The Wild Edit / 01.4
IG / FB
How Time Became the Ultimate Status Symbol / In A Post-Luxury World
10 Minute Read
We currently live in the age of what cultural observers call “post-luxury”: a moment when traditional markers of wealth and status have lost their allure. The Hermès Birkin bag that once whispered exclusivity now shouts from thousands of Instagram feeds. The Michelin-starred dinner in Paris feels less rarefied when it's accompanied by the obligatory food photo and geotag. Even that Singapore Airlines Suites experience? Likely purchased with credit card points, not generational wealth.
We are collectively saturated with images of excess streaming endlessly across our feeds, so much so that the once-rarefied realm of luxury goods has lost much of its mystique. The democratization of luxury, or at least its appearance, has fundamentally altered how people signal status. When Walmart can produce a convincing dupe of a $25,000 handbag for $80, and when anyone with a decent credit limit can project opulence on social media, the traditional language of luxury becomes meaningless. The result? Brands that once felt unattainably exclusive now risk becoming props in a larger social-media performance. Against this backdrop, a quietly radical idea has surfaced: time has become the new emblem of genuine affluence.
The Exhaustion Of Everything
To understand this shift, one must first acknowledge how thoroughly society has saturated itself with images of the good life. Social media feeds overflow with private jets, yacht parties, and designer accessories in an endless parade of aspirational content. The once-rarefied realm of luxury goods has become props in a larger social media influencer business model, accessible to anyone willing to leverage credit for the sake of perception.
This phenomenon extends beyond material goods. Brands have commodified every aspect of lifestyle, from how we dress to how we drink water. The "brandification" of existence means that even the most basic choices become performative statements. Amidst this perpetual display and acquisition, a new status symbol has taken hold among those who can afford to opt out: the luxury of not participating at all.
Consider the ultimate flex of the current moment. It's not the flashy sports car (any successful professional can lease one) or the designer handbag (mass-produced "exclusivity" has rendered these meaningless). Instead, it's the casual mention of a three-week digital detox retreat, or a policy of never checking work email on weekends. The new status symbol is having the luxury of choice in how to spend one's time, and more importantly, having the financial security to make choices that prioritize presence over productivity.
“The new status symbol is having the luxury of choice in how to spend one's time, and more importantly, having the financial security to make choices that prioritize presence over productivity.”
The Privilege Of Presence
In a landscape engineered for speed and constant connectivity, taking it slow has become almost transgressive. People check their phones upon waking, refresh inboxes while eating lunch, and plan entire days around digital notifications. In this environment, devoting an entire afternoon to reading a novel uninterrupted, or booking a week at an off-grid eco-lodge with no WiFi, signals a different kind of wealth, not merely financial, but psychological.
This craving has birthed what might be called the "time-haven industry." High-end resorts now tout bespoke mindfulness programs and digital detox retreats. Safari operators emphasize days spent quietly tracking wildlife, free from reception. City hotels advertise "tech-free suites," luring guests with vinyl records and meditation corners instead of televisions. These aren't mere marketing gimmicks; they respond to a genuine hunger in the hyper-connected world for moments of solitude and deliberate disconnection.
The irony is delicious: in an age where Instagram made luxury ubiquitous, it's the absence of social media that has become the prized commodity. Busy executives yearn for the hush of an unplugged morning. Influencers chase remote glamping sites where they can post about not posting. The rest of society watches from afar, intrigued by the notion that not being online might say more about one's lifestyle than live-tweeting from a VIP lounge.
The Commodification of Disconnection
Perhaps nothing captures the cultural moment better than how society has managed to commodify disconnection itself. Luxury wellness retreats proudly advertise "WiFi-free" weekends and phone-locking pouches, promising that priceless feeling of being unreachable. High-end hotels now employ "detox concierges" to whisk away devices at check-in. The message is clear: look how successful one is, they can afford to disappear offline.
The absurdity reaches its peak in how these retreats find their clients: through glossy social media advertisements. Picture this common scenario: someone is doom-scrolling Instagram at midnight, eyes burning, when an ad pops up for an exclusive off-grid cabin in the woods. Swipe up to book the $5,000 wellness getaway and reclaim your time! The always-on economy has managed to sell disconnection back to consumers as therapy.
But beneath the satirical surface lies a profound truth: people are exhausted by what might be called the "tyranny of the ping." The new privilege is not needing to answer to anyone, having the time and headspace to simply be. Even if most can only grasp this feeling for a weekend, it speaks to a broader cultural hunger to escape the relentless pace of modern life.
Dreams Deferred To "Someday"
Ask today’s younger generations about their dreams and one hears a familiar refrain: "One day I'll write that novel... someday I want to drive across Africa... after I retire I'll open that café." These postponed visions share a common currency: free time. The experiences people fantasize about for "later" are really manifestations of wanting the freedom that time provides.
In their hearts, people suspect that what stands between them and meaningful experiences isn't a million dollars or a fancy car; it's permission to step off the treadmill. The post-pandemic shift in priorities has reinforced this understanding. Many of us, burnt out from years of overwork, have started prioritizing experiences over expenses, making time for what matters now rather than deferring life to some distant "later."
This has manifested in everything from the "Great Resignation" to the rise of sabbaticals at any age, to the "quiet quitting" trend of refusing to overwork. All point to a rejection of the notion that every moment must be monetized or goal-oriented. There's growing social cachet in saying, "I've cleared my schedule to focus on traveling" or "I'm taking time to prioritize my health."
