Unapologetic Wealth

Spending and Value

Money guilt can take many forms, and it doesn’t always announce itself loudly. Often, it appears quietly in the background of daily choices, slipping unnoticed into your thoughts and actions.

For example, you might feel guilty when you spend money on yourself, even if you can comfortably afford it. Perhaps you hesitate when it comes to something meaningful—a vacation that recharges you, an experience that excites you, a piece of clothing that uplifts you—because a voice inside says, That’s indulgent; you don’t really need that. You end up denying it to yourself, not because spending on yourself is financially unwise, but because it feels selfish.

But guilt doesn’t appear only when we face major decisions. Sometimes it’s there even in small, forgettable choices—the ones we barely notice but make every single day.

Like the time I moved into a new place and needed to buy a paper towel holder for the kitchen. Nothing fancy, just something to sit on the counter. I went to the store and found two options. One was basic. It simply held the roll. The other had a small arm that secured the paper towel roll in place, allowing you to tear off a sheet with one hand. Game-changing convenience. The difference? Five bucks.

And yet, I actually debated it. I stood there in the aisle thinking, Do I really need this fancier version? It’s just a paper towel holder. What’s the big deal? As if spending an extra five dollars were such an indulgence, I would be living a whole new life of countertop luxury.

But I use that paper towel holder every day. Think about how many sheets are on each roll and how many rolls I use in a year. I ended up buying the extravagant paper towel holder, and now I get the satisfaction of that little arm doing its job every single time I use it. It’s efficient. It’s helpful. And it’s proof that sometimes choosing the better option—the one that actually supports your everyday life—is not indulgent. It’s simply practical.

Looking back, it’s wild how much brain space I gave to that five-dollar decision. And yet, we do this all the time. We shrink. We minimize. We choose the “lesser than” option, not because we have to, but because somewhere deep down, we think it is the right thing to do, even when the decision is something we may live with, use, wear, or look at for quite some time.

That’s the odd thing about value. We all interpret it differently. Sometimes usefulness matters, while other times perception matters. We like to see ourselves as rational, but what something is worth can be influenced by context, branding, and even presentation.

Payless, the discount shoe retailer, made this clear in 2018 when they launched a fake luxury brand called Palessi. Payless created a stylish pop-up boutique in Los Angeles, stocked it with their usual $15 to $40 shoes, and invited influencers to explore the display. Everything was arranged to feel upscale—gold decor, glass shelves, and dramatic lighting. The twist? They increased the prices by hundreds of dollars. Some pairs sold for over $600.vi

The shoes didn’t change. But people’s perception of them did. Influencers praised the design, describing the shoes as elegant and high-quality. Many bought them, fully convinced they were investing in luxury. When the stunt was revealed, it wasn’t just a punchline—it was a mirror. The same product, presented in a different context, created an entirely different reaction.

A similar dynamic played out in an experiment featured on the TV show Brain Games. At a booth, people were offered two identical cakes—same recipe, same ingredients, same baker. One was labeled fifteen dollars, the other fifty-five. The cheaper cake was described as drier and less flavorful. The more expensive one? Richer, moister, more “worth it.” Again, nothing about the cakes themselves was different—only the price.vii

We often get caught up in false narratives about what’s worth spending money on and what isn’t. This is why money guilt can be so tricky. Sometimes, we second-guess purchasing a five dollar paper towel holder that makes our life better every day, but some wouldn’t hesitate to spend a hundred dollars on a dinner if the restaurant has dim lighting and pretty linens. We don’t just buy things; we buy stories, and we tend to undervalue the ones that aren’t linked in some way to prestige.

Sometimes, the things with the highest value don’t come with a high price tag, and the things with the highest price tag don’t always provide real value. We have been taught to see price as a shortcut for quality, status, or importance, but that shortcut often misleads us. Value isn’t about how much something costs; it’s about what it adds to your life. How it aligns with your needs, your context, your priorities. A low-cost item can be very valuable, while a high-cost one can be all surface. The key is learning to tell those signals apart and trust your own sense of what matters, not just the numbers on a tag.