On any given Friday night in Dubai, it can feel like the entire city is booked and busy. Restaurants are full, and everyone’s IG story has a shot of a tapas spread lit dimly by warm lights — the unmistakable sign of a Downtown dinner. We see the glossiest Oh Polly co-ords, the rhythmic clink of iced matcha, and the effortless glam of girls who seem to exist solely in high-definition (courtesy of a digi-cam).
Meanwhile, you’re huddled in bed, wearing a college sweatshirt that has seen better days, scrolling through your feed. A nagging question begins to form: Is everyone here secretly rich… or am I missing something?
For most of us, the answer is usually “neither.” What’s actually unfolding is a complex choreography between aesthetic pressure, social survival, and the seductive ease of “phantom” spending. In Dubai, luxury isn’t tucked away behind velvet drapes; it’s a sport, and everyone is invited to play.
The illusion of total access
Unlike the classic Pretty Woman trope, where the protagonist is snubbed for not looking “the part,” Dubai is radically inclusive of your credit limit. Luxury is democratised (at least on the surface). Malls are open to everyone, and a Dhs75 coffee seems like the obvious way to “treat yourself.” Med-spas line the commute to the beach, offering life-altering dermatological sorcery right next to a bright green sign that reads “Split into four easy payments.” But while the access is visible, the invoice stays hidden.
“I always felt very different from the group,” says Eirian, a 21-year-old college student and
Creative navigating the fashion scene. “I never felt the need to conform, but I definitely felt like I had to emulate this ‘girl next door’ vibe, which is completely different from my actual self.” In this desert metropolis, aesthetics function as a form of social currency. Looking “put-together” is often the unspoken prerