When Did Luxury Become The Baseline?

By: Rachel Tuchman, LMHC

Recently, I posted this on my social media:

When did $900 shoes stop making us gasp?

When did $3,000 purses go from “out of reach” to “just another Tuesday scroll”?

When did 20-somethings doing million-dollar home renovations start to feel normal?

Some of us still know these things are expensive, but the more we are exposed to them, the less extravagant and the more “normal” they feel. Social media is desensitizing us. Scrolling through curated lives on public display tricks our brains into thinking luxury is normal.

Why Luxury Should Never Be The Norm

• Expensive ≠ better. Luxuries don’t make life happier; they just make it more expensive.
• Constant extravagance fuels comparison, anxiety, and the feeling of “never enough.”
• Even if you can afford it, it can warp your values, priorities, and sense of what truly matters.
• Online, everything is sold as “this will bring you happiness,” but seeing influencers constantly buying proves that it’s never enough.
• Endless buying trains your brain to chase a dopamine hit; satisfaction is always temporary.

It’s worth noticing who or what is shaping your sense of “normal.” Pay attention to personalities and influencers you follow and how their lifestyle makes you feel about your own.

As cliché as it may sound: the more you chase external markers of success, the less time and energy you have for what actually matters. Happiness doesn’t come from stuff; it comes from presence, balance, and connection.

Needless to say, my post garnered a lot of discussion both on and offline about a cultural shift many of you have experienced lately, and how this shift has impacted us as individuals and as a community.

Luxury (read: excessive spending) is trending, but it’s not normal.

We have been conditioned by corporations, magazines, influencers, and algorithms that know exactly how to keep us hooked: a $400 face cream seems reasonable, a $1,700 stroller feels like a smart investment, seasonal wardrobes, a necessity, perfectly curated interiors, kids’ parties with wedding-level budgets. Somewhere along the way, we stopped asking questions about what we buy, what we value, and what the constant chasing is doing to us.

This isn’t just about personal taste; it’s about a cultural shift. In many communities, luxury stopped feeling like a luxury and has now become the baseline. What once felt indulgent now feels expected. Overspending is no longer viewed as excessive; it’s treated as the standard, a reflection of taste, responsible parenting, or simply “what everyone does.”

Make no mistake, it’s not normal.

Or at least, it shouldn’t be for most of us.

It would be easy to blame the magazines, social media, or influencer culture, and yes, they play a role in amplifying the problem. But this culture of excess didn’t start with Instagram or TikTok. It started from something deeper: a mixture of status anxiety, social comparison, fear of being left out, fear of being judged, and the peer pressure to signal that you’re doing well even if you’re quietly drowning. It’s fueled by changing communal norms, economic disparities that are uncomfortable to talk about, and a shifting sense of what’s “normal” when so many around you seem to be upgrading their lives in real time. In many circles, luxury isn’t just allowed, it’s expected. Choosing to opt out can feel like a statement, even when all you’re really trying to do is live within your means and keep your values intact.

And to be clear: Buying and enjoying nice things isn’t the problem. In fact, sometimes what looks like a “luxury” is really just the most practical choice. For example, for adults who work or have young children, having more household help is sometimes a wise investment. Likewise, Pesach programs, for example, get a bad rap but for many families, they make sense. Whole families can be together without the stress of cleaning, cooking, or serving. This doesn’t always have to be about impressing others; it can be about creating peace of mind and meaningful togetherness. And if someone can’t afford the basic necessities, then obviously going on a Pesach program would not be a wise move. These things are not always so black and white.

It’s good and normal to appreciate beauty, quality, and a little judicious indulgence. The key is how we approach it. Experiencing luxury in a private, intentional way without broadcasting it on social media or using it to signal status can be a form of tzniyus. It’s a value we can model and pass on to our children: You can enjoy beauty and comfort without making it a performance, without needing others to see it. It’s just what we’re doing right now, but it’s not who we are.

There’s also a value in discretion: choosing specifically not to broadcast every new purchase or indulgence. Our kids can know we do nice things, but they can also learn that we don’t brag about it, post it online, or make it a competition. And it certainly does not make us better than anyone else. That’s a lesson in dignity and privacy as much as in spending.

This tension is especially visible in the frum world, where much of this cultural excess contradicts the values that we claim to hold dear. We talk about modesty, humility, gratitude, and living with intention. We raise our kids to value Torah, community, and character over status and image. But somehow, many are still pulled into this race or affected by the pressure it creates.

Whether it’s the pressure to host guests with opulence, dressing kids in head-to-toe designer fashions, or spending more on a wig than some people spend on a car, many have adopted norms that don’t align with what we say matters most. It’s not always because people are shallow, it’s often because the social pressure is relentless. Not doing this can feel isolating, even risky. But if we don’t start being honest about the disconnect, we risk raising a generation that confuses external polish with inner worth.

