“High status is thought by many (but freely admitted by few) to be one of the finest of earthly goods.” ¹

This observation comes from philosopher Alain de Botton, and I agree with him. Especially with the part in parentheses: freely admitted by few. If it’s important to many of us to be wealthy and successful, why are we embarrassed to admit it? I can think of multiple reasons, but a more important question may be: Is it good (or bad) to care about status? As long as the topic is taboo, we can’t really know. The first step is getting rid of shame or assumptions. Almost all of us, no matter how much or little we have, think about this topic constantly. And we cause ourselves unnecessary pain by assuming that others don’t.

In his excellent book Status Anxiety, de Botton points out that until recently in human history, status was static. Fixed. If you were a peasant in medieval Europe, you had no hope of becoming a lord or a king. We tend to think, “How terrible for them,” and it’s true – although the medieval peasant has one big advantage we don’t. It never occurs to the peasant that he could or should be anything other than a peasant. He may worry about his crops doing well, but he has no anxiety about “reaching his highest potential.” His God-given role is to simply be the best farmer and loyal subject he can be.

In a modern capitalistic world, the blessing of being able to change our circumstances comes with a price. That price is the constant anxiety of wondering if we have enough and if we’re doing enough. And with no universal standard, it’s impossible to know. One million dollars in your bank account can be a lot of money or very little, depending on who you ask. As de Botton puts it, “We may be happy enough with little if little is what we have come to expect, and we may be miserable with much when we have been taught to desire everything.” ²

So how do we find our way out of this conundrum? Or are we doomed to forever be tempted and taunted by cars, houses, and handbags that we don’t need and can’t afford? I think a helpful starting point is understanding why we care so much in the first place.

Comparison is Rooted in Curiosity – and a Need for Love

In 1954, the psychologist Leon Festinger came out with a – at the time – strikingly original theory for why people compare themselves to each other. It included nine hypotheses. Each one is built off the others. ³

First of all, Festinger argues, humans are by nature driven to understand their own opinions and abilities. We want to make sense of ourselves and the world. This leads to his second, perhaps more interesting point: we look for helpful feedback in the world around us. If we can’t find answers in the “natural” world, we look to other people for the answers.

Here’s a simple example: if we want to know how far we can throw a dart, all we have to do is pick up a dart, aim, and fling it as hard as we can. If there’s a mushroom that we’re curious to try, we can nibble it ourselves to see whether we get food poisoning – or we could be more resourceful and try to get someone or something else to eat it for us first.

Scientific experimentation works well for tangible things, but how are you supposed to know how much money is enough to retire on? Or what sort of person you should marry? Or what cafeteria table to sit at to make the best friends? The easiest way to do this, Festinger argues, is to look around and see what other people are doing – and then consider following their example, if they seem to be getting good results. And not all examples are equally helpful. The most helpful and relevant examples, Festinger goes on to suggest, are the people who are the most similar to us. Our peers and colleagues. (Hence the anxiety we often feel at attending school reunions).

A lot of research has been done since Festinger’s time, of course, but his theory remains sound: comparing ourselves to others is a way of gathering information. The information won’t always be accurate, but we need some way to get the answers we need, and observing and talking to other people is a useful way to do that. Understanding this alone can relieve us of a lot of the shame and confusion over social comparison. Much of social comparison is certainly unhealthy, but the basic instinct is rooted in curiosity and a drive to make sense of existence. There is nothing wrong with that.

Now that we’ve given ourselves permission to wonder, ask, and look at the lives of other people, how do we make sure that our desires and goals are healthy? Just who should we be comparing ourselves to? I think these questions begin to sort themselves out when we have a healthy foundation of self-esteem that includes stable, loving relationships.

De Botton has a theory that I find hard to argue with: Our pursuit of status and success is rooted in our need for love. Our attempts to get attention and respect are usually the result of insecurity, which is easy to say but much harder to grapple with. All of us are insecure on some level. But understanding that love – not awe, envy, or intimidation – is the goal can help us avoid a lot of heartache and wasted effort.

Perhaps the profound example of this that I’ve found is the Man in the Car paradox.

The Man in the Car Paradox

When he was younger, Morgan Housel was a valet.

This meant that he was able to get behind the wheel of all kinds of luxury cars he would never have had the opportunity to otherwise. He dreamed of owning such a car – a Rolls-Royce, or a Ferrari – because of the message it would send other people about him. Then the following realization dawned on him: as a valet, it had never occurred to him to admire or even think about the person who owned the car. He merely wished that he could be the owner of the car.

Years later, he wrote in a letter to his newborn son:

You might think you want an expensive car, a fancy watch, and a huge house. But I’m telling you, you don’t. What you want is respect and admiration from other people, and you think having expensive stuff will bring it. It almost never does – especially from the people you want to respect and admire you. ⁴

This example hits surprisingly close to home for me. I am not a car enthusiast or someone who “collects” things, but I do live in Scottsdale – a city that’s become increasingly affluent since my childhood and a magnet for luxury car owners. It’s not unusual on my daily drives to pass by Cybertrucks, G-Wagens, and Porsche Cayennes, to name a few. Having these status symbols in my face constantly – and seeing the shopping mall down the street replace its bookstores and novelty shops with Hermès and Balenciaga – makes me wonder if I’m missing out on something. After a while, it becomes tempting to imagine that if I owned one of these status symbols, I would be more secure and respectable, too.

But Housel is right: strangers driving by wouldn’t feel respect or inspiration. If they gave a thought to me at all, it would more likely be one of resentment: why is she driving that car and not me? Because I’m not a car enthusiast, the car itself wouldn’t hold much intrinsic value – and while my family and friends may enjoy going on a few joy rides, it wouldn’t do anything to change their fundamental love and acceptance of me. Thank goodness.

That does not mean there’s anything wrong with reflexively comparing ourselves to others, or even doing thought experiments about what it would be like to live somewhere or have something wildly out of our current reach. Our imaginations are very good at this, and I suspect it’s a way to help us process all the people and things we come into contact with.

Loving relationships and a deep sense of self-worth almost certainly are more important to our well-being than having status or millions of dollars, but when we expect ourselves to always be so rational, we risk feeling even worse. Instead of believing we shouldn’t compare ourselves to others, what if we allowed ourselves to be curious? I probably wouldn’t be happier driving a G-Wagen than a Rogue Sport but I can allow myself to imagine what it’s like, and be curious instead of critical of my own thoughts.

It’s hard enough to live in a modern society that, on one hand, throws excess luxuries in our face and on the other, tells us not to be gauche and greedy. We can ease some of that tension by seeing social comparison for what it is: not a shameful or dangerous indulgence, but a human instinct – and, if we use it wisely, a tool for understanding ourselves better.

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Read Next: On Finitude: The Beauty of a Horribly Limited Life →

1. de Botton, A. (2008). Status anxiety. Vintage.
2. Ibid.
3. Festinger, L. (1954). A theory of social comparison processes. Stanford University Press. Read it here.
4. Housel, M. (2020). The psychology of money: Timeless lessons on wealth, greed, and happiness. Harriman House.