The Joneses Don't Just Live Next Door Anymore, They Live in Your Pocket
How living online has exacerbated aspirational living (and what we can do about it)
Paid subscribers, listen to the audio version - narrated by me - here
There’s a scene in the always-relevant Gilmore Girls when matriarch Emily sits down in front of a computer at her husband’s insistence that she “might like to peruse the new Louis Vuitton website.” Moments before, the estranged couple were bonding over taking care of a neighbor’s dog (yeah, it’s quaint, it’s Gilmore Girls).
In the space of three seconds, Emily had transitioned from talking about a real-life situation to being sucked into the world of high-end online shopping.
I think about this scene a lot.
This was 2004, a time when the internet was an object of unbound possibility and positivity. This scene is a good representation of how quickly the internet has become part of our lives. One moment, we’re in real life, the next, we’re on a screen filled with tempting things to buy.
Emily and Richard Gilmore were always obsessed with what their neighbors thought of them and that scene foreshadows what would come if Gilmore Girls was actually real. Emily may only care about keeping up with the Joneses next door in 2004 but in reality, it wouldn’t be long until she cares about what the whole world thinks of her.
In 2023, this is where we’re at. Whereas before our lives were small enough to only care about what people IRL thought of us (we shouldn’t have, but we did), now we have to care about how we portray ourselves to the whole world. Not only that but the whole world - with all its aspirational BS - is available to us, 24 hours a day.
The Joneses don’t just live next door anymore, they live in your pocket. And it’s impossible to keep up.
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Last week I talked about comfort creep - the constant moving the goalposts for what we “need” to be comfortable in life. This week I’m thinking about aspirational creep and what the internet has done to who and what we aspire to be.
It has supercharged what we think we need in order to keep up with the rest of the world because now, we know exactly what the rest of the world is up to.
Back when I was a kid there was a huge house down the road from my home. I didn’t get along with the kid who lived there so I never visited his place. I could only imagine what it was like inside and honestly, I didn’t care all that much. That world of intense privilege, fast cars, and swimming pools was closed to me.
Now if I want to look at the world of multi-million-pound houses I only need to go on Instagram or watch some real estate series on Netflix.
When in the 90s I would never consider going into a high-end store (if I actually lived near one, which I didn’t) for fear of being treated like Julia Robers in Pretty Woman, now I can look at every designer item ever made at the click of a button.
Worlds that were once closed to us are now open.
Then there are the hordes of content creators with their #paidpartnerships who are paid a fortune to show us that you too can own *insert aspirational item here* (even if they often have no chance of owning it themselves).
Even the world of simple living isn’t immune from aspirational creep. When once the tiny house movement was filled with affordable wooden shacks on wheels, Instagram now sends me advertisements for elaborate shipping container houses that cost more than a ‘real’ house in my hometown.
The problem comes in when we listen to all this noise.
Studies show how intricately linked our self-worth is with our online presence. I know that feeling well - when my Medium or Substack subscribers increase, I feel great. When they stagnate, I ask what’s wrong with me and stomp around the apartment.
This poses a two-headed problem.
One, it’s impossible to ever reach a point where we will be satisfied with what we have. The online universe is infinite. It grows every single day and our aspirations grow with it. When once I may have been satisfied with 1,000 subscribers, now I want 5,000. 10k. 20k. 100k. When does it stop?
Two, it’s so easy to compare ourselves to others, we can’t help but pile on the pressure to keep up with our online “neighbors.” And again, those neighbors are infinite. When before you may have coveted just one person’s car - say a colleague or neighbor - online you can covet literally millions of people’s cars.
The whole thing distorts what is truly realistic for a normie like you or me to own or achieve and results in a big, expensive, unintentional mess that can land you in hot water quicker than you can say if Elon Musk can own a Tesla, so can I.
So. What do we do about this “keeping up with the online Joneses” predicament we all face?
