When Did Luxury Become the Baseline?

Recently, I posted this on my social media:

When did $900 shoes stop making us gasp?

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

When did 20-something-year-olds doing million-dollar home renovations start to feel normal?

Some of us still know these things are expensive, but the more we see them, the less extravagant they feel. Social media is desensitizing us. Scrolling through curated lives tricks our brains into thinking luxury is normal.

Why we don’t want luxury to become the norm:

* Expensive ≠ better. It doesn’t make life happier; it just makes 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 make you happy,” but seeing influencers constantly buying shows 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’s shaping your sense of “normal.” Pay attention to the accounts 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, it garnered a lot of discussion both on and offline about a cultural shift many of you have been noticing and feeling and its impact on us as individuals and as a community. 

Luxury is trending but it's not normal. 

We’ve 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 a smart investment, seasonal wardrobes, 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 has stopped feeling like luxury; it’s now moving to baseline. What once felt indulgent now feels expected. Overspending is no longer viewed as excess; it’s treated as the standard, a reflection of taste, responsible parenting or simply “what everyone does.” 

But 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 comes from something deeper: a mix of status anxiety, social comparison, fear of being left out 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.

Private enjoyment & tznius (modesty/dignity)

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. Housekeepers, for example, for adults who work or have young children and need more household help, is sometimes a wise investment. Likewise, Pesach programs, another 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. It may not be possible for families to be together logistically otherwise. It 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 paying to go on a Pesach program or having paid help is probably not wise at that point. These things aren’t always so black and white.

It is normal and good 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 tznius. 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 that it certainly doesn’t make us better than anyone else. That’s a lesson in dignity and privacy as much as in spending.

Pressure in our community

This tension is especially visible in the frum community, where much of this cultural excess contradicts the values 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 like a magazine spread, dress kids in head-to-toe labels or spend 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 and 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 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” is often tied to how expensive, curated or elegant it is. It’s okay if your child’s summer 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 doesn’t shortchange them; it frees them.

We see it before every Yuntif 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 Yuntif, 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 even 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 expense that’s the issue. 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 aesthetics becomes “must-haves” and these things become signals, proof that we’re keeping up or trying to impress others. Intentional enjoyment builds memories; performative consumption builds pressure.

Pressure in schools & social comparison

The pressure follows our kids to school. Kids as young as elementary and middle school are wearing $250 sweatshirts like uniforms- Aviator Nation, Alo, Lululemon, $150 polo shirts. School admins will 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 it misses 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 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 and even ourselves.

Research shows that social comparison, especially through Instagram and TikTok, is 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.

 Reclaiming “enough”

We can reclaim a sense of “enough.” We can unfollow accounts that make us feel behind. We can pause before we purchase and ask: “Is this solving a real problem in my life or one someone convinced me I have?”

Every family is allowed to say, “That’s not for us,” or not say it at all, just quietly live 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 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 more sane and free than the next shiny new purchase.

When your child (or your brain) says:

 “Oooh they have that thing, so I need it too!” regarding a luxury item or experience that seems unnecessary or unaffordable, 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 getting 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 decide to reset it back to luxury again?*

And maybe the reset begins not with what we buy, but with choosing not to flaunt, and what we opt to focus on instead. Freedom doesn’t 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.

**(I want to give a special thank you to my friend and colleague, Elisheva Liss for all her feedback and input for this post. I am always so grateful for your level headedness and nuanced thinking but especially here when I wanted to be sure I gave this message over in the best way possible.)