One of the points in Yuval Noah Harari’s Sapiens that has stuck with me is the notion of the “luxury trap.” A quick googling of it offers some article titles that sum it up quite succinctly – When niceties become necessities, reads one. A deeper dig reveals the nihilistic sentiment often provoked – “as we all know, those who do not rape the environment today will not be able to afford to buy canned air tomorrow,” reads a Reddit post. The topic as described in the book looks at things from a more humanistic, mile-high view. As technology and wealth increases, delicacies become staples. Occasions become regimens. Fantasies become expectations. From this view, the debate is about whether greater access to industrialized food is worth the pollution caused by the meat industry. If advancements in transportation are worth the pollution. Each of these threads can spiral in their own ways.
Then, because the internet is the internet, there is a host of writing about how the luxury trap applies to one’s self. The top hit for the phrase goes, How it works at how to avoid it. This is maybe more along the lines of how I’ve been chewing on this topic, all while being mindful of my very human tendency to try to beat the house at its own game. The ideal, of course, is to enjoy all the perks that luxury affords, without falling into its trappings. To be able to indulge while being above it all. To take a hit without getting addicted.
This kind of view can be problematic, because, like everything else, it’s all relative. I can easily compare myself with others and feel myself for not feeling the need for expensive jewelry, new cars, a big house, even premium cable. I can recognize that flying first class is something I can live without (ask me again after I somehow get bumped up on an international flight one day tho), and that indulgences like VIP seats or bottle service are not the kinds of things I’d like to spend my money on.
But luxury doesn’t always come with a high price tag. The luxuries that I often worry about getting too comfortable in are those that are like the proverbial lobster in the proverbial pot. The micro-upgrades in life that are the difference between getting somewhere on foot, versus bus, versus subway, versus Uber. It’s the appetizers I didn’t use to have room for, the extra 15 minutes to myself I didn’t use to need each morning for peace of mind. And then there’s just some things that come with getting older – like not couch-surfing anymore. But even in those cases, I wonder if “my back can’t handle that” or “I’m not in my twenties anymore” are valid justifications that do easily make the difference of hundreds of dollars after a few nights. Getting my own room instead of crashing in someone’s pad, or my own ride instead of hopping in a carpool, or generally expecting loads of privacy and agency in an existence that has long been built on communal activities are where my luxury traps lie. There are things I used to never expect that now I demand – the trap is described as that which is easy to accept as an upgrade, but difficult to downgrade back to. Perhaps it’s a question of shared value, collective definitions of convenience, standards of beauty. It’s awakening from the American Dream, and being okay with how life looks in the light.