My travelling therapist adventures have recently brought me to an area where a lot of people have a lot of money. Not “doing okay” money. Not “finally paid off the car” money. I’m talking importing lobster, building garages for their many four wheelers, adding a second vacation home, buying all the land, multiple yachts kind of money.
And there’s something I’ve started to notice that makes me feel off. When I’m around certain people, all they talk about is money, and how much money they spent. Not in practical ways like, “Hey, this bill is high,” or “I’m trying to save for XYZ.” I mean everything becomes a conversation about what they spent, what they’re building, what they’re buying, what it all cost, and how much more they have (or will have) than the next person.
It’s not just conspicuous consumption. It’s not just flexing. It’s competition.
Keeping up with the Joneses: the idea that people spend money to maintain a certain image or status relative to their neighbors. Failure to do so is perceived as a demonstration of inferiority. They have it, I don’t, so I am less than them.
But what I’m seeing is a step beyond that. It’s not just, “They got a new car, so we should probably get a new car too.” It’s more like, “They spent $300,000 on that car, so I’m going to spend $300,001.”
It’s about the score. Who spent more? Who upgraded more? Who got the more exotic trip, the better seats, the “premium” version of everything? Money becomes a scoreboard, an ongoing, endless tournament where the only rule is: more wins.
Can’t Quantify Happiness
A lot of what humans actually care about is hard to measure.
You can’t easily quantify how loved you are, how meaningful your work feels, how deeply you’re understood by your friends, how safe you feel in your own skin, how much inner peace you have. There’s no number for those.
Money comes with numbers attached to every single thing. This house cost X. That remodel cost Y. This car was Z over sticker. For some people, especially those who are rich and surrounded by other rich people, money becomes the only value, the only score.
You can’t say at dinner, “I love my partner more than you love yours.” But you can say, “Yeah, we dropped $70,000 on my wife’s new car,” and everyone around you knows exactly where to put that on the invisible leaderboard. They keep talking about money because it’s quantifiable, it’s comparable, and it’s socially legible. It’s the one metric everyone in that circle can instantly understand, even if they might not care about it.
When Every Story is a Price Tag
When all your stories are about how much something costs, you stop telling stories about what actually mattered. Instead of, “We had this wild, sacred moment together on that trip, and it changed how I see my life,” you get, “The resort was $900 a night, and it came with a private chef.” Instead of, “We hosted people we love, and we felt so connected,” you get, “We spent $5,000 on that party.”
The emotional content gets stripped out and replaced with a price tag. Over time, it’s easy to forget how something felt and remember only what it cost monetarily.
This isn’t an argument against money itself. Money can buy safety, freedom, experiences, and I definitely want more of it. You may not be able to fully escape environments where this kind of competition happens, especially if you live or work around wealth.
Why does this need to be a competition in the first place?
I was talking to a client who spent a staggering amount of money on his family member’s car. It was a gift, but it was more about his own desire to do something big, to feel like he’s provided in an impressive way.
When asked, “Now that the money is spent and you have the car, do you feel good?” his answer was, “No. Whatever enjoyment there was is already over. Now it’s just time to move on to the next thing.”
The act of buying something does not actually provide anything lasting. The satisfaction evaporates almost immediately. It’s just one more addiction. Slightly high for a little bit to feed aching void in your soul, and then it’s over. Back to the empty.
What insecurity, what fear, what void is underneath all this? Maybe all the spending is just a very expensive way to avoid sitting with your own discomfort. It’s easier to chase the next purchase than to sit in a quiet room and ask, “What actually hurts here? Where do I feel small, unseen, or afraid? Am I anyone without my money? Would anyone even like me if I lost it all?”
If you’re sick of this game, whether you’re rich and your life feels empty, or you’re not rich and the spending is still covering something up; then it’s time to change how you play. Pause before the next purchase and ask what feeling you’re hoping it will fix. Notice the urge to impress, and just once in a while, choose to be honest instead.
Let yourself want peace, connection, and a life that feels good from the inside more than you want to “win” a game no one ever actually wins.
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Before your next big purchase ask yourself, ‘What feeling am I hoping this fixes?’ Don’t change anything yet. Just notice.