Part 3: Why Relatable Is the New Luxury
There was a time when luxury meant something rare. Now it just means loud.
Perfect faces. Perfect homes. Perfect routines. Perfect lives presented by women who are quite literally paid to look put together. And somewhere along the way, we were taught to envy that — even though most of it isn’t real life, and almost always staged for some sort of marketing scheme. I can’t even watch a reel or TikTok without wondering whether they’re selling me something, sharing some kind of “helpful” knowledge (which almost always comes with a sales pitch), or genuinely showing their real personality.
Why We Envy What We Can’t Relate To
Psychologically, envy isn’t about wanting things. It’s about wanting ease, safety, and approval.
When we see women who are beautiful, polished, wealthy, and seemingly unburdened, our brains don’t register “marketing.” They register:
She’s safe.
She’s admired.
She’s valued.
Our nervous systems equate visibility with worth. That’s human. But the issue isn’t that these women exist — it’s that we’re constantly asked to compare ourselves to them, even though they are operating inside a completely different economy.
In my 20s, I bartended at an Applebee’s for way longer than I should have. Our general manager used to hold these things she called “power shifts” before our nights started, where she’d literally stand there and pick apart the girls who didn’t wear enough makeup or didn’t do their hair like they were headed to prom. It was always so uncomfortable to watch — grown adults critiquing someone’s appearance like that was part of the job description.
At the time, I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it felt so wrong, but I knew it did. Fast forward a few years, and that same manager showed up with bright money pieces in her hair and noticeably fuller lips. And suddenly it clicked. It wasn’t about professionalism or standards — it was about insecurity. She was projecting her own lack of self-worth onto everyone else.
And this was all before social media turned beauty into a full-blown performance. Before Reels, before influencer culture — back when Vine and YouTube were still the main thing. Which honestly makes it even wilder, because the pressure was already there… it just didn’t have a ring light yet.
Most influencers aren’t just “pretty women with nice things.” They are glorified salespeople. The job just isn’t door-to-door anymore. It’s face-to-camera. Their lifestyle is the product. Their beauty is part of the contract. Their time, lighting, childcare, skincare, procedures, editing, and rest are built into their income.
Knowing that so much of this comes down to selling makes me stop and wonder what lengths people will go to just to get our attention — or to make that sale. Where’s the line between ethical and unethical anymore? I get that we need salespeople. Someone has to explain a product, show how it works, and help people decide if it’s right for them. That part makes sense.
But this influencer version of selling feels… different. It’s not just “here’s a product,” it’s “here’s my life, my face, my body, my happiness — and you can have it too if you buy what I’m buying.” And that’s where it starts to feel really out of touch with reality.
Because most of us aren’t shopping for a lifestyle. We’re just trying to get through the week without feeling behind, insecure, or like we’re failing at womanhood. And when selling starts blurring into identity and worth, it stops feeling helpful and starts feeling manipulative.
but yet, we’re expected to keep up — while working real jobs, raising children, clocking in early, clocking out late, and doing it all without a glam team.
That disconnect isn’t aspirational anymore. It’s exhausting.
The Fatigue of Chasing a Standard Built for Profit
We’re tired because we’re trying to measure ourselves against women who are paid to look effortless.
Send any influencer to a production job that doesn’t allow time to get ready. No curated lighting. No outfit links. No pauses to film. Just real-time responsibility. That’s not a judgment — it’s a reality check. Like, girl — what are you actually wearing to a 5am–3pm shift? What does your routine look like after that, when you walk into a house full of kids, noise, homework, and dinner that still needs to be made? That’s the part no one is showing.
Those routines don’t get highlighted. The real ones. The ones built around exhaustion, responsibility, and doing the best you can with what you have. And that’s where the disconnect is — because the average woman doesn’t live in curated morning light with endless time to reset. She lives in real life, and it deserves to be seen too.
Yes, we all technically have choices. But not everyone’s life is aligned with their dream job. And statistically, only about 1% of people are truly “rich rich.” The rest of us are working-class or adjacent, trying to stay afloat while being sold luxury as if it’s attainable — or worse, required to be worthy.
