When wages have stalled for nearly 20 years
and I recently came face to face with a tube of toothpaste that was nearly £7 in my local Sainsbury’s, the idea that money can’t buy happiness seems almost offensive. It ultimately comes from a blinkered concept of what money can do. Sure, if you only use your money to buy things,
the happiness it provides will be shallow and fleeting.
Having said that, I refuse to believe there’s a single person out there overpaying on rent who wouldn’t be happier if they owned a house outright. Loosely speaking, yes, Rolexes and rare Labubus have nothing on, say, spending quality time with the people you love. But sadly, the latter costs money, too. Free time is part of a growing number of basic human needs that have become more or less commodified, and under whatever wacky stage of capitalism we’re currently at, more money equals more time to pursue your interests and ultimately find meaning in life.
As yet another person diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, I’m something of an expert on dopamine. Not the science of it per se, but I know where to get it, how much it costs and what sorts of things are likely to give me a slow, steady and prolonged supply of it, as opposed to a quick hit.
Some of the best sources of the good stuff – the kind with a lasting impact on my mental wellbeing – are novelty and awe. And, no, not the “awe” of hearing a baby laugh or passing a single goddamn day this year without rain; proper, world-expanding awe. The last time I can remember experiencing awe was while I was staying in rural France, and woke up to about two feet of snow covering the hilly landscape. It looked like Narnia and I cried. While this may have been a lesson in the restorative power of nature and other such wholesome things, it was also a lesson in how lucky I was to be able to afford to be there. It wasn’t an expensive trip, but I hadn’t exactly been transported into this winter wonderland by the sheer force of my will to bear witness to beauty. I was transported there by Ryanair.
In my experience, more disposable income has always meant greater happiness. Obviously, financial stability (a rare and beautiful thing for a freelance writer) reduces stress, but it also makes your world bigger. In 2023, a study by psychologists at Princeton and the University of Pennsylvania found that those with higher incomes are generally happier, although if you’re unhappy for reasons that aren’t money-related, you probably can’t buy your way out of that.
Elon Musk, who is on track to become the world’s first trillionaire, earlier this year tweeted: “Whoever said ‘money can’t buy happiness’ really knew what they were talking about [sad-face emoji].” But just because money can’t buy Musk happiness, that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t buy happiness (or at least lay happiness foundations) for the billions of people struggling financially. You have to feel for Musk, though. I’m sure being able to afford to solve world hunger and then choosing not to is a very isolating situation to be in.
Speaking of the ultra-wealthy, though, I should say that sitting like Smaug on top of a giant pile of gold probably isn’t the path to happiness. But maybe if Smaug stopped guarding his pile and used some of his fortune to travel and take in the beauty of Middle-earth, he might be less salty.
