies examining the educational backgrounds of adults in elite positions. In Australia, a study of the 1992 Who’s Who, for example, found that one exclusive Catholic school, Xavier College, had produced more judges than the entire State school system of the State of Victoria (Peel and McCalman, 1992). A more recent work by Murray (2006) found 42% of directors in the 2005 ‘Who’s Who’ (p. 47) went to elite private schools, which represent approximately 3% of all Australian schools. In turn, these schools’ aura and institutionalized capital is fueled by the success, reputation and wealth of its alumni.

Residents in all four elite communities that we examine in this paper have access to prestigious private schools – both within or at a short distance from their suburb. The schools provide high-quality education (in Sweden for free, and open to everybody), but also prestige and institutionalized cultural capital, which we argue become critical mechanisms of polarization in society at large. Some interviewees commented that even as adults, people they meet in their neighbourhood or professional lives often ask them which school they went to. This helps identify whether they are long-term or newer residents of the elite community, as well as other markers of identity such as their family’s Christian denomination, as explained by one long-term resident in Australian Mosman:

We were all raised in this suburb together. We all went to the same school. When we were growing up in the 1970s there was a lot of connection with the local churches – that thing – that element. If you were Roman Catholic in this area – if you were a girl and you were Roman Catholic you went to Blessed Sacrament School and then you went to Loreto at Kirribilli. If you were Protestant, Jewish or anything else, which really there wasn’t much else in those days, you went to SCEGGS Redlands or to Wenona and some to Queenwood. But that was pretty much the breakdown.

Of the three Australian case studies, Toorak’s schools carry the highest institutionalized capital that is recognized nationally and beyond. Several of the schools located within or just outside Toorak are some of the most prestigious, expensive and successful as institutions for elite recruitment in Australia, making them stand out in relation to schools in other areas. The Geelong Grammar School – one of Australia’s most expensive private schools, with a long-standing international reputation as a springboard for elite careers (Gronn, 1992) – has maintained a long connection with Toorak since its early years in the late-19th century. The school’s main campus is a boarding school in the city of Geelong (approximately an hour drive from Melbourne), but since the early 20th century, a high proportion of its students arrived from Toorak and specifically from the Geelong Grammar Toorak Campus (formerly known as Glamorgan). Previous studies have confirmed the domination of Geelong Grammar alumni in the public service and business elites – well echoing the Swedish case of Djursholm, whose high school for many years has been a pipeline to Sweden’s elite business school, the Stockholm School of Economics, which educates Sweden’s business and financial elites (see Holmqvist, 2022).

As one person in Swedish Djursholm described the critical role of schools in elite communities,

It is school that turns normal humans into Djursholmers. If you have not gone to school here you’ll never be able to feel like a local. I no longer have any contact with friends of mine who did not go to school here.

Attendance in an elite school, however, in itself is not necessarily sufficient to acquire institutionalized cultural capital. Good grades are also crucial for getting into top university programmes and, later, attaining prestigious jobs. One father in Djursholm made the following claim:

The children are aware from an early age of the importance of school, not only for the sake of their own future, but also for their status and self-esteem. My ten-year-old son is already talking about how he wants to get into the upper secondary school in Djursholm. It’s a sign of success, it means you’re someone special, you’re smart and you have a future ahead of you.

At the same time, students are expected to achieve high levels of performance academically to preserve the school’s institutionalized cultural capital, which in turn also serves as a sort of verdict on an elite neighbourhood as a community. In Djursholm, if students do not manage to live up to the community’s expectations, not only is there a risk of scandalizing oneself and one’s family, there is also a broader condemnation from residents as a whole, expressing the importance of pupils’ high grades for community consecration. Indeed, there were examples of students who failed academically who chose to continue their studies elsewhere, mainly for social reasons.

In Australia, schools’ academic performances are regularly reported in national media, and websites with school ranking lists are popular. Schools use a variety of strategies to improve their position in these rankings (Thompson and Cook, 2014). Students feel significant pressure to perform at a level that does not diminish the school’s collective rank, in ways that sometimes impact their wellbeing (Wyn et al., 2014). While this is common in many schools across the socioeconomic spectrum, the pressure to perform is potentially more intense in elite communities where school rankings are higher and the community’s image as a ‘shining city upon a hill’ (Fitzgerald, 1981) is at stake. Staff, primarily teachers, are a key factor in this context – and thus, in a certain sense, are the most important ‘asset’ of the community in maintaining its unique position. A teacher in Djursholm expressed this as follows:

There’s pressure on us as teachers, from the school head, from students, from parents, and also there’s the pressure we put on ourselves, to achieve top grades. If you don’t give someone very good reports there’s a great burden of evidence on you, which can be quite hard work, and sometimes you have to take a lot of crap from angry parents. As far as the school is concerned, its reputation will start to wane if the grades start coming down.

