A few years ago, I found myself at a black-tie fundraiser sitting between a retired ambassador and a venture capitalist.

I had just hustled my son into bed, swapped sneakers for heels in the car, and walked into a room where everyone seemed to speak a silent language I had not fully learned.

That night taught me something important: respect in rarefied rooms is not loud.

It is legible.

Below are ten behaviors I have seen, practiced, and taught. I have also added two practical extras at the end.

One is a simple pre-event ritual you can use tonight.

The other is a book that has sharpened my perspective this season and that I have mentioned before, now with a short, personal note about why it stuck.

1. They look the part without overdoing it

Clothes are not everything, yet they are a fast way to show you read the room.

People who move easily in upper class spaces dress one click more formal than the baseline. Fit and grooming are clean. Small details whisper instead of shout: polished shoes, a watch that suits your wrist, and tailoring that lets you breathe.

Why it matters: what you wear nudges how you think. When the setting leans strategic or big picture, slightly more formal attire can help you show up as the clearest version of yourself.

Try this: if you are unsure, choose the simpler option and upgrade the fit. A quiet blazer beats a loud pattern every time.

2. They control pace, breath, and voice

People form impressions in a few syllables. That can feel unfair, but it is also a lever you can use. Slow your pace by about twenty percent. Finish sentences.

Let silence land. Ease is audible.

How I practice: on the drive to an event, I exhale longer than I inhale to settle my nervous system, then I read a paragraph out loud at seventy or eighty percent speed. It sounds basic. It works.

3. They master quiet nonverbals

Upper class spaces reward calm energy. Expanded posture that is not exaggerated, steady eye contact, and measured movement are all high-status cues.

You do not need a bathroom mirror power pose. Plant your feet, un-hunch your shoulders, soften your face, and keep gestures economical.

The message is simple: I am comfortable here, and I am here to connect.

Watch for: fidgeting with glassware, scanning the room while someone is talking, or turning your body away during a group exchange. Those little tells dilute your presence.

4. They enter conversations like hosts, not guests

Even if you did not pay for the table, act like a host. Hosts open circles, offer context, and draw out quieter voices. Learn names quickly and connect interests.

Example: “Rita, you mentioned urban design. Diego here just led an adaptive reuse project in the historic district.”

That one sentence does three jobs. It welcomes, it frames, and it lets the other two people shine.

Bonus move: when you step into a knot of people, position your body so there is space for one more person to join. You signal abundance before you say a word.

5. They value brevity, then build

These rooms are time compressed. Respected people make points in one or two clean sentences, then add color only if invited. The rhythm looks like this: headline, supporting detail, question back.

Example: “I work in behavioral communications. I help nonprofits improve donor retention. What kind of campaigns are you exploring this year?”

Clear. Tidy. Reciprocal.

Edit trick: before a big evening, write a one-line description of what you do that a seventh grader would understand. Then write the same line for one project you are excited about. Memorize both.

6. They ask expansive questions

The right question creates instant equity. Use openers that expand the other person’s world rather than test your own expertise.

I rotate prompts like, “What are you building that does not show up on LinkedIn yet?” or “What is the best conversation you have had this month?”

Then I listen without pouncing on the first opening to talk about myself.

Curiosity is a status move. It implies you are not scrambling for validation.

Good follow-ups: “Tell me more about how that started.” “What surprised you most as it grew?” “If you had to teach that in a workshop, what is lesson one?”

7. They observe the micro-etiquette others miss

Small courtesies carry real weight in elite rooms, especially where staff are present and power dynamics are obvious. People who command respect do the quiet things consistently:

Step aside at doorways and let others pass first.

Learn the names of staff and thank them directly.

Keep phones off tables.

Wait to sip or start eating until everyone is served.

Fold your napkin neatly when you excuse yourself, rather than leaving it sprawled.

Small actions are not forgettable. They create a climate around you.

8) They respect boundaries, especially their own

Respecting others begins with respecting yourself. In these spaces, people with real authority protect their time and energy.

They say “no, thank you” without apology, and they do it early. I have learned to decline politely and concretely: “That is outside my scope this quarter, but I can recommend a colleague,” or “I am prioritizing my son’s schedule this month. Let us revisit in January.”

