Breaking Chains — Does The Wealthy Deserve Our Sympathy?

Chains symbolize oppression, but also resilience. They’re tactile, heavy, and universal. For Jason Bouchet—our fantasy popstar boyfriend—those chains were not iron at all, but invisible links of expectation.  His gilded world became a cage, the spotlight a shackle, his wedding ring a prison. Every lyric he sang was polished for perfection, yet behind the glittering stage lights, he carried the weight of silence, longing for someone to see the boy beneath the brand.

Like Mia, we should all be more aware of those struggling, even if there’s a smile—or a glare, in Jason’s case—above the surface. The world loves to hate its wealthy idols. We call them monsters, but perhaps the real question is: did we make them that way?

"F*ck the rich."

"They got it all, I got none."

"They can buy their happiness, what can I buy mine?"

But beneath the venom of those words lies a truth we rarely admit: envy is a chain too. We despise the rich not only for what they have, but for what they remind us we lack. Their excess becomes a mirror, reflecting our own hunger, our own emptiness. And so we lash out, branding them monsters, forgetting that monsters are often born from wounds.

Jason Bouchet’s glare was not arrogance—it was armor. Every sneer, every cold lyric, was a shield against a world that demanded his perfection while denying his humanity. He was adored, yes, but never seen. He was envied, but never understood. And in that gap between perception and reality, the chains tightened.

When you fall from the ground, you bruise. When you fall from the sky, you shatter. Fame is gravity inverted—it pulls you higher, only to make the descent catastrophic. And perhaps the crowd cheering “Fck the rich” never realized they were also cheering for the crash, for the spectacle of destruction, for the proof that even gods bleed.

We deserve another's sympathy. Does the wealthy do, too?