Little Belle's Mama

It’s hard to scroll through Instagram or TikTok without seeing someone boarding a private jet, unboxing luxury bags, eating at some five-star restaurant, or casually talking about investing in properties like it’s as easy as ordering takeout. And somewhere between the third video of a 22-year-old buying their “dream car” and the eighth “day in the life” vlog of a 19-year-old influencer lounging in Dubai, a quiet thought creeps in: “I’m behind.” Or worse: “I’m failing.”

This feeling isn’t just envy, and it’s not just about wanting more money. It’s something deeper, something quieter, and something a lot of people don’t have a name for—until now. Financial experts are calling it “money dysmorphia,” a warped sense of how financially well-off you really are, because your brain is stuck comparing your real life to the curated, highlight-reel versions of others. And while everyone, at some point, has felt that sting of comparison, the current generation—especially young adults—is feeling it in a way that’s constant, heavy, and emotionally draining.

There’s a running joke on the internet that goes something like this: “I’m not Kim Kardashian. I’m not Elon Musk. Therefore, I am broke.” It’s funny because it exaggerates, but the truth is, many people feel exactly that way. They might be making a decent living, paying rent, and even putting money into savings, but because they don’t have a six-figure income, own property, or vacation quarterly in the Maldives, they feel like they’re losing. The scary part? This feeling isn’t even about actual poverty or struggling to meet basic needs. It’s about perception. And the perception is getting distorted.

The root of money dysmorphia often begins with one simple habit: comparing. Humans have always compared themselves to others—it’s natural. In the past, that might have meant looking at what your neighbors drove or how big their house was. But now, with social media, the neighborhood is the entire planet. And you’re not just comparing yourself to a guy next door—you’re comparing yourself to tech billionaires, 18-year-old influencers, and lifestyle gurus who make money showing off how much money they have. The comparison isn’t just unfair; it’s completely unrealistic.

Part of the issue is that no one is really showing the full picture. That 24-year-old with a brand-new Range Rover might be $80,000 in debt. That girl with the Chanel bag might be living paycheck to paycheck. The young guy who keeps posting screenshots of his crypto gains might have lost it all a week later. But we never see that. We see the best angles, the wins, the filtered successes. And when you only ever see other people’s peaks, your own life starts to feel like a valley—even if it’s not.

What’s tricky about money dysmorphia is that it doesn’t just make people feel bad. It shapes how they behave. Some start spending beyond their means, trying to “keep up” with the image they think they’re supposed to project. Others feel so discouraged by where they are financially that they give up on saving or budgeting altogether. Why bother putting away $100 a month when someone your age just bought a Tesla with cash? That spiral of shame can turn into avoidance, and over time, it actually makes your financial situation worse—not because you’re broke, but because you feel broke.

Therapists are seeing more young adults coming in with anxiety tied to money. Not just the usual stress of paying bills or finding a better job, but deep, personal shame tied to the idea of not being “successful enough.” And when therapists dig into the source, a lot of it points back to social media and how we consume content. It’s not just about what people are posting—it’s about how often we see it. Algorithms are designed to flood our feeds with aspirational content, not average lives. So even if you’re doing fine, your brain is constantly being told, “This isn’t enough.”

Financial planners are noticing the same trend. More clients are expressing frustration, not over actual financial struggles, but over feeling like they should be richer, should have more, should be somewhere else by now. They’re seeing people with stable incomes and even some savings still saying things like, “I’m so behind,” or “I feel like a failure.” These aren’t irresponsible people. They’re people whose internal measuring stick has been thrown wildly out of proportion.

It’s not surprising when you think about the culture we live in. “Hustle culture” tells us to always do more. “Quiet luxury” makes us feel bad about not knowing which brands count as “wealthy” enough. The influencer economy makes million-dollar lifestyles seem achievable with the right morning routine. And then there’s crypto, stock trading apps, side hustles, and passive income gurus telling us that if we’re not making money while we sleep, we’re missing out. It’s exhausting. And it’s also not real life for most people.

There’s also a strange pressure to not only be doing well but to look like you’re doing well. It’s no longer enough to be responsible with money—you have to make it look like you’re thriving financially, even if you’re not. And that performative pressure leads to decisions like buying expensive clothes on credit, booking trips you can’t afford, or obsessing over numbers that don’t actually reflect financial health. Image becomes everything, and reality takes a back seat.

One of the most important things to understand about money dysmorphia is that it’s not always based on facts. You might be doing just fine—earning enough to support yourself, maybe even saving a little—but if your mind is convinced you’re failing, that feeling can be just as harmful as actual financial hardship. It can lead to anxiety, depression, and low self-worth, all while you’re technically living within your means. That’s the danger of warped perception: it convinces you that your reality is something it’s not.

Breaking free from money dysmorphia doesn’t mean swearing off social media forever or pretending money doesn’t matter. Money is important—it gives us options, freedom, security. But it’s also just one part of a full life. And your financial health isn’t just a number in your bank account—it’s how you feel about that number, how you manage it, and whether it aligns with the life you actually want.

Instead of asking, “Am I as rich as them?” maybe the better question is, “Am I okay where I am?” Are your needs met? Are you working toward goals that matter to you—not to some influencer or some standard invented by people with generational wealth and brand deals? When you start asking those questions, things start to feel a little more grounded.

It also helps to remember that wealth doesn’t always look like what you think it does. Real wealth might look like living in a modest apartment but having zero debt. It might mean taking longer to reach big goals but doing it on your own terms. It might mean being able to sleep at night because you’re not stressing over a massive credit card bill. These are the quiet wins that don’t get posted on Instagram, but they matter.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting more, striving for success, or dreaming big. But when those dreams start turning into daily disappointment just because your life doesn’t look like someone else’s filtered highlight reel, it’s time to step back. You’re not broke just because you’re not a billionaire. You’re not a failure just because you’re not famous. You’re not behind just because your timeline looks different. You’re a human being doing your best in a world that’s gotten very good at making everyone feel less-than.

And maybe that’s the biggest truth about money dysmorphia: it thrives on silence. The more we pretend we’re all doing amazing, the more we isolate ourselves from the real, messy, in-progress lives that most people are actually living. Talking honestly about money, about struggles, about pressure—that’s how you break the cycle. That’s how you take your power back.

So the next time you catch yourself spiraling after seeing someone post about their luxury purchase or seven-figure startup, pause. Breathe. Remind yourself: you’re seeing one moment, not a full life. And just because you’re not a Kardashian or a Musk doesn’t mean you’re broke. It just means you’re real.