Consecration through Embodied Cultural Capital

It is primarily in our analysis of embodied cultural capital where we have observed not only some similarities but also differences between the Australian and Swedish elite communities and the way they create and maintain social distinctions. One striking similarity was the significance of active lifestyles, a key requirement in neoliberal society (Rudman, 2006), and in particular, the sanctification of sports, as an embodied cultural capital in both the Swedish and Australian communities. An apparent difference, however, was a sense of optimism in Swedish Djursholm that contrasted with expressions of angst in the Australian suburbs.

Participation of children and adults alike in sports is perhaps the most dominant form of elite community residents’ active lifestyles. Responding to a general norm of having a slim, well-trained and healthy body, for many residents of all age groups and genders in the Australian elite communities, sport was integral to weekly if not daily routines. Swimming, golf, tennis, rugby, Australian Football, running and sailing were but some of the sports residents actively engaged, which contributed to them manifesting a certain embodied capital. Although some of these sports (such as Australian Rules Football) are perceived as non-elitist, all-Australian sports, they nonetheless allow consecration through allegiance to the exclusive local sports club in which elite suburb residents invest significant time, money and sweat. Indeed, a recent survey found self-reported physical activity was highest in the most affluent urban areas of Australia, with Cottesloe and Toorak ranking first and Mosman seventh in their respective cities (AHPC, 2017).

Much of the networking – or social capital building – of a neighbourhood occurs in institutions such as schools, sports clubs and other associations (Nast and Blokland, 2014; Putnam, 2000; Romig, 2010). Similarly, in both the Australian and Swedish cases, membership in institutions such as sports clubs were described by interviewees as instrumental in gaining social status in contemporary society through embodying a certain lifestyle. While these sports clubs encourage a sportive and competitive lifestyle, their prestige does not derive from elite performance in professional sports competition. Rather, the sporting associations emphasize that that they are ‘broad-based clubs’ – to which all (i.e. residents) are welcome, thus becoming part of an exclusive family. As the director of one of the clubs in Swedish Djursholm put it,

This club is not trying to be an elite club. We have broad vision. There are a lot of teams here, and every team has a really broad reach. We don’t have an elite team where we put our best sporting talent, as other clubs do (. . . ). This is sport for everyone, and everyone should take part. The idea is for this to be a pleasant meeting place for all ages.

Here, the director uses the term ‘elite’ in referring to competitive performance in sports rather than a socioeconomic status. The club aims first and foremost to be an arena for social networking (among elites) and not for individual elite performance. Likewise, at the golf club, one of the members made it clear to the first author that the club is not about elite performance, but rather sees itself (‘in accordance with its tradition as a family club’, as he stressed) offering interesting social opportunities to local inhabitants. One man, a father of young children, said at a sporting event that

sport is an interesting arena for parental ambition. Not so much because the parents are looking for the children to become sporting professionals, which is the sort of thing parents in many other places want, but because it lets them learn a certain mode of behaviour in the form of activity, teamwork, performance, winning, and setting themselves high goals.

Overall, participation in sports facilitates the acquisition of certain dispositions, particularly for young people, centring on their ability to self-manage and self-organize, which are seen as essential cultural competencies and virtues in today’s neoliberal society, with its idealization of people being active and committed (see Dean, 1995; Maravelias, 2020).

Indeed, participation in the sports scene of these elite communities does not always even involve physical activity. Many residents join sports clubs purely for the social side. Tennis clubs in the Australian communities, in particular, attracted people who never play tennis but enjoy the facilities for socializing; in the Swedish case, the local riding club had far more passive than active junior members, particularly girls in the age of 15–16 years, that is, members who never visited the stables, but socialized in the club’s café instead. Membership as directors on the board of a local sports club was also a way of engaging in the sports scene: a status symbol and an entry point into exclusive elite social networks; indeed, the first author took his first contacts to Djursholm’s residents through the president of the local golf club.

The active lifestyle, described by some as a norm of ‘constantly being on the go’ – can be very demanding and stressful. But it also adds to the image of Djursholm as a place always and forever focused on future possibility. Hence, the dominating lifestyle illustrates the way the community re-produces neoliberalism’s idealization of a personal responsibility to make oneself better and to constantly enact a high-performing, self-improving character (see Weber, 2009). One company executive put it as follows:

My wife has a kind of default Djursholm mind-set. I’ll give you an example. One time when our children had been out all day I said to my wife that I thought it would be okay for them to slouch a bit and watch some TV. My wife didn’t like that at all. You have to be doing something non-stop.

Another father expressed that

as a teenager in Djursholm you don’t just hang about, or stand around in the town square, like young people do in so many other communities. Here, you learn to make full use of your time. You study, you have a part-time job, you run a company, you do sport, you join associations, travel, and, in short, you make the best possible use of your time.

Making the individual the responsible unit for his or her condition is a basic characteristic of neoliberalism, including that of children and teenagers (Lee, 2017). Our observations suggest residents of elite suburbs are more zealous in embodying these elements of ideal neoliberal subjectivity – of active lifestyle, self-responsibility and self-improvement – not merely as followers of neoliberalism but as its leaders and exemplars.

An active lifestyle is also central to the embodied cultural capital of the three Australian elite communities. Residents kept busy maintaining demanding careers, a rich social life, activities such as volunteering on school or club boards, and as elaborated above extensive engagement in sports activities. While some sports activities such as sailing and golf are more exclusive and directly associated with upper-class distinction, residents of the three Australian elite communities also participate enthusiastically in a variety of other more popular sports (swimming, Australian Rules Football, Rugby, tennis). Consecration, thus, does not necessarily arise from the exclusivity of any particular sports activity, rather from a commitment and a competitive strive towards excellence (at an amateur rather than professional level).

Active lifestyles were also apparent in political involvement. Many residents in Toorak, Mosman and Cottesloe expressed their tendency and capacity to make their voice heard on issues big and small, local, national or global, and ‘arc up’ to take action to advance their individual and collective interests, as one male Mosman resident expressed: ‘People here in Mosman – so we do have a voice, we have an opinion, people are educated and they express that view’.

In this sense, residents in Toorak, Cottesloe and Mosman shared a similar sense of entrepreneurial optimism to that which characterizes Djursholm – a sense of control over one’s own life, agency and capacity to shape possibilities for the future through entrepreneurialism, hard work and competitiveness, which are all common ideals in contemporary market-driven societies. But this optimistic entrepreneurial activism in the three Australian suburbs was balanced by a degree of angst, and at times even a sense of being victimized, by issues such as thoroughfare traffic, residential densification and social diversification in their communities. One female resident of Cottesloe described residents’ activism to stop thoroughfare truck traffic through their suburb: ‘We are arcing up at the moment with the prospect of the big trucks being diverted through . . . We enjoy our little bit of paradise I suppose and we don’t want it ruined’. Similar intense expressions of angst were raised in relation to apartment developments in the three suburbs, traditionally dominated by standalone houses and the increased presence of residents from Asian (especially Chinese) background.

A Comparative Analysis

In the above sections, we have reported how ‘elite communities’ in Australia and Sweden are drivers of polarization in contemporary, neoliberal societies through the way their residents are consecrated; more specifically, we have examined three types of consecration: (a) of objective cultural capital, (b) of institutionalized cultural capital and (c) of embodied cultural capital. They all interplay in the way elites are re-produced and stand out as exemplary based on their superior social, communicative and aesthetic dispositions.

In many ways, the elite communities of Australia and Sweden are similar, illustrating the common observation that elites are transnational rather than national today (see Cousin and Chauvin, 2021; Howard and Maxwell, 2021; Pow, 2011).

Regarding the first dimension, objective cultural capital, when visiting both Swedish Djursholm and the three Australian elite neighbourhoods, one is struck by the aesthetic appeal of the areas, which is the result of a combination of social organization and wealth (well-functioning public cleaning, good maintenance of private houses and institutions, a strict area planning, etc.), and natural beauty. One thing that makes Djursholm, Mosman, Cottesloe and Toorak extraordinary, in the view of residents and others, is the dominance of luxurious and architecturally advanced houses, as well as exclusive cars, boats and similar objects of prestige. These objectives signal distinction to the outside world, and internal belonging or lackthereof within the elite community itself, which in turn also limits newcomers ability to fully join elite communities, and as such operate as engines of polarization. Hence, access to objectified cultural capital consecrate elites both externally and internally. The fact that the phenomenon is characteristic of both the Australian and Swedish communities is but a testimony to the transnational expression and importance of objective cultural capital in elite communities for their standing and prestige locally as well as globally (see Cousin and Chauvin, 2021).