Thanks to Substack’s featured program (more on that below) I came across a newsletter by Brandon Boyd this week, singer of the band Incubus. This is what he has to say about his own contribution to the online world:
What am I bringing as an offering to this Earth-sized potluck? I suppose I am going to do my best to continue to speak authentically, or should I say, tell the truth as much as I know how to in a time when reality is less axiomatic and more akin to what one can get away with … I will also do my best to remain human and to not carelessly pollute our shared information ecology.
Brandon doesn’t want to carelessly pollute our shared information ecology.
Bingo.
It doesn’t always feel like we have a say in what we consume and contribute to the internet, but we do.
You can use social media for more than image crafting, lessening the pressure for others to keep up.
You can post with intention and integrity.
You can choose where to spend your time online.
You can close the virtual door on people you are trying to keep up with.
If you make content, you can choose exactly how that content is going to look.
You can choose quality over quantity.
You can be real. Authentic. Messy. Uninhabited. And not in that annoying humble brag way, in a real way.
You can shut that laptop or phone entirely.
If we don’t want to be entirely consumed by over-the-top, aspirational - fake - online content that does us more harm than good, we have a responsibility to both post and consume intentionally and responsibly.
As Brandon says, we can choose not to pollute our shared information ecology. And we can choose to quieten those who do.
Mute. Block. Turn off, and tune out. And enjoy the silence.
Simple and Straightforward is now a Substack-featured publication!
It was a shock to find out that Substack recommended Simple and Straightforward on its front page this week - a shock and an honor.
Here’s what they had to say:
Our team combs through the platform to find publications to spotlight. We look for writers who, like you, are covering a clear topic in a unique way and exemplify Substack best practices, like posting regularly and engaging with readers.
It’s with a big heart that I say welcome to the many hundreds of new subscribers that have found their way here as a result.
As with most Substacks, this is an entirely subscriber-supported endeavor. I will always post free content every Friday, that’s a promise. But if you choose to support for $5 a month or $50 a year, you also get access to Tuesday’s mailout and an extra subscription to The Capsule Panty. TCP is Simple and Straightforward’s food supplement that aims to revolutionize the way you cook using highly flexible recipes made from a “capsule pantry” of ingredients.
I’ve removed the paywall on a couple of articles so you can see what you get if you go paid (aside from my neverending gratitude which goes without saying):
Reading for the weekend
This week’s Medium articles (paywall free)
THANKS FOR READING!
🌿 Check the archive for more essays
🌿🌿 I’M WONDERING: Do you follow me on Instagram? I’ll admit, it’s sporadic. But it’s fun - and I’m doing my best in 2023 to make it a great place to be. Follow Simple and Straightforward here.
🌿🌿🌿 THAT’S IT! Paid subscribers, I’ll see you Tuesday. The rest of you, let’s meet up again on Friday. In the meantime, if you feel like sharing Simple and Straightforward with friends or family, please do.
Quote: "I didn’t get along with the kid who lived there so I never visited his place. I could only imagine what it was like inside and honestly, I didn’t care all that much."
In case you're still wondering what those houses are like, wonder no more.
I attended the sort of school where many of my classmates lived in "those" houses. One classmate's dad had an entire floor devoted to his recording studio where he'd invite visiting bands to play. Sometimes we'd go to his country estate on the weekend to chill. Other times, it was the family yacht.
Another had a literal mansion complete with uniformed butlers and chefs, several tennis courts, and two swimming pools.
I think I gained two things from being exposed to so much wealth early in life.
Firstly, I learned not to care about the withering insults they'd try to throw my way. For every snarky, "Why are your family so poor?", I shot back with higher test scores ,"You have every advantage, why do you suck so badly at this?"
Secondly, I learned never to be in awe of power or wealth. Or to look condescendingly on the mundane or less affluent.
Just yesterday I said to my husband that one is the best parts of being in my late fifties that is finally stopped comparing myself to others or worrying about how well my success/writing matched up against others.
Because life is too short.
And we've always promised to tell readers the good and bad about our nomadic lives. Because while we live it, not all is perfect.
And congrats on the Substack recommends! Well deserved!