The End of Performative Relatability

Have you noticed what's happening on the internet right now? Gone are the days when wealthy creators apologised for their privilege with “I know I’m so lucky” disclaimers or influencers hid designer purchases behind captions like “I saved up for months.”

Scroll through TikTok now and you’ll see creators openly discussing family money, inherited properties and private school background.

It’s a shift from the last two decades. Before, wealthy people built audiences in one of two ways, showing just enough luxury to inspire aspiration but still performing struggle. They emphasised humble beginnings, downplayed advantages and created “relatable” content that disguised the reality of their lifestyle.

Consumers praised that ‘performance’ with loyalty, believing they were supporting someone “just like them.”

The media, as always, had a role to play because they kept publishing and chasing what critics now call ‘poverty porn’ angles that dwell on suffering. As a journalist, I was often encouraged to find the “overcame the odds” angle, even when it wasn’t the most relevant or truthful part of the story. It built a cultural expectation that a compelling success story must include struggle.

Remember when millionaires told struggling audiences “we all have the same 24 hours,” ignoring the fact that their days came with personal assistants, chefs, and nannies? That was false relatability at its most tone-deaf and many genuinely couldn’t understand why people were offended.

Now authenticity has since become a buzzword. People now openly share mental health journeys, family dynamics and the mundane of daily life. For those who once hid their wealth out of fear of backlash, the logic has shifted, if authenticity is the new currency, why not be honest about their reality?

Take Rebecca Ma, for example. She grew to 3.4 million followers within her first eight months on TikTok and she’s unapologetically, visibly wealthy (very wealthy) Her content centres on her lifestyle: luxury trips, six-figure shopping hauls and the meals prepared by her private chef.

Or Jay Choyce Tibbitts, whose videos about inherited wealth triggered a debate especially in the Black community. Comments ranged from “Finally, someone Black and wealthy. I love it” to “You’re a sell out.”

It’s forcing audiences, and brands, to rethink whether authenticity should be measured by relatability or by honesty about circumstances, even when those circumstances are wildly different from the audience’s own.

A Look Back:

In 2008, during the financial crisis, everything changed about how wealth was displayed. Celebrities were suddenly photographed at Target, luxury brands stripped logos from their products and the wealthy performed frugality like their reputations depended on it, because they did.

Halle Berry apparently told the Daily Record, "I am pretty frugal. I save a lot because I am always worried about when this trip is going to end."

The global personal luxury market saw a dip of 9% in value during the 2008/2009 recession.

People were pissed over executive bonuses and banking bailouts made wealth display a liability. So, brands had to adapt. Hermès kept exclusive distribution while removing overt logos and Céline embraced minimal branding and “quiet luxury.”, others shifted from promoting extravagance to focusing on craftsmanship and longevity because customers focused more on purchases that lasted longer.

This era birthed the performance of relatability that would dominate the next decade. Celebrities shared stories of “normal” childhoods, money struggles, and coupon-cutting habits, all sending the message: I may be wealthy now, but I’m still like you.

This recession-era frugality didn’t just affect celebrities, it shaped the influencer economy that emerged in the 2010s, where relatability became currency.

Media pushed success stories framed around hardship for maximum emotional pull. The idea is simple, audiences connect with struggle and editors know it drives engagement. But the trade-off is that these stories often sensationalise adversity rather than interrogating the structures that create it.

But authenticity and relatability aren’t the same thing and maintaining a facade of relatability when your life bears no resemblance to your audience’s isn’t authentic, it’s exhausting.

Why the sudden change?

But why are some wealthy creators suddenly comfortable abandoning the relatability performance that built their careers?

Several factors come to mind. The cost-of-living crisis makes fake relatability feel manipulative. Gen Z and Gen Alpha expect transparency and see value in understanding advantage, not hiding it. And algorithms reward visibility, meaning that in an attention economy, strategic wealth display performs better than humble-bragging. Together, these forces are ending the era of “I’m just like you” content and replacing it with unapologetic and sometimes educational transparency.

Data also suggests that GenZ are actually getting their financial education from creators who don't pretend to be poor.

