There’s this pretty girl I know. She lives on welfare with her grandmother. But project-bound, I see her sashaying down the block in pants designed by Versace. During summertime, she adorns herself with Chanel sunglasses. Here she stands out like a glamourous Sophia Loren against a backdrop of the harshness of the urban jungle. She cannot afford groceries for the next two weeks, but she says, “Damn, at least I look good.”

This is what pyschologists term “status anxiety.” In a time where there are more jobs offering titles than ever before, we are not satisfied unless we exhibit the materialistic ways that predominate the world. For New Yorkers, it’s the cab to work, the brownstone, and a Panamarian called ”Chu-chu.“ It’s the Brazilian and the three-week holiday in the Seychelles. It’s the Botox.

Unless you have the luxury of being heir to a multi-million dollar business empire, however, it’s hard graft. Nights with your brain networking and planning meetings for the morning. Caffeine injections. All of this because you still want more. Because you’re fed images of nothing but the new cell phone with a flip-top camera. The new diet. The fashionable lifestyle.

Of course, we all crave the finer things in life. Yet 33 percent of those in successful careers are also in the psychiarist’s chair seeking therapy. The sentence that seems to be echoed is “I still am not happy … ’til I have more.”

I still see that girl now and then around the projects. I smile. Given the richness of her heart, she is already successful.

In The Fray Contributor