In Vogue, a man in a suit is unmistakable, sharp and ready. A gentleman with style, who would probably make it on the list of the Met Gala. Looking rich has become, for many young men, a survival strategy. It is an armour worn over insecurity, a way to navigate a world that constantly measures worth by appearances, status, and “how much you make”. Yet beneath the tailored suits, branded shoes, and Instagram feeds, there is often a tension—a gap between image and reality, aspiration and existence. The editorial outward gloss makes men feel better for a moment, allows them to step into a persona larger than themselves, and perhaps forget, if only briefly, that life is waiting for them to live it fully, beyond the clothes.
Walking into a restaurant one sunny afternoon in Hyde Park and seeing a couple of teenage boys change outfits four or five times, each time stepping out to take a photograph, each time pretending, through repetition, that they had been there more than once. The scene was both striking and unsettling. What was the purpose? Who were they trying to convince—themselves, their friends, the world? The images they captured would circulate, leading a narrative of social mobility, taste, and fine experience that was, in truth, aspirational rather than actual or beneficial.
This behaviour speaks to a deeper, more complex phenomenon: the need to be seen. We long to be seen, not just for what one is, but for what one wants to be perceived as. Contemporary culture and social media amplify this pressure. Instagram feeds, TikTok trends, and viral lifestyle content create benchmarks of success that are often edited rather than substantive. There is an urgency to participate, to display. Yet in this drive to be seen, the core purpose of spaces, experiences, and objects is often lost. Restaurants, boutique hotels, designer stores in Sandton City—they become backdrops, props in a show, rather than sites of exploration, engagement, connection and growth, which should be at the forefront. We have completely forgotten that meeting someone and building a relationship with them can open a new door that transports us from where we are to where we want to be. It is rather self-involving in the name of content creation.
What raises concern is not the choice to invest in appearance, but the reasoning behind it. Looking good is encouraged and it is one of the things that can uplift your spirit. Clothing, accessories, and visual presentation can be powerful tools of self-expression and confidence. They can open doors, facilitate networking, and signal professionalism. However, when the goal of looking rich supersedes actual development, education, or skill-building, the act of performing wealth becomes a form of self-erasure. A man may believe that being photographed in a luxury car or seated at the trendiest restaurant signals success, when in truth it communicates a longing for recognition, a desire to bridge a perceived gap between himself and the society he aspires to inhabit. There is a subtle tension between personal branding and performative display. Intentional branding aligns image with goals and values. It is strategic, thoughtful, and sustainable, and ushers a man into financial breakthrough using his unique skills. The lookbook without foundation, by contrast, is fleeting. It may impress momentarily, but it cannot carry substance.
Consider the young men who populate LinkedIn feeds in LV suits, claiming businesses they do not yet own, presenting themselves as employers while seeking employment. They curate an image of authority and success, hoping to attract opportunities, respect, and attention. Social media allows for this script to unfold in high definition, a space where perception often trumps reality. But in this process, there is a cost. The suit, the carefully staged photograph, the borrowed accessories—these may impress the uninitiated, yet they rarely reveal the man behind the image. They can mask skill deficits, obscure character, and even make personal engagement more difficult. A man who relies solely on aesthetics may step into a job interview equipped with appearance but stripped of the qualities the position truly demands: personality, decisiveness, solution-oriented, immediacy and charisma.
In contemporary discourse, the term “manifestation” has gained traction among young men navigating aspiration and social mobility. Yet there is a common misconception: manifestation is often reduced to photography mimicry, a belief that wearing the clothes or taking the photos of one’s idols equates to achieving their lifestyle. Real manifestation, however, is intentional, strategic, and layered. It requires work, internal reflection, disciplined action, and alignment between intent and effort. A designer shirt or a luxury watch may signify aspiration, but without the accompanying preparation, knowledge, and resilience, it remains symbolic, not transformative.
Society, of course, bears some responsibility. Inequality, limited opportunities, economic gaps, and social pressures create an environment where appearance becomes a form of negotiation. For young men in urban Africa, systemic opportunity is scarce, the performance of wealth is sometimes a response to exclusion—a way to be noticed, or signal value in a world that does not always recognise merit alone. The need to look successful is adaptive, strategic, and fundamentally human.
Yet the responsibility ultimately resides with the individual. Every man must navigate the tension between aspiration and personification, influence and action. While social media and cultural expectations can amplify pressure, choices remain personal. A man may choose to borrow a suit, curate a lifestyle online, or participate in trend-driven displays, but awareness, intentionality, and integrity are crucial. Appearance can be leveraged without being enslaving, projected without being theatrical to the point of self-erasure.
Perhaps the most important lesson is about character and vision. Dressing to impress should not replace the work of self-development, financial literacy, networking, or skill acquisition. A man who invests in himself, emotionally, intellectually, and professionally, cannot be reduced merely to the image he presents. The aesthetics then become a complement, not a crutch. Fashion becomes language, not armour; style becomes expression, not a James Bond Oscar-worthy performance.
Pretending wealth, living beyond means, and executing appearances can generate anxiety, insecurity, and resentment from the emotional toll. The cost is often unseen: debt, diminished confidence, and a disconnect between lived experience and projected identity. Conversely, cultivating a thoughtful approach—aligning personal goals, values, and presentation fosters resilience, credibility, and genuine respect.
In the end, performing wealth is a symptom of larger systemic and cultural forces. Young men navigating these pressures must learn to differentiate between wasting time and progress, between borrowed prestige and earned achievement. A suit, a marble restaurant table—these are tools, not measures of worth. The true measure lies in skill, character, competence, and the ability to translate ambition into opportunity. There is a profound freedom in recognising that appearance alone cannot substitute for preparation, learning, and being. The goal is not to discard style or aspiration, but to integrate them with personal growth.
Performing wealth can be reframed as a mirror reflecting the ambitions, pressures, and potential of contemporary identity. It is an opportunity to examine what it means to be seen, what it means to belong, and what it means to act with purity. In recognising the difference between aimless drafted appearance and substantive growth, a man can not only survive, but thrive, fully, and sustainably. Looking rich may open doors; being prepared and skilled keeps them open.
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