They watched their parents and grandparents struggle and now they want to learn how to not end up in the same situation. Nearly 60% of people aged 18–39 actively follow luxury-related brands or services on social media, suggesting younger audiences aren’t rejecting wealth content, they’re actively looking.

This would explain why some people are moving towards more luxury content.

The Generational Divide

Gen Z and Gen Alpha are forming their relationship with wealth transparency in real-time. Unlike previous generations who learned to hide financial advantages, these groups are growing up with creators who discuss trust funds, inheritance and family wealth openly.

This transparency is shaping different expectations. Rather than expecting wealthy people to perform struggle, younger audiences often prefer honest discussions about advantage paired with education about building wealth.

And this shift isn’t just generational, it’s also about class mobility. As more newly wealthy consumers enter the market, brands are adapting their signals.

All that loud, in-your-face branding is now being designed for wealthy newcomers and what academics call parvenus (but what we can just call "the newly rich.)

These are your tech founders who just exited, your TikTok stars pulling seven figures, your crypto winners who went from broke to Bentley in eighteen months.

When you've always had money, you don't need to prove it. But when you've just gotten it you want everyone to know. The Hermès bag without a logo might scream wealth to old money but to someone who grew up lower-class and just made their first million, it looks like any other handbag. They want the double-G belt, the LV monogram, the status symbols that everyone recognises.

This, of-course, is a bit of generalisation but takes us nicely into our next point. When you're trying to signal that you belong in a new economic class, you need branding that speaks the language everyone understands. Subtle doesn't work when you're still learning the rules of the game.

In some parts of the world, this level of transparency, or even open flaunting, has been the cultural norm, so this might feel like the UK/US is catching up.

Two Archetypes of Wealth Display:

As this trend grows, two categories have emerged and understanding the difference is important for brands navigating this shift.

• The tone-deaf flex: These creators display wealth without context, education, or awareness of their audience's reality. Think luxury purchases during cost-of-living crises, flaunting excess during others' scarcity, or seeming genuinely unaware of how their content lands. They've mistaken authenticity for a license to be inconsiderate. For some, this comes from a lack of awareness, for others, it’s a miscalculation of how their content will land across different cultural and economic contexts.

  
  

• The educational lot: This second group has discovered something fascinating: audiences don't necessarily resent wealth they want to understand it. These creators share their financial advantages openly while providing educational value.

They'll show inherited assets while explaining investment strategies. They'll display expensive items while breaking down the economic principles behind wealth building.

The difference isn't just in presentation, it's in purpose. One group sees wealth as performance, the other sees it as curriculum and the data shows which approach audiences prefer.

The Political Layer

Political divide has changed how we interpret wealth display. In an era where political identity links to economic policy attitudes, showing wealth has become a political statement whether creators intend it or not.

Conservative audiences often appreciate entrepreneurial success stories and aspirational content. With Trump in power, his administration's pro-business policies and rhetoric around entrepreneurial success align with conservative audiences who already view wealth display more favourably than progressive audiences.

Progressive audiences prefer wealth paired with systemic analysis, for example creators who discuss privilege while advocating for policy changes that address inequality.

Whichever side of the political spectrum you’re on, TikTok’s luxury content growth shows where the cultural wind is blowing…

Luxury brands are seeing growth on TikTok specifically, averaging 8.1% follower growth per month in 2025, compared to just 0.6% on Instagram and 1.8% on YouTube.

The Dark Side:

When wealth display becomes normalised, it can desensitise audiences to inequality. When inheritance and privilege are presented as lifestyle content, systemic issues can get lost in individual narratives.

There's also the attention economy problem. Wealth display generates engagement, and engagement generates revenue. Many creators understand exactly what they’re doing, wealth display can be a deliberate growth strategy as much as a personal choice.

What This Means for Brands

• Who are we actually trying to reach? If your target audience includes both struggling consumers and thriving ones, which group's reality should your content reflect?

• What kind of authenticity do you want to reward? Do we want creators who perform relatability or creators who honestly acknowledge their circumstances?

• How do you handle aspirational versus relatable positioning? In an economy where "relatable" often means "struggling," is aspirational positioning more honest?