Hi. How are you? How has your day been so far? No, you don’t know me, and I would venture to say that I don’t know you quite as well as I’d like to think I do. I’ve read about your luxurious house and your arrogant, obnoxious husband and even your daughter. Despite this information that I’ve been privy to, I still feel as though I barely know you.
Some people might automatically write you off as a stereotypical wealthy housewife who is unintelligent and unaware of her privilege, but I would beg to differ. Perhaps I’m reading into your “beautiful little fool” comment a little too much, but it seems to me like you’re a very aware of your status in society. I think you know that you’re privileged. I think you also recognize the way women are valued significantly more for their appearances than for anything that they say. (We’re better about that where I come from, but it still happens.)
The problem is that you don’t do anything about it. You know that your husband is having an affair, yet you let it continue without protest. You’re smart, yet you don’t seem to acknowledge how entranced you are by material objects. You know that Gatsby is hopelessly infatuated with you, yet you lead him on anyways. Why?
The comments you make to Nick, particularly while he’s visiting your house on that one night, have convinced me that you’re far more intelligent than you let on. You’re insistence that you’ve “been everywhere and seen everything and done everything” might sound naive at first, but I think there’s some merit to it. Maybe you feel jaded by your luxurious life, by all of the opportunities you’ve had. I just wish that you would do something more with your sharp mind than lounge around in white dresses, embodying the flower which bears your same name.
I have such mixed feelings about you, Daisy. Whenever I read about you I can’t decide whether you’re someone I should be rooting for or against. You confuse me. I guess I understand why Gatsby couldn’t solve your puzzle of a personality.
I don’t expect you to write back. I just thought I’d let you know.
P.S. Cut Gatsby some slack, okay? He’s blinded by your golden social status.
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