Rebranding of success, of status, of self-worth

There was a time when the markers of success were defined by what you chose to own. The car you drove, the house you lived in, the watch on your wrist, the phone in your pocket, the fashion or perfume you wore —success was a visible, quantifiable thing. It was a flaunt you carried it out-of-home, on you in person, and inside, in your living rooms.

Today, that calculus seems to be quietly changing. Increasingly, success is not about what you choose, but what you choose not to. To not hustle constantly. To not work on weekends. To not need a corner office. To not flaunt your wealth, but to use it for something “meaningful.” In short, to have the privilege of saying “no.”

This isn’t just a shift in consumption or consumer behaviour. It is a recalibration of aspiration itself.

Earlier, arrival was about accumulation. More was more. Today, it’s about subtraction. Consider the appeal of minimalism—not as an aesthetic, but as a status statement. Owning fewer things but better things. Wearing a plain white linen shirt that costs more than a sequinned logo tee. Refusing to chase every trend, but choosing timeless over timely.

Even in conversations, there’s a new vocabulary of restraint: “I don’t check emails after 7 PM.” “I took 2 weeks off for a Vipassana retreat.” “I’ve stopped ordering food from places that use single-use plastic.” The subtext is clear—not everyone can afford to say no. But if you can, it signals that you've made it.

It’s not that materialism as social currency has vanished. It has simply shape-shifted. A business class ticket is no longer about the seat, but about the experience of being cared for. Eating at an obscure, chef-curated kitchen in Dharamkot becomes a talking point, not for its exclusivity, but for the narrative it offers. Success now prefers to be storied rather than shown.

The old trophies—houses, cars, clubs—still exist. But the new-age medal is a photograph with a Maasai elder or a selfie at a Maha Kumbh Mela. It’s not what you bought; it’s what you felt. What you gave back. How authentic you were.

Another striking shift is how success is increasingly judged not by possession but by participation. Start-up founders are lionised not just for exits, but for contributing to the ecosystem—through mentorship, angel investments, or by just “being there” on panels. Alums of prestigious institutions now talk more about giving back to their alma mater than about topping the placement charts.

There’s a performative generosity at play here too, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. For a country once obsessed with personal advancement, the idea that success could involve the collective is, in many ways, progress.

The social optics in the theatre of aspiration has changed. Earlier, success came with the background score of swelling violins. Today, it comes in the soft key of self-effacement.

We post photos not of luxury brands, but of artisanal looms. We don’t just run marathons—we do it for a cause. Our coffee must be single-origin, our success—multi-layered.

This isn’t hypocrisy; it’s evolution. As the rich and powerful learn the grammar of subtlety, success is becoming quieter, cleverer, and in many ways, more inward-looking.

Perhaps the biggest change is this: Success no longer demands applause. It demands peace. The ability to walk away. To opt out. To ghost the race without needing to win it.

It is not that people are not actively seeking success. It is just that markers of success has rebranded itself. We’ve simply shifted the burden of success from the material to the moral, from things to thoughts. But the chase remains—just subtler, more socially acceptable. A different kind of conspicuous consumption. One that consumes less metal and more meaning.