5 awkward things middle-class people do when trying to appear more affluent than they really are

Last month, I was catching up with an old colleague at a decent Italian restaurant downtown when his friend joined us for coffee. Within minutes of sitting down, this fellow—let’s call him Marcus—was name-dropping the “exclusive” wine bar he’d discovered, mentioning his recent “investment property” (which turned out to be a timeshare), and making a show of examining the restaurant’s wine list with theatrical expertise.

The whole performance felt exhausting to watch.

Here’s the thing: there’s absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying the finer things in life. But when middle-class folks go overboard trying to signal wealth they don’t actually possess, it often backfires spectacularly.

I’ve been observing these social dynamics for decades now, and certain patterns keep emerging. The irony? Truly affluent people rarely engage in these behaviors at all.

Today, we talk about five such awkward things I’ve noticed middle-class people do when they’re trying to punch above their financial weight class.

1. Flashing designer logos like billboards

Ever notice how some people seem to turn themselves into walking advertisements? I’m talking about the folks who sport oversized designer logos on everything from their handbags to their t-shirts, as if they’re being paid to promote the brand.

I see this all the time during my walks around town. Someone will stride by wearing a shirt with “GUCCI” emblazoned across the chest in letters you could read from space, paired with a Louis Vuitton bag featuring those unmistakable LV patterns repeated ad nauseam.

The truly wealthy? In my experience, they often prefer understated elegance. A well-made leather bag without screaming logos. Quality fabrics that speak for themselves. They don’t need to announce their financial status because they’re not performing wealth—they’re simply living it.

When you’re trying too hard to broadcast your supposed affluence through obvious branding, it often signals the opposite of what you intended. It’s like wearing a neon sign that says “I bought this to impress you.”

Subtlety, it turns out, is the real luxury.

2. Buying luxury cars they can’t actually afford

Nothing screams “financial overreach” quite like someone driving a BMW or Mercedes while living paycheck to paycheck . I’ve watched neighbors stretch themselves impossibly thin just to pull into their driveway with a German luxury badge on the hood.

The math rarely makes sense. They’ll take on a seven-year loan with payments that consume a quarter of their income, all for the privilege of sitting in traffic with a fancier steering wheel.

What’s particularly telling is how this behavior contrasts with actual wealthy habits. According to research, more than 60% of households earning over $250,000 don’t actually drive luxury brands—they drive Hondas, Toyotas, and Fords. 

Think about that for a moment. The people who could easily afford any car on the lot are choosing reliable, sensible vehicles. Meanwhile, folks earning a fraction of that income are leveraging themselves to the hilt for a car payment.

True wealth whispers. It doesn’t need to roar down the street with a premium sound system.

3. Name-dropping expensive restaurants they rarely visit

You know the type—they casually mention dining at that trendy steakhouse downtown, but when you dig a little deeper, it turns out they went there once for their anniversary six months ago and are still talking about it like it’s their regular Tuesday night spot.

I’ve sat through countless conversations where someone will reference “my usual place” when describing a restaurant that clearly isn’t usual for them at all. They’ll discuss the sommelier’s wine recommendations or critique the service with the authority of a regular, when in reality, they saved up for weeks to afford that one special meal.

There’s nothing wrong with splurging occasionally—we all deserve to treat ourselves. But the awkwardness comes from pretending these rare occasions represent your standard lifestyle.

The funniest part? They often get the details slightly wrong. They’ll mispronounce menu items or misremember the restaurant’s atmosphere because the experience was so outside their normal routine that they couldn’t quite absorb it naturally.

Real frequent diners don’t need to announce where they eat. They’re not performing their dining habits for an audience because, well, it’s just dinner to them.

4. Obsessing over exclusive memberships and events

I don’t know about you but I’ve always felt there’s something almost desperate about the way some people chase after country club memberships, VIP event tickets, or exclusive social gatherings they can barely afford. They’ll scrape together membership fees that strain their budget, all for the privilege of saying they belong.

I once knew a guy who joined three different professional organizations and a yacht club, despite not owning a boat and rarely attending any events. His wallet was hemorrhaging monthly fees, but he loved mentioning his various memberships in casual conversation.

The irony is palpable when you watch someone stress about affording the annual dues while bragging about their “exclusive access.” They’ll skip regular social activities with friends to save money for these prestigious memberships, then feel obligated to attend events they don’t actually enjoy just to justify the expense.

What’s particularly telling is how they discuss these memberships. There’s always an emphasis on exclusivity—how hard it was to get in, how selective the process was, how “not everyone” can join. The membership becomes less about genuine interest and more about social positioning.

5. Constantly discussing their “investments” and side hustles

Last but not least, nothing makes me cringe quite like listening to someone turn every conversation into a seminar about their latest get-rich-quick scheme. You’ll be chatting about the weather, and suddenly they’re explaining their cryptocurrency portfolio or their “passive income” from selling essential oils.

These folks have an almost compulsive need to paint themselves as savvy investors and entrepreneurs. They’ll casually mention their “diversified portfolio” when they’re talking about having $500 in three different apps, or describe themselves as “in real estate” because they’re considering buying a duplex with a risky loan.

The dead giveaway? They use way too much financial jargon for someone who’s clearly still figuring things out. They’ll throw around terms like “liquidity” and “market volatility” with the confidence of a hedge fund manager, but stumble when you ask basic follow-up questions.

I’ve watched people spend entire dinner parties discussing their various “revenue streams”—usually a combination of gig work, multi-level marketing, and speculative investments—as if they’re running a business empire instead of hustling to make ends meet.

In a 2024 poll, more than 60% of the middle class said they were struggling financially. Yet many of these same people feel compelled to present themselves as financial masterminds rather than simply admitting they’re working hard to build security like everyone else.

Final thoughts

Here’s what I’ve learned after decades of watching these social dynamics play out: the people who feel most compelled to perform wealth are often the ones working hardest just to stay afloat.

There’s genuine compassion to be found in recognizing that these behaviors usually stem from insecurity rather than arrogance. When someone’s financial foundation feels shaky, projecting success can feel like a survival mechanism.

I was recently reading Rudá Iandê’s new book, and he captured something that really resonates with this whole dynamic. He wrote, “Most of us don’t even know who we truly are. We wear masks so often, mold ourselves so thoroughly to fit societal expectations, that our real selves become a distant memory.”

This feels especially relevant when we think about these wealth-signaling behaviors. When someone is constantly performing affluence, they might be losing touch with who they actually are beneath all that performance. The tragedy isn’t just the financial strain—it’s the way these masks can become so habitual that we forget what it feels like to simply be ourselves.

But here’s the thing—authenticity is far more attractive than any designer logo or name-dropped restaurant. The most memorable people I’ve met over the years weren’t the ones trying to impress me with their supposed wealth. They were the ones comfortable enough in their own skin to be real about their circumstances.

Maybe the real luxury isn’t appearing affluent at all. Maybe it’s having the confidence to be exactly who you are, regardless of what’s in your bank account.

What do you think?