Laura Rowley Money & Happiness

To illustrate, she related the story of a young mother who threw a birthday party for her toddler in Manhattan. The woman got so caught up in the pressure of planning the perfect event that she spent upwards of $5,000 -- much more than she expected.

This caused no small amount of tension with her spouse. Wrapped up in the social expectations of her New York peers, Scurry explained, the woman needed to be empowered to break free of convention.

In case you're wondering, the last party I threw for a toddler in Manhattan cost $100 -- and that included chicken and cake for 20 people. We met on the Great Lawn in Central Park, and it was B.Y.O.B. (bring your own blanket). The kids chased kites and lobbed Frisbees. It had never occurred to me that I needed to be empowered to throw a cheap, fun party. And, frankly, I could summon little empathy for a wealthy person who felt bad about her frivolous spending.

Preschool Pressure

Once upon a time, status was derived by birth into a specific social class. Today, people compete for rank through money and material goods. Immersed in a consumer culture of astonishing choice, we define ourselves by style and aesthetics.

"Identity is the meaning of surface," Virginia Postrel explains in her book, "The Substance of Style." "Before we say anything with words, we declare ourselves through look and feel: Here I am. I'm like this. I'm not like that ... . Aesthetic identity is both personal and social, an expression both of who we are and with whom we want, or expect, to be grouped ... ."

The quest for status through aesthetics starts early. In August, standing in a long line to buy my kids' school uniforms, I chatted with a mom from a neighboring town known for its quaint Main Street and million-dollar historic homes. She said she appreciated the school uniform because it leveled the social playing field. In her child's preschool, some of the four-year-olds declared they wouldn't play with another child because she wasn't wearing "Lily" -- as in Oilily, the colorful Dutch fashion line for kids. Its T-shirts sell for $50 or more; its shoes, $150.

According to Oilily's web site, its fashions are geared toward women "who believe that creative freedom, particularly within the shared space of a family, is a fundamental part of nurturing a lifetime's capacity for joy."

I can just imagine my joy as my kids dribble maple syrup down the front of a $75 sweatshirt.

While impractical in my book, Oilily makes a beautiful aesthetic statement. But I would be mortified if my child made this the benchmark for her social grouping.

Anxious and Unhappy

The pursuit of self-definition through aesthetics is not limited to the wealthy. In their book, "Trading Up: The New American Luxury," consultants Michael J. Silverstein and Neil Fiske discuss a shipping clerk earning $25,000 a year who springs for Victoria's Secret silk pajamas, and a coal miner who works overtime to buy "the best for me." Like Postrel, Silverstein and Fiske argue, new luxury goods "have become a language, a non-verbal method of self-expression and dialogue. The language enables consumers to say, 'I'm intelligent and discerning,' in many different and individual ways."

Advertising reinforces this quest for self-definition. Consider a Starbucks ad that fell out of my newspaper: "The old saying is, 'You are what you eat.' But at Starbucks, we think what you drink reveals more about who you are. We've noticed for example, that triple, grande, decaf latte people aren't the same as tall, iced caramel macchiato drinkers."

Even a cheapskate like myself can appreciate the aesthetic pleasure of a $3 cup of coffee from time to time. But if I drink it to express how much more sophisticated I am than the folks who drink instant Nescafe, I've got a problem.

Dr. Shaun Saunders, a researcher at the University of Newcastle in England, studied more than 1,000 people and found materialistic folks who try to keep up with the Joneses are more likely to be angry, depressed, frustrated, and anxious.

This theme arose in a recent conversation with a successful friend who works for a major investment bank. She is a practical gal, and over the years she and her husband have always saved one of their salaries, living on the other.

She told me about a colleague in his late 40s who expressed some anxiety and frustration over the fact that, after so many years working on Wall Street, he had so little to show for it in the bank. She was able to identify three reasons pretty quickly: Manhattan apartment, country home, and children in the city's private schools (some of which rival Harvard in annual tuition costs). He saw these costs as necessities, standard among his peers.

Maybe I've never made enough money to worry about status, or I took my cue from parents who never defined themselves by what they bought. But it seems to me that the pursuit of identity and status through material goods can be costly -- and not only to our bank accounts. When we compete this way, we alienate ourselves from others and base our self-worth on something extrinsic. What this telegraphs is that without my designer coffee, country home, birthday affair to remember, and what have you, I'm worthless.

Pam Scurry is right. When it comes to breaking out of the status game, it seems both rich and poor could use a little empowerment.