On a bit of a tangential note, one must not make snap judgments on dress either. I have been in the gun store here in TX when an older gent in ragged looking jeans, western shirt with holes in the elbows, and boots with bovine excrement on them comes in. If you know them, you might know they own a ranch into which you could fit Rhode Island.
In 1974 I pulled into an old country store (swinging screen doors with Sunbeam bread metal signs) and as I was getting out, a beat-to-death old Cadillac pulled in next to me. The dash, floorboards, seats and rear deck were covered in food wrappers, pop cans and other assorted trash.
The elderly driver was wearing clothes held together by their stubborn understains. I held the door for him. As he walked by me my olfactory system was assaulted by the overpowering odor of peeled onions and overused Dr. Scholl's.
He hurriedly grabbed a Yoo-Hoo and a Moon Pie, paid for it and left.
I asked the clerk who that was and he said: "son, that old coot owns every trailer park surrounding Shaw AFB. He would have to live another 200 years to spend all his money".
Ya just never know.