“No they aren’t real, silly. I’d be wearing the wealth of an entire city!”

Puzzled, I ask, “But then surely everyone knows they aren’t real as well, so why wear them?” “I thought racing drivers were smart, to be fast?” She smirks coyly. “It’s a social game and contract. Nobody wears their actual wealth - I’d be a pile of men and factories! The piece stands for the gems I Could have, if I chose.” She adjusts it slightly. “The social contract is an understanding not to misrepresent oneself, and the artificers charm some of them to show off one’s stock in real time. A little high-class sub-culture, created in just a few months.” I nod without knowing I was agreeing to anything. “Sounds fun?” She looks at me like I’d get rid of something she didn’t want for her. “It’s exhausting,” she whispers.