Even summer camps have been affected. Once camp was about back-to-basics fun, nature, new friends, and songs and dances that you remember forever. Now, many offer international travel, elite sports training, and week-long luxury trips to exotic locations. The bar of what’s “fun” has been raised so high, and it’s tied to how expensive, curated, or elegant it is. It’s okay if your child’s summer camp doesn’t look like a travel brochure. Maybe it’s even better if it doesn’t. What they’ll remember isn’t the destination, it’s the bunkhouse laughter, the friendships, and the color war songs. Choosing simpler paths in life does not shortchange your children; it frees them.

We see it before every yom tov too. The pressure to buy new outfits for every kid, set the perfect table, and serve elaborate meals. What’s meant to be meaningful family time becomes another performance, another opportunity to compare. It’s no longer enough to just prepare for yom tov; it has to look like a lifestyle shoot.

And it doesn’t stop at holidays. It continues into what we consider everyday essentials and milestones. Wigs that cost upwards of $7,000, sometimes $15,000, are now seen as standard. Young women often feel like they need luxury items before they’ve figured out who they are. We see newly married couples buying homes and immediately doing renovations that their parents only did after years of saving.

It’s not any specific tablecloth, extra dish, or expensive set of wine glasses that’s the problem. What matters is the why. Some people genuinely love entertaining beautifully, cooking elaborate meals or creating stunning tablescapes, and that joy is meaningful and personal. The problem arises when the language around these luxury items becomes “must haves,” and these things become proof that we’re keeping up with the Joneses. Intentional enjoyment builds memories; performative consumption builds pressure.

The pressure follows our kids to school. Kids as young as elementary and middle school age are wearing $250 sweatshirts like uniforms: Aviator Nation, Alo, Lululemon, $150 polo shirts. School administrators say, “Just wear what fits the dress code. Your kids don’t need to feel the pressure to wear what everyone else is wearing,” but they miss the emotional reality. When most kids are wearing high-end brands, it doesn’t feel like a free choice to show up in basic, no-name clothing.

Clothing becomes a stand-in for social belonging. Even schools that limit social media, care about mental health, or enforce uniforms see this pressure sneak in through layering, accessories, and brand choices.

Families who can’t or won’t spend large sums of cash feel stuck. Kids feel they’re falling behind socially. This mirrors the online world, where comparison shapes our feelings of adequacy and self-worth.

And when we can’t keep up financially, emotionally, or otherwise, many internalize it as failure. We can feel inadequate, question our choices, priorities, even ourselves.

Research shows that social comparisons, especially through Instagram and TikTok, are directly linked to anxiety, depression, low self-esteem, and materialism. The more we consume, the more disconnected we become from our own lives and the harder it is to feel satisfied with what we already have.

Constant consumption doesn’t just drain bank accounts; it drains our joy. It leaves us restless, always chasing the next thing, performing instead of connecting, striving instead of living. And we’re told this is freedom. That this is happiness.

But what kind of freedom demands that we prove our worth through what we buy? If anything, this isn’t freedom, it’s a trap. The only way out is to name it and choose differently.

We can reclaim a sense of “enough.” We can unfollow accounts that make us feel behind. We can pause before we purchase and ask ourselves: “Is this solving a real problem in my life or am I using it as a bandage to cover something up? 

Every family is allowed to say, “That’s not for us,” or just live quietly without it. Privacy, restraint, and not broadcasting our choices are forms of strength.

We can talk about this with our kids, friends, schools, and communities. The more we speak it aloud, the more we challenge the narrative. 

Your value is not in your things. 

Your life doesn’t need to be a highlight reel. 

You don’t need more to be more. 

We’d rather focus on what we can do and give rather than what we can buy or wear. 

We’d rather try and make others feel good than show off what we have. 

We can enjoy nice things with humility, sensitivity, and appreciation.

We can also choose to embrace our lives as they are, rather than pursuing the illusion that commercialism is trying to sell us. That can keep us saner and freer and happier than whatever transient happiness a new purchase can give us.

When your child (or your brain) says:

“Ooh…they have that thing, so I need it too!” regarding any luxury item or experience that is unnecessary, unaffordable, or you could live without, the response can be something like: 

“I’m so happy for them that they have something they seem to enjoy. But we’re good here, so we’re gonna pass on it for now.”

It can also be helpful to refocus on noticing and appreciating what we already have that serves a similar purpose. 

So, maybe the better question is not: When did luxury become the baseline? But, when will we reset life back to normal levels again?

And maybe the big reset begins not with what we choose to buy, but learning to be happy and satisfied without, or with what we already have. Freedom doesn’t come from proving we can buy more; it comes from remembering that our happiest moments often come from quiet, everyday experiences, such as shared joy, a day in the park or in a sukkah, a moment of peace. Freedom does not come from proving we can buy more; it comes from remembering that our happiest and most meaningful moments are often the ones no one else sees. n

Rachel Tuchman, LMHC, is a licensed therapist in private practice. She not only treats a variety of mental-health concerns, but also shares psychoeducation via her social media platform, public speaking, and online courses. You can learn more about Rachel’s work at RachelTuchman.com and follow her on Instagram @rachel_tuchman_lmhc.