I didn’t have the language for it until six years ago. I was reading something, I can’t even remember what, and came across the term “status signaling.” The concept was simple: we buy things, choose titles, make decisions not just for their utility but to communicate something about who we are.
My first reaction was recognition. Then defense. Then I felt something more uncomfortable. I started going through my past purchases in my mind.
The second car we bought eight years ago felt ideal. We needed the convenience. Two kids, two different schedules, one car wasn’t cutting it. I ran the numbers on safety, coordination overhead, and time savings. Even now, if no one ever saw that car, I would make the same choice. But then I thought about the house.
The Purchase I Hadn’t Questioned
We had bought it a few months back. At the time, every reason felt logical and justified with rational reasons. Five bedrooms instead of four: we wanted a meditation room. Larger lot so the kids could play outside. Better school district. Lower crime rates. I had a spreadsheet. I had data. I had logic.
Here’s what I didn’t acknowledge then: we could have bought something smaller and met every one of those needs. The house I chose wasn’t just sufficient, it was aspirational.
I wanted my friends to see it. I wanted my parents to understand I had “made it.” I wanted the house itself to say something about who I had become. But I had wrapped that want in so many practical justifications that I couldn’t see it.
The furniture made it worse. Designer sofa “for when we entertain.” Dining table “quality lasts longer.” Every single purchase had a reason. Every single reason was real. But looking back with this new understanding, I could see what I had been doing: building a house that would signal to others, while telling myself a story about practical needs.
The Test I Wasn’t Ready For
After the house was already bought, I started using a simple test on new decisions: “Would I still want this if no one else knew?”
It worked well for small stuff. Apple Watch? Yes, I actually wanted a good watch. Expensive computer webcam? No, I’d be fine with a $30 if no one saw it. Swimming membership? Yes. I feel better when I exercise, irrespective of whether anyone is watching or not.
But then I tried applying it backward to the house. Would I have bought that house if no one ever visited? If no friends ever saw it? If my parents never visit?
I wanted the answer to be yes. I tried to make it yes. I went back through my spreadsheet, my reasons, my logic. The office is more productive. The kids really use the yard. The schools really are better.
But I kept hitting the same uncomfortable truth: I could have gotten 80% of those benefits at 60% of the cost. That extra 20%, the impressive 20% that was for other people to see.
What I’m Still Learning
Here’s where it gets complicated. I’ve been trying to cultivate what the ancient Indian philosophy calls “desirelessness.” The idea that if I don’t need external validation, the compulsion to signal will fade.
Some days I think I’m getting there. I’ll be at a meeting and consciously choose not to mention some accomplishment.
Then I catch myself feeling proud about not feeling proud. I’m secretly hoping someone asks why I’m so quiet at the meeting, so I can explain my perspective.
The ego doesn’t vanish. It just finds new games to play.
Last week, one of my friends complimented the house after seeing photos from a gathering. I felt a flush of satisfaction. Then, I immediately felt guilty about feeling satisfied. Then annoyed with myself for feeling guilty.
The test is simple: “Would I want this if no one knew?” It keeps highlighting how deep this goes. Because the truth is, even when I’m alone, I’m in dialogue with an imagined audience. Sometimes that audience is my future self.
Where This Leaves Me
I’m not claiming to have figured this out. The house is still the house. The furniture is still the furniture. I’m not getting rid of them; that would just be a different kind of performance.
What’s changed is I can see what I’m doing more clearly now. When I’m about to make a purchase, I can feel the difference between “I need this for comfort” and “I need this so people know something about me.” They don’t always feel different at first. But if I sit with it, the distinction becomes clear.
The car choice was about convenience. The house size was about both comfort and status, but more status than I wanted to admit.
And desirelessness? I’m not sure I’ll ever get there. It could be just being able to see, with less lag time, when I’m fooling myself.
That’s where I am now. Still signaling, still wanting validation, still playing status games. Just faster at catching myself doing it.