#14 Cost versus value
Some thoughts on money, meaning, coffee and comparison culture.
My uncle has a saying: “You can have anything you want; you just can’t have everything.” Who knew four pints could yield such profundity?
One of the defining characteristics of contemporary life is the illusion that we should somehow be able to optimise every aspect of it simultaneously. We are encouraged to believe that, with enough discipline, we can own a beautiful home; maintain a thriving social life; travel extensively; save aggressively; exercise regularly; buy ethically; dress well; invest wisely; enjoy a meaningful career; raise kids; sort the garage; log eight hours of sleep; and also get up at 5am.
So, naturally, most of us are failing at living our “best life”. This is partly because the economy no longer wants to play ball. Previous generations probably did budget carefully and deserve more credit for that than younger people sometimes allow. But it’s also true that they budgeted within systems where the reward horizon at least felt within their eyeline.
Saving for a house in your twenties or thirties feels psychologically different when properties can cost 14 times your salary. Which is why financial advice from your elders these days can sound a bit surreal. Young people are routinely told to stop buying small pleasures as though the only thing standing between them and home ownership is Netflix.
The avocado toast comments linger in the public consciousness because they manage to be both economically illiterate and emotionally revealing. They misunderstand what many purchases actually are.
Most people aren’t buying coffees, holidays, handbags or watches, because they believe these things will magically fix their lives. They’re buying moments of respite, markers of progress, and small reminders that work and stress can occasionally result in something tangible to enjoy.
OK, so you may have gathered by now that I’m into watches. Properly into them. I’m one of those guys who says things like “movement” and “dial texture” with embarrassing sincerity. But what interests me about watches is not really status, although obviously that exists too. It’s the meaning people attach to them. A watch bought after a promotion, or inherited from a loved one.
I have a Tag Heuer Carrera I bought after finally securing stable work following a long stretch of freelance uncertainty. I also have a cheap Casio A168WA-1 YES identical to the one my grandfather wore for decades. Neither tells time better than an iPhone. That’s not the point. The point is that purchases often reflect values more than vanity.
There’s something to be said for buying well. We live in a culture that simultaneously encourages overconsumption while glorifying relentless frugality, which is how you end up purchasing the same inadequate backpack, frying pan or winter coat five separate times because the cheaper version kept disintegrating in light contact with water. Sometimes the more economical choice, over time, is simply the higher-quality thing. An adult revelation is that value and price are not always the same category.
Obviously, this logic can become dangerous in the hands of certain men online, all of whom suddenly believe they require a £500 “artisan” coffee grinder. But broadly speaking, I do think there’s wisdom in investing properly in the things that materially improve your daily life. Consider shoes that don’t destroy your feet or a mattress that allows your spine to remain aligned. Buying once, buying well and then actually using something for years feels, to me, less indulgent than endlessly replacing cheaper things that never quite satisfy you.
Problems tend to arise when we stop buying things because they matter to us and start buying them because they seem to matter to everyone else. Modern life makes this difficult to avoid. We now spend much of our existence observing other people apparently living more successfully than us. Someone is always renovating a kitchen. Someone is always in Italy.
Comparison has become ambient. And comparison is expensive. It persuades people to pursue lives they do not actually want. There’s a myth, in watch collecting and in life generally, of the “grail”: the one thing that will finally make you feel complete: the house, the job, the relationship. But completeness is not really how adulthood works. There’s always another level.
Even billionaires, one assumes, have to make trade-offs. Although admittedly theirs tend to involve deciding which Mediterranean coastline to inconvenience with a superyacht. Still, the principle remains. Time spent building enormous wealth is time not spent elsewhere.
I think there’s something comforting about accepting that. Because once you accept trade-offs as inevitable, spending money becomes less about optimisation and more about discernment.
Stop asking: “Is this purchase worth it?” Start asking: “Is this purchase worth it to me?” Some people care deeply about travel and will happily sacrifice living space for it. Others want security above all else and derive genuine peace from savings accounts and practical footwear. Some people spend £300 on concert tickets without blinking yet feel physically unwell ordering an Uber.
What really matters is whether your spending reflects your own values rather than borrowed ones. A £4 coffee before work can absolutely be worth it if it adds a moment of softness to an otherwise draining day.
Human beings are not machines designed purely for financial efficiency. But equally, if every vaguely difficult emotion results in a parcel arriving at your house 24 hours later, it could be worth interrogating that pattern.
There’s a difference between treating yourself and trying to buy a new personality. And perhaps that’s the main economic challenge of adulthood: learning when to indulge yourself, when to deny yourself, and when to ignore what everybody else is doing.
I am not a champion of reckless spending, nor am I advocating for joyless austerity. Just a slightly more honest understanding of what we spend money on and why.
Every penny spent is a declaration about what matters to you. It could be comfort, convenience, style, status, stability, time, freedom, or something else. You’ve got to work out what matters to you, in a moment and in the long term. It might be hard, but I really do believe what my uncle says. And I’ll add that money is fine to spend, but awful to waste. Make your spending choices wisely and own them. You’re going to be fine.