I don't think that beloved airhead philanthropist Bruce Wayne should be Hot(TM) exactly, I think he has like a very symmetrical face and the kind of good teeth that only really rich people can have and his clothes are generally tasteful and well-tailored but like... his allure? the thing pulling in all the socialites and shit? it's that he's crazy and they can smell it on him.
like he's got the Haunted Past thing, obviously, everyone knows about that, and people who meet him for the first time as an adult are like, okay, surely all those glowing profiles were politely glossing over the fact that he's A Little Weird, right? you don't watch your parents get gunned down in front of you as a wee boy and not turn out a little weird. but he's all "oh, [full name of person he was just introduced to], of course! swell to meet you!" warm handshakes, firm pats on the back, can he get you a drink? almost TOO well adjusted.
but then you watch him through the evening and the weirdo cracks show, but only the weirdo cracks that Bruce Wayne (Batman) has deemed acceptable for Bruce Wayne (beloved airhead philanthropist). yes, he's drinking a shirley temple like a six year old. yep, he sure did bring his big-ass dog along to the party - although it must be noted that the dog is impeccably well-behaved, maybe even more so than Bruce. because, yeah, Bruce is also attempting to juggle some empty champagne glasses now - and, right on cue, he is apologizing profusely and offering to pay for the champagne glasses.
so he seems like a harmless goofball, maybe, but then there are these little tells - don't you remember those stories about him as a kid? he got caught practicing his spelunking up the downtown Wayne Enterprises building, all trussed up in climbing gear, and didn't seem to understand why that wasn't legal. and didn't he get caught at some underground fight club once? surely that can't be the same man currently eating a hamburger with a knife and fork? but there's something about him, the shadows beneath his eyes, the small scars that mar the edges of his face and hands, the way that gaggle of kids glide to and from him like small shadows - they seem to communicate with him through raised eyebrows and pursed lips alone.
if you try to ask him about any of it he only laughs and starts telling you a story that takes a sharp turn through art history and obscure foreign diners and 19th century medical textbooks, leaving you in the middle of a field with more questions and even fewer answers than you began with. Bruce will excuse himself before you can come fully out of your reverie and point out how lost he's gotten you, because he has to dash off and delightedly greet another guest, another one of his infinite acquaintances who never seem to get close enough to be friends.
he's weird. he's a weirdo.
and the people are into it.
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