As for the communities’ institutionalized cultural capital primarily represented by their schools, of course, it is well established that ‘elite schools’ are mechanisms of polarization through the ways parents promote children to embark on elite education in which their children become socialized as elites through multiple forms of capital (see Howard and Maxwell, 2021; Van Zanten and Ball, 2015). However, the relation between elite schools and elite communities in terms of polarization is often overlooked. These institutions create distinctions through institutionalized capital when some students challenge the socializing and indoctrinating forces of the curriculum, for example, by not performing ‘excellently’. The likely response is stigmatization and exclusion from future circles of elites, hence, and example of ‘desecration’ (see Holmqvist, 2017). And polarization arises versus the external world, through the re-production of the schools’ image of superiority and excellence, both socially and academically. Thus, elite community schools benefit from the cultural capital and the varied skills of parents; indeed, they become manifestations of the residents’ good access to institutionalized capital.

Finally, the embodied cultural capital of the Australian and Swedish elite communities is most notably displayed by an active lifestyle: Both the Australian and Swedish elite communities share an embodied cultural capital that can be described as entrepreneurial optimism – a sense of agency and responsibility over one’s future, which could be achieved through a very active lifestyle, and competitive competence. Hence, neoliberalism was manifested by exercise, sports playing, accessing clubs and other ways of enacting a responsible and liable character, distinguishing the community in relation to others and serving as a marker of belonging within the community. To this extent, elite communities foster and exemplify an ideal neoliberal subjectivity that has been widely accepted across society.

However, there were also observed differences between the two countries, suggesting the importance to take into account local variations in explaining how polarization unfolds: In Djursholm, the embodied cultural capital can be understood as a performance of a collective ‘moral superiority’ of the noble elite; in contrast, the entrepreneurial optimism of Toorak, Mosman and Cottesloe appears as a more individualistic pursuit, reflecting individual success in a capitalist society. Furthermore, in the Australian case, such optimism is clouded by intense angst, anxiety over perceived threats to the elite community paradise by processes of urbanization and diversification (both driven by immigration into Australia). Thus, consecration is a defining characteristic of both Australian and Swedish economic elites that can explain how they foster polarization, both versus their environments and internally; however, there are some differences in its expression.

Below we offer some preliminary interpretations of these differences, and insights on the question of whether and how differences in the process of consecration at the scale of elite communities influence, and are influenced by, wider processes of polarization at the societal scale.

Australia and Sweden differ historically, which has some importance for how their respective elites are consecrated through access to various forms of capital. Although Sweden is often associated with egalitarianism and social democracy, and although Sweden has a relatively low income gap compared to most other economically advanced countries including Australia, Sweden has an established upper-class and elite that dates back several centuries; this makes consecration through cultural capital an obvious mechanism of polarization, much in the same way as it does in France and the United Kingdom (cf. Friedman and Reeves, 2020). Australia, on the contrary, is a settler-colonial society, with a shorter history of modern social class stratification. In Australia, elites’ dominance is shaded by what Ghassan Hage (2002) once described as ‘white paranoia’: colonizers’ constant fear of losing their fragile privilege. This can explain the angst apparent in Australian elite communities and contrasts with Swedish Djursholm residents’ privilege, which is more deeply historically rooted and as such experienced as more secure.

Australian elites’ claim for moral superiority is also arguably moderated by a cultural expectation in Australia of ‘shared ordinariness’, which as suggested by Goddard and Cramer (2017), ‘discourages people from seeming to want to attract the admiration of other people, with consequent downplaying of achievement and ambition’ (p. 91). They argue that the Australian expectation of shared ordinariness has formed in its early days as a convict colony, dominated by previously lower class individuals. Contemporary Australian elites do not shy away from showcasing their status and economic success, but also seek to perform shared ordinariness in their everyday lives (e.g. playing all-Australian sports such as Rugby or Australian Rules Football) alongside more obvious performances of upper-class distinction.

To sum up, although we have pointed to some differences between the Australian and Swedish elite communities – with deep historical roots – as is obvious in our report of observations, there are also many similarities. Both the Australian and Swedish elites’ embodied cultural capital of ‘entrepreneurial optimism’ reflect a perfection of the ideal neoliberal subjectivity. As such, they do not only ideologically support the neoliberal project as powerful political actors, but also embody this ideal as a source of emulation for other classes.