Luxury items don’t resonate with the working class because they don’t solve our actual problems. They just remind us of what we don’t have.
When Beauty Became a Barrier Instead of Expression
Somewhere along the way, beauty stopped feeling expressive and started feeling compulsory.
Many women now feel uncomfortable leaving their house without being “done.” Not because they want to — but because they feel watched, evaluated, and compared. That pressure doesn’t come from vanity. It comes from a culture that equates appearance with competence, desirability, and value.
I love all things beauty, and I genuinely support anyone who’s trying something new or indulging in the latest trends. What I struggle with is watching women feel like they need the perfect eyebrow or the thickest lashes to be considered put together. I’ve seen how that pressure leads women to choose cosmetics that don’t actually fit their lifestyle, their features, or even their complexion. Some are permanent and then what do you do if you dont like it?
I was taught that beauty is meant to enhance what you already have, not overwrite it. And lately, it feels like we’ve stopped looking at our own faces altogether. Instead of asking, What works for me? we’re copying features because they looked cute on someone else. But beauty isn’t one-size-fits-all — and when we forget that, it stops feeling like self-expression and starts feeling like comparison.
Is it any wonder so many women are medicated for anxiety and depression?
When you’re constantly told — subtly, repeatedly — that you’re behind, not enough, or unpolished, your nervous system stays on high alert. Worth becomes conditional. Confidence becomes performative. And peace feels just out of reach.
The Moment I Noticed What Women Are Carrying
This summer, I was at an amusement park. I wasn’t on my phone. I was watching people. Which I do often and not in a weird way it’s because I want to know people’s behaviours, and what the world is like that we’re living in. I was born curious.
The men were relaxed. Laughing. Wandering and bopping around with no visible tension.
The women? Alert. Focused. Scanning. Protective. Resting-bitch-face not from attitude — but from responsibility.
Everywhere I looked, women were tracking children, bags, exits, safety, schedules, and emotions — all at once. It hit me then: women didn’t suddenly become the protectors.
We always have been.
But now we’re expected to do it while also being beautiful, thin, calm, youthful, productive, stylish, and grateful.
That’s not empowerment. That’s overload.
Why Relatable Feels Like Relief
Relatable is the new luxury because it feels safe.
A woman who is honest. Tired. Grounded. Thoughtful. A woman who looks like she lives in her life, not above it. A woman who shares knowledge instead of selling insecurity.
Relatable doesn’t ask you to perform.
It doesn’t make you feel behind.
It doesn’t profit off your self-doubt.
It invites connection. It puts judgement on the back burner and allows us to stop holding others to an unrealistic standard that the beauty world keeps telling us we have to be. We get to think independently agian. I want to make sure no one takes that away from me again.
From now on, I lead the rooms I walk into. Not loudly, not forcefully — but intentionally. I want every woman around me to feel comfortable being herself and loving it, the same way I’ve learned to love myself. And that didn’t come easily. It took years of research, reading, asking questions, unlearning, and real-life experience.
I lead differently now because I know I don’t need to be manipulated, sold to, or molded into someone else’s version of “best” to be enough. I think for myself. I choose what aligns with my life, my values, and my reality. And even with all of that, I know I’ve only scratched the surface of what I want to achieve.
The next step is simple but powerful: getting out into the world more, seeing more, connecting more, and continuing to grow — not because I lack anything, but because I know theres more than just consuming, more than just being a mom, more than just being a wife, more than just being a women, and because I know theres so much more than what they allow us to see.
Finding Our Way Back to Each Other
Community doesn’t come from matching aesthetics. It comes from shared truth.
We rebuild it by:
Valuing presence over polish
Choosing knowledge over trends
Supporting women without needing to envy them
Remembering that worth isn’t something you buy
The beauty world doesn’t need more perfection.
It needs more honesty.
And women don’t need more things.
They need to feel seen, safe, and enough — exactly as they are.
Relatable isn’t settling.
It’s coming home
