Kargman didn’t base Dzanielle on any specific person, she tells me at Three Guys, the beloved diner on Madison Avenue and 77th. “It was more specifically about online life, the dichotomy between this patina that’s filtered and perfect, versus what you see—which is a profound loneliness,” she says. “It was almost like a lesson for myself about how someone can have this surface thing that you might see on your Instagram, but then you really see that there’s more at home and that they have anxieties or fake friendships and they know it.”

She also found herself fascinated with these newfound trappings of wealth. While status symbols have always been important uptown, it used to be much more difficult to broadcast that you had them other than by bragging at lunch. Or, frankly, it was déclassé to broadcast them, whereas now: “People are posting the telltale oval private jet windows and posting on the tarmac,” Kargman says, noting such a thing was unheard of in the 1980s when she was a student at Spence, one of the most prestigious private schools in the city. “There are people where they feel like, as an influencer, part of their followership wants the aspirational aspect of the peek behind the curtain into their life.”

The problem is making—or faking—a life that must constantly stimulate others via their screens. “Once you start down the road of trying to be fabulous, it gets harder and harder to keep that going. That sounds fucking exhausting. To have all those plates spinning. What’s your vacation? St. Barths and Aspen!”

Ahead of the film’s premiere on May 8, Vanity Fair asked Kargman—the key chronicler of what it takes to keep up with the Manhattan Joneses across the eras—her hot takes about the state of life uptown, whether you’re a private Park Avenue princess or a moneyed mommy-blogger. Below—her unfiltered thoughts.

I went to this Goldman Sachs conference last year as a speaker. I ran into a lot of people that I knew. One by one, about seven of them came up and subtly whispered like, “Do you want to lift home to Teterboro?” And I said, “Oh no, it’s okay.” They’re like, “No, no, we have our plane.” I was like, “Yeah, I know.” They couldn’t process that I wouldn’t take a ride on Air Whatever and that I’d rather be with 200 strangers than sing for my supper and have to thank them profusely. I don’t care about your fucking plane! It’s weird. A lot of people I know wring out their Calvin Klein panties for that. All they want is rich friends to give them a lift on their plane. No thanks!

On “status” charities

Quiet luxury does Sloan Kettering and the arts like ballet, opera. Very old school, Gilded Age style. The flashier [influencer] ones are really niche. They’ll do some organ that no one really thinks about. They’re all worthwhile! But they’re really fucking specific.

On jewelry

A lot of people right now are wearing a full neck story of FoundRae because they opened on the Upper East Side. And I’ve known about FoundRae for years from Tribeca, but now that it’s on Madison, every single person has the telltale heart and chain with the four kids’ initials on it. That’s quiet luxury, because they look beautiful, but you wouldn’t guess how expensive they are.

On flowers

I go to Plaza Flowers on Lexington. I don’t like orchids. They look like vaginas on stems, but I feel like some people think it’s the chicest thing you can do is send an orchid. I call [them] Georgia O’Queef.