Here is the line that unlocked this for me, and it comes from a book I will share below: “Their happiness is their responsibility, not yours.”

The sentence is simple. The relief is real. The clearer your boundaries, the more others trust your “yes.”

9. They translate across worlds

Many of us code-switch without noticing. What earns long-term respect is not impersonation. It is translation.

When someone uses niche jargon, translate it for the table without condescension. When a story risks alienating someone, add a bridge. “In plain English, that means the project pays for itself over five years.”

I grew up middle class and still do the mental shimmy between PTA meetings and gala tables. The goal is not to become someone else. It is to help different people hear each other for real.

One phrase to borrow: “For anyone outside this world, here is the short version.” It saves face and keeps everyone inside the conversation.

10. They close loops

Follow-through is the quietest flex. People who are respected in elite circles do what they say they will do, and they do it promptly. If you promised an introduction, send it within forty-eight hours. If you mentioned a book, share the link.

When I get home from an event, I make tea, kick off my shoes, and jot three quick notes: the intro I owe, the resource I mentioned, and one gratitude email. No fireworks. Just clean loops.

Template you can steal:

Subject: Lovely to meet you at [Event] Line 1: One sentence callback to your chat.
Line 2: Link or intro promised.
Line 3: Warm sign-off, plus your calendar link if relevant.

A quick pre-event ritual you can do in 90 seconds

I promised you one actionable detail, so here is a tiny routine that changes how you enter the room.

1. Breathe for twenty seconds. Inhale for four, exhale for six. Repeat twice.
2. Roll your shoulders and lengthen your spine for twenty seconds. Think tall, not stiff.
3. Choose a two-word intention for twenty seconds. Examples: “host energy,” “curious presence,” “steady warmth.”
4. Rehearse one clean self-intro for thirty seconds. Say it out loud. Smile while you say the final line.

That is it. Ninety seconds, and you have already set your tone.

One more detail that elevates all ten behaviors

Bring a micro-offer to give away, something useful that costs you almost nothing. It might be a concise checklist, a one-page summary of a talk you gave, or a short list of trusted vendors.

The key is relevance and ease.

When someone shares a challenge, you can say, “I have a one-pager on this that people tend to find helpful. I am happy to send it after the event.” You become memorable for generosity, not volume.

A book that sharpened these ideas

I have mentioned this before, and it bears repeating because it continues to influence how I show up in rooms that can feel intimidating.

Rudá Iandê’s new book, Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life, landed on my nightstand at the exact moment I needed a sanity check.

I am not a shamanic expert. I am a working parent who sometimes walks into tuxedoed rooms with spinach on my soul. His insights helped me cut through the noise and return to what actually creates presence.

Here is what stuck, in plain language and without a long backstory. The book reminded me to question what I think I need to perform.

It nudged me to trust the intelligence of my body instead of overriding it with caffeine and charm. Most of all, it reframed my relationship with other people’s expectations.

As I said earlier, the line that keeps echoing for me is, “Their happiness is their responsibility, not yours.” That sentence alone has changed how I set boundaries with grace, not guilt.

The book inspired me to tighten the habits you just read.

It showed up while I was juggling a heavy client season, and it made me braver about saying no to the wrong invitations, kinder about my own imperfections, and more present with the human in front of me, whether they are pouring wine or writing seven-figure checks.

If any of the ten behaviors in this article resonated, consider reading it. It is punchy, practical, and surprisingly grounding in the middle of fancy chaos.

Putting it all together this month

Choose one room this month, whether it is work, community, or social, and practice two things.

Slow your voice by twenty percent.

Close one loop within forty-eight hours.

If you want a third move, add the pre-event ninety-second ritual.

And if you want an inner companion while you practice, pick up Rudá Iandê’s Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life.

I do not believe any single book solves life, and he would likely agree. I do believe a clear phrase at the right time can upgrade your presence in real, material ways. This one did.

Respect is not a costume. It is a set of legible signals anyone can learn. Start small, edit often, and let your quiet competence do the talking.