The Good of Social Competition--and the Bad

Now in her 60s, the ebullient blonde looks younger than she did two decades ago, when her life was an endless round of shopping, gala-hopping and committee meetings. Then she lost a great deal of money in an iffy investment. As she cheerfully acknowledges, there was plenty more where that came from, but she saw that if she had lost everything, she would have become a ghost to her crowd.

Her friendships, such as they were, depended on buying the same luxury cars, vacationing in the same luxe destinations and living in the same pricey neighborhood. Although she had become hooked on feeling indispensable to the charities she was involved with, Nancy says she looked behind her to see a pack of eager new faces ready to replace her name on each gala program.

"They can have it," she told herself, walking away from it all. She has stayed too busy to regret it—fishing and skiing with her grandchildren, traveling the world, and challenging herself to at least one great adventure every year. She can still be seen at the occasional social function, but her old friends know better than to engage her in any sort of one upmanship. She’s past that, you know.

Sometimes it takes a significant emotional event, like the one Nancy experienced, to realize how much time and energy we spend in keeping up with the Joneses. But before you beat yourself up over coveting your neighbor’s wife, yacht, Porsche or golf handicap, understand that you may not be able to help yourself. Experts say competing for status comes as naturally to humans as breathing.

Although competing for status obviously fills some essential emotional need, it’s sometimes hard to discern what that need is and what strategies are best suited for meeting it, says Fort Myers psychiatrist Jerry Kantor, who adds that explanations come from several different fields of study. Kantor says attitudes toward competition are formed in one’s family of origin—if your parents made chasing money their primary goal, you’re more likely to believe that dying with the most toys is an admirable life goal.

Growing up poor—with parents who were ashamed of their poverty—can also leave a lasting imprint. If you had to wear a cousin’s hand-me-down prom dress, it’s no wonder you’re willing to wrestle your fellow boutique shopper to the ground for that one-of-a-kind piece of couture.

Nature may be just as important as nurture in how we feel about competition. Naples psychologist Loren Hoffman says that some people are born stimulus seekers, and, for them, making and spending money can be addictive, a way of keeping score in the game called life.
"They love the adrenaline rush," he says. Competing keeps them "happy and energetic," and they’re likely very good at it. The key is to find a satisfying arena. The retired executive who destroys his rivals on the golf course or tennis court might be happier starting another business, even if he doesn’t need the money.

Just like birds, bees and educated fleas, we have complex ways of signaling our superiority to potential mates—and keeping rivals out. A woman who has always sworn she’d never have plastic surgery might hurry under the knife when she realizes her husband has the only wrinkled, flat-chested wife in his golf foursome. And if a raving beauty marries an average but wealthy Joe, few will fault her if she bolts when "richer" becomes "poorer."

One couple in their 40s was known for public displays of affection so intense that their friends often told them to get a room. Each couple privately wondered if the thrill had gone out of their own unions—why didn’t they want to make out over steaks at The Grill Room? All were surprised—and secretly relieved—when the amorous couple’s pending divorce took them out of their social set.

Unlike our animal brethren, we aren’t jockeying with our foes just for food or sex. Instead, we are also gaining something existential—maybe even our very sense of self—from this constant game of "Mine is bigger than yours." A sense of relatedness is a basic need among all humans—in fact, one school of thought says that we are defined solely by our interpersonal relationships," Kantor says.
What this means is there is no me without thee, and if I am part of your tribe, by birth, design, or accident, then comparing myself to you, ranking my status against yours, is a way of belonging.

The calculations can be complex: your husband makes more money than mine, but mine is better looking; you have the Manhattan penthouse apartment, but I have the ranch in Sun Valley. The formulas—and the items that "count"—are determined by each group and communicated subtly.
Certain members of a group are understood to be trendsetters—the ones who make it safe to travel to a country no one’s heard of or to purchase ugly but important art. This is how one woman, modeling herself after a sophisticated, antique-collecting friend, ended up with an ugly, 200-year-old table too fragile to put anything on. She wishes she were still shopping at Pier One, but her willingness to spend—to keep up—is her way of showing she wants to belong.

Then there is John*, 38, who woke up one day and realized that despite his belief that he was not the kind of person who would own a BMW, there it sat, in his driveway, proof otherwise. Although he had wanted to be a teacher, Dan*, 33 , instead found himself toiling over case law 80 hours a week, in debt for a house, two cars, lavish vacations, a well-dressed wife, and student loans. Did he feel trapped by his seriously leveraged lifestyle? No, he said. He felt like a responsible, productive member of society. A grown-up, at last.

Robert Ouaou, a licensed neuropsychologist in Fort Myers, cites the work of pioneer psychologist Erik Erikson to explain this need to be productive—and to confuse having with doing. Erikson believed that from ages 35-60, we look for "generativity"—a sense that we are making the world ready for the next generation.

"You’re looking for feedback, asking yourself ‘Am I accomplishing anything?’" Ouaou says.
"You’re looking at your life contribution."

In other cultures, your legacy might be judged by how many children you had. But Erikson, Ouaou says, couldn’t have predicted how "commodity-driven" our society could become. For us, he says, "Status symbols are a way to get that feedback." In other words, I buy, therefore I am.

And what happens the day they come to repossess the Hummer, the day your husband leaves you for a younger version of you, or the day your neighbors read your foreclosure notice in the paper? To lose those symbols can mean to lose one’s sense of self, particularly for the narcissist, says Kantor. "If they’re not succeeding—or not perceived to be succeeding—they’re falling apart inside. Their self-esteem can’t stand on its own."

You may suspect that a friend or neighbor is dangerously overextended, or that his financial empire is about to crumble while his wife and daughters indulge in $600 monthly salon bills or charge thousands of dollars worth of couture each week, shopping merrily while Rome burns. And while it’s a shock to see someone else fall, it might be human nature for you to think "Thank heavens it wasn’t me."

Hoffman says some people believe that the money that they make is a sign that they deserve respect, or that it’s an indication that they’re more clever than the other guy. But what about the person who possesses the attitude but not the actual green? If the display of objects is strictly for show, the moment of truth can be a sobering one, says Hoffman. By putting more energy into putting up a front than in achieving a real goal, "They don’t quite pull it off. They compete and lose. You find out in the end that it was a façade."

In a family where things equal love, a financial loss can put a chill on relationships, but it can also be a blessing. The person might have been running in the rat race for so long that they have no idea how unhealthy their marriages are or how to relate to their children.

"They can’t see the world around them, until one day it hits them on the head," Hoffman says.

Jack*, 58, had been raised to believe family was more important than money, a value he rebelled against by amassing large amounts of cash. Dutifully he wined and dined members of an elite social circle, until one day, when he was on the phone with his elderly mother, explaining why he was so busy, she asked, "But are you having any fun?"

No. He wasn’t. These days, when he’s not flying out to see his mom, you are more likely to spy him on his boat, in search of tarpon, than making small talk with dull acquaintances at one of Naples’ five-star restaurants.