There’s talk online about how some wealthy people present themselves. It centers on those showing off pricey lifestyles: luxury beauty products, Italian villas, and fancy food products. But, it also seems like being rich now requires a certain approach: it should look good, feel grounded, and be considerate.
Take Becca Bloom, an American socialite, entrepreneur, and rich influencer. On the internet, she is frequently lauded for being wealthy “correctly” by keeping displays subtle, favoring artistic imagery over ostentation, and contributing to worthy causes. Yet, her efforts to make these extreme riches seem human just doesn’t land right. Not when people across the globe struggle daily. Any displays of affluence—even if styled as down-to-earth—comes across as jarring and tone-deaf. It simply feels off.
This notion of a good rich person, the idea that wealth is ok as long as those with it act appropriately, feels off. It has become a thing online, hinting that quiet displays of humility from the rich will somehow make systemic disparities easier to swallow. However, it reads more like damage control for people who have plenty, aiming to polish a deeply uneven landscape. Audiences admire rich people who present riches as effortless; clothing choices lean toward muted pallets, posts emphasize thankfulness, dwellings appear uncluttered boasting eco-friendly furnishings. The intent? For onlookers to believe that this person mirrors my life…with a trust fund!
Online, making the super-rich seem relatable means turning their spending into pretty pictures. It’s a way to show off fortunes while calling it simple elegance. Money remains money, regardless. It arises from structures where many face hardship.
Influencers who seem down-to-earth while being wealthy aren’t motivated by goodness; it’s smart thinking. Knowing people dislike boastfulness, they build an image people can connect with. This isn’t merely publicity, but how minds work. A rich influencer might show off her coffee, a quick boost to get through Mondays like everyone else, but the drink rests on expensive marble in a multi-million New York City apartment. Likewise, their self-care video features saunas, pricey workout classes, alongside skincare costing as much as monthly rent elsewhere. But, a quick shot of them slurping ramen—a few seconds spared for relatability—the comment section explodes. Consequently, genuine feeling gets lost within calculated moves, making truthfulness impossible to discern.
It also feels strange to argue for the rich honorably when things are falling apart. The economy is burning and we’re watching lifestyle reels. An average one-bedroom apartment in Mississauga now costs more than two grand a month. School debt payments loom on students. Meanwhile, on TikTok, people are seriously discussing how many purses is too many.
Enjoying good fortune isn’t the issue. Showing it off when others struggle simply lands poorly, however delicately presented. Seeing someone celebrate luxuries, while many cut back on essentials like food, doesn’t inspire. It stings. Acknowledging good fortune doesn’t alter who holds the leverage. Being thankful won’t cover expenses.
So, why do we still defend the rich? Perhaps, it feels good to think certain wealthy individuals are genuinely decent. This offers a cozy thought—maybe having lots of money won’t turn someone evil, so perhaps we too could be rich and stay moral. A way to soften the blow of knowing that the system keeps many from ever getting there. We assign goodness to riches because facing unfairness is hard.
Consequently, believing the rich deserve their fortunes makes things less upsetting. So when we say someone “riches right,” what we’re really saying is: hey make us feel less angry about not having what they have. It’s a subtle shift, yet really it means those with less are handling the feelings about vast fortunes, accepting them rather than asking how they grow so large.
It’s easy to dismiss social media as shallow, a place where nothing truly matters. However, these platforms are actually where we build understanding today. They influence our views on things like success, politics, and everything in between. Daily pictures aren’t objective, particularly for those of us gearing up for uncertain careers. Instead, they shape what we think counts as winning or losing.
Influencers feigning modesty actually influences us—we begin to empathize with those in power, which lessens any anger toward the structures causing hardship for everyone else. When we accept riches simply because they look good, we cease to wonder at the imbalance.
So, can you rich right? The core issue isn’t just how we display disparity—it’s that such displays are inherently problematic. With everything getting expensive and decreasing qualities of life, perhaps true prosperity lies in keeping it quiet. Once money turns into a show, understanding others seems to get lost along the way.