The freedom to be deliberately "wasteful" with time - taking an afternoon to wander a park, spending a month in Tuscany doing nothing in particular - has become deeply aspirational. In a society that pressures people to constantly produce and achieve, deliberately unproductive time feels decadent.
The Safari As Metaphor
For a visceral understanding of time as luxury, consider the classic African safari experience: the ultimate antidote to modern life's frantic pace. On safari, time becomes elastic and open-ended, governed by the rhythm of nature rather than the tyranny of clocks. Days follow the sun rather than a schedule: an early rise with the birds, a long midday pause when animals and humans seek shade, evenings watching the sky transform from amber to lilac.
The usual urgencies simply melt away. There's no rushing to meetings or cramming errands into weekends. Instead, travelers find themselves fully present, with nothing to do but exist in the moment. Many safari camps intentionally lack reliable internet, forcing visitors (or freeing them) to disconnect completely. Without bars on their phones, guests stop looking at the clock altogether.
It's no coincidence that safari marketing calls these trips "once in a lifetime." They represent a literal escape from the grid into a world where the usual measures of time, emails, deadlines, notifications, cease to matter. Whether watching a leopard lounge in a tree or sharing stories around a campfire, visitors experience unstructured, meaningful presence that overscheduled lives rarely allow.
In this sense, a safari isn't just a vacation; it's a demonstration of time affluence. It whispers: "Here, you have nowhere else you need to be." It's hard to imagine a greater luxury than standing on the savanna at sunrise, realizing one has forgotten what day of the week it is.
The New Aristocracy
Global luxury culture has almost come full circle to an old aristocratic ideal that leisure, not labor, represents true status. Like the Countess in "Downton Abbey" who genuinely asked, "What is a weekend?" (having never needed to concern herself with a workweek) today's truly affluent flaunt their ability to be idle.
This represents a fundamental inversion of our engrained values. For generations, the culture has celebrated the grind, the hustle, the 80-hour workweek as badges of honor. But in 2025, being "busy" increasingly signals that one is still trapped in the system. The real flex is the friend who casually mentions spending an afternoon reading in the park, and didn't post about it.
As brand consultant Eugene Healey observed, leading an effortless existence signals that one has escaped the financial constraints that govern most people's lives. When the wealthy indulge in leisurely pursuits while the middle class juggles multiple jobs, the contrast couldn't be starker: time is a luxury many simply cannot afford.
The cultural shift is evident in how people now describe their aspirations. Instead of coveting material possessions, society increasingly fantasizes about temporal freedom: the ability to wake up without an alarm, to take long lunches, to disappear for weeks without explanation. These desires reveal a deeper understanding that true wealth isn't about what one owns, but about the choices one can make with their hours.
The Ultimate Non-Renewable Resource
What makes time the perfect luxury good for this era is its fundamental scarcity. Unlike handbags or cars, time cannot be manufactured, replicated, or knocked off. One cannot buy more hours in a day, regardless of net worth. This makes temporal freedom the purest expression of privilege, and the most authentic status symbol in an age of performative wealth.
The shift toward valuing time over things also reflects a maturing understanding of what actually constitutes the good life. After decades of being told that happiness comes through acquisition, people are discovering that satisfaction lies in experiences, relationships, and the simple pleasure of unhurried moments.
This evolution is particularly pronounced among younger Americans who watched their parents sacrifice time for money, only to find themselves too exhausted to enjoy their wealth. Generation Z and younger millennials are increasingly prioritizing work-life balance over salary maximization, choosing employers who offer flexibility over those who offer the highest compensation.
The Quiet Revolution
The time-as-luxury movement represents more than just a trend; it's a quiet revolution against the commodification of human attention. In a world where tech companies profit from stolen moments and employers expect round-the-clock availability, choosing to reclaim one's time becomes a radical act.
This revolution manifests in small rebellions: turning off work phones during vacation, refusing to schedule meetings during lunch hours, taking "mental health days" without elaborate justifications. Each act of temporal sovereignty sends a message that one's time has value beyond its economic productivity.
The most successful practitioners of this new luxury understand that true wealth isn't about having enough money to buy anything, but having enough autonomy to choose how to spend their finite hours. They've recognized that in an attention economy, the scarcest resource isn't money; it's focus, presence, and the freedom to be fully where they are.
The Sound of Success
In the end, the post-luxury revolution reveals something profound about the evolution of values. After generations of equating worth with productivity and status with possessions, people are rediscovering the radical notion that time belongs to them, not to their employers, their devices, or their social media feeds.
The new status symbol speaks loudest in its silence: the sound of a phone that doesn't buzz with notifications, the quiet of a morning without meetings, the peace of an afternoon with no agenda. In a culture that has worshipped at the altar of busyness, choosing leisure, presence, and time for oneself becomes a declaration of independence.
Perhaps the truest measure of success in this post-luxury age isn't the car in the driveway or the watch on the wrist, but the ability to sit quietly at sunset, listening to nothing but birdsong, knowing that this moment - unhurried, unmonetized, unposted - belongs entirely to oneself. In a world that constantly demands attention, the ultimate luxury has become the freedom to give it only when and where one chooses.
Time, it turns out, is the new Hermès Birkin: rare, coveted, and impossible to counterfeit. Unlike a purse, however, everyone hungers for it. The question facing America isn't whether this shift will continue, but whether society can restructure itself to make temporal wealth accessible to more than just the privileged few. Until then, the sound of time well-spent remains the quietest and most powerful status symbol of all.
