Greta Zamaroni is a senior Italian high school student at the International School of Milan.
It was a February afternoon in Milan. The city was glowing with the kind of light that reflects off shop windows and shiny sunglasses, turning Via Montenapoleone — Milan’s most glamorous luxury shopping street — into a catwalk where everyone wants to be seen. Materialistic people, everywhere. I was walking back from school and, as I turned the corner toward Via della Spiga, I found myself facing a long line, 20 people snaking along the sidewalk, waiting impatiently outside Hermès.
It looked like a bakery at dawn, except instead of warm bread, they were waiting for a $15,000 purse. Those people weren’t shopping to express themselves, they were shopping to be seen, as if each of them wore an invisible tag: “Look at me, I exist.” Seen in Chanel, Gucci, or whatever label screamed “I’m expensive and relevant this season.” But what actually exists? Them, or the label?
Do we really want to comment on the Balenciaga “No-Shoe Shoe,” for instance? A rubber slipper so absurd it looks like someone walked out of their house in a panic, stepped in a puddle, and decided to call it fashion. Price tag? $475. Comfort? Debatable. Purpose? Unclear. Top luxury brands don’t just create these bizarre products on a whim. Behind the scenes, they’re pouring millions into marketing campaigns featuring A-list celebrities, and influencer endorsements — all carefully studied to make these strange items must-haves. It’s a well-oiled machine designed to turn even the most impractical object into a symbol of status and exclusivity, convincing buyers that owning a $475 rubber slipper or a pair of jeans with actual holes is a synonym of fame.
We’re being taught to aspire for the aesthetic, the concrete thing over the long lasting experience and memory. We live in a world where “I went there” only matters if you posted it, and where “I love you” feels better if it comes with a Cartier bracelet.
Not long ago, I was in Central Park, New York, when I noticed an elderly woman sitting across from me. I felt compelled to speak with her — someone who had lived through different times, when material possessions didn’t carry the same weight, and who might offer a different perspective. Eleanor Roth, 87, had been a children’s librarian in Brooklyn for over 40 years. “Books,” she told me, “are the only things that dress the soul, not the body.” I asked what she remembered most about her life, what she was proud of.
“I remember making pancakes every Saturday with my husband, and reading to dozens of kids during story time, some of whom still send me Christmas cards. Those are the riches I carry.” I then asked her whether she ever felt the pressure to keep up appearances, especially living in New York City. She answered, “Every generation has its distractions. For me, it was handbags and pearls. For you, maybe it’s filters and sneakers that cost more than rent. But the trick is not to let the world tell you what matters. The trick is to decide that for yourself, quietly, and early on.”
Research underscores that materialism and the pursuit of it carry psychological consequences. A meta-analysis of 259 independent studies found that a materialistic orientation correlates with significantly lower emotional and life well‑being. Moreover, individuals who prioritize material goals over intrinsic values tend to report higher levels of depression and chronic stress, which can lead to health problems developed throughout time.
But let’s be honest, criticism alone isn’t enough. We can’t simply reject materialism and retreat into minimalism like monks in a world that runs on aesthetics and status. The real shift begins when we change how we measure value — from what people have to why they desire it in the first place.
That transformation starts with cultural and emotional literacy, something we should teach in schools, families, and digital spaces. Just as we learn to read and write, we should learn how to analyze an ad, decode the emotional manipulation in influencer content, and understand the psychological pull of a “like,” or trend. Only then can we start to untangle the constant pressure to buy, to fit in, to perform—and instead focus on what really matters: knowing ourselves, making thoughtful choices, and finding value beyond the latest brand or viral moment. Because true confidence comes from understanding why we want what we want.
The bravest thing we can do in this world is to live authentically—and, as Eleanor reminded me, to choose pancakes with your husband, books and Christmas cards from children. To find beauty in the small instances of life. We need to challenge the idea that possessions define us. This can be done by choosing to slow down, notice the unnoticed, and appreciate moments that no brand can sell: a genuine conversation, a quiet walk, the laughter of friends. Happiness and self–love, must lie in the embracement of simplicity and mindfulness, through which we reclaim our time, our money, and our sense of self. That’s the kind of wealth worth striving for, one that no luxury label can ever provide.
