Until they know how much you make
When we think money, beauty, and fame are signs of expertise and happiness, we're wrong.
I grew up on the phrase, “No one cares how much you know until they know how much you care.” Our hearts, not our smarts, unlock the doors of social influence.
But in reality—and especially in reality’s distortions on social media—neither our hearts nor our smarts matter. Instead, no one cares how much you know until they know how much you make. Wealth (real or fake) gives people an air of believability and competence, whether they deserve it or not.
Think about it:
Social media douses us with posts and ads fro people talking about their financial success. Other times, newsfeeds are dominated by other markers of wealth—pictures of nice houses and cars, for example.
Follower counts also signal expertise. Often the first post I ever see from a LinkedIn “influencer” is not informative content, but a humble-brag about having gained so many LinkedIn followers.
College commencement speakers, for example, are not only people who can give the best advice, but those who have earned the right to give advice by earning significant sums (and, maybe, donating some to the university).
This is not surprising. It’s natural to seek financial advice from someone who is doing well than someone with a middling income. Financial success may be a suitable filter for selecting commencement speakers, too.
(No graduate wants to hear, “Our speaker just declared bankruptcy again, but she has nice things to say about living your dream which you could read on her Instagram with a thousand followers.”)
But this tendency to award attention, adoration, trust and confidence to those who make financial flexes has bugged me for years. I think it’s because I see the game people are playing.
It’s a cycle of pretense driven by evolutionary impulse. We fake it til we make it, or (for most people) until we give up. Along the way, we feel terrible. It’s not a fun game.
Evolution and financial flexing
Our survival, reproduction, and social status have always been tied up with the ability to get resources. The stereotype is that heterosexual men seek mates with signs of youth and health while women seek partners who can provide resources. Research bears this out.
For example, teenage boys and college men become more ambitious and place more importance on having a high income when they are in the same room as their female co-eds or after viewing magazine ads with young, attractive models. Seeing attractive women increases men’s preference for expensive foods and beverages due to a desire to show status.
We also tend to believe that wealthy people are more intelligent and trustworthy. Some argue evolutionary selection has caused beautiful people to be intelligent, too: smart men get rich, they pair with beautiful women, their kids will be smart, beautiful and rich. We also assume that beautiful people must be good and successful.
No wonder social media looks like it does.
A recent study exploring how people recognize wealth came up with these categories: “luxury consumption, expensive hobbies, spontaneous spending, greedy behavior, charismatic behavior, self-presentation, and specific possessions.”
Add in some memes and political rants, and that’s a social media feed in a nutshell. Beauty shots, big purchases, humble-brags and more fill our feeds and go viral. We follow the lifestyles of the rich and famous, and those who can pretend to be such.
Unfortunately, this is not just a harmless diversion. “Comparison is the thief of joy.” This rat race to appear smart, beautiful and wealthy drains our well-being and distracts us from what provides meaning to life.
Even those who succeed are not necessarily happy. When Forbes ran an article about a teen who amassed 7 million TikTok followers (and sponsorship deals) with sexually suggestive videos, the most telling line was when the teen shared that she had no friends.
You can’t buy me brains
Maybe I’m biased in this matter because I’m comfortably middle class, but at no great risk of becoming wealthy. I’ve never been a full-time entrepreneur. And I’d rather not people dismiss the wisdom I could share.
But there’s also evidence I’ve collected throughout my career.
I’ve interviewed people across the spectrum of wealth, including CEOs of banks, successful scientists, struggling artists, serial entrepreneurs, and a veteran anxiously waiting for the bank to run his family out of their recently foreclosed home.
In some cases, there’s an obvious difference where the wealthy demonstrated greater prudence and judgment. But often, the wealthy people I’ve interviewed were those who had better opportunities, or they valued money more than someone who chose a more modest profession. Maybe they made better choices about spending and investing, but worse choices about relationships.
I haven’t found much more life wisdom from the people who look like Fort Knox than from those who look like Hard Knocks.
I have long admired the story of Henry Eyring, a chemist who made discoveries that some people thought deserved the Nobel Prize. He also embarrassed his son by asking gas station attendants for advice. When his son asked him why, the scientist replied, “I never met a man I couldn’t learn something from.”
I’m not saying we should invite gas station attendants to give commencement speeches or take financial advice from people in massive debt. But can we drop the mistaken notion that wealth signifies expertise or virtue?
If we did, we’d have less anxiety over comparisons on social media. We’d be less likely to fall for those “learn to make money” courses. We might be happier with what we have already. And we might learn something from people we’re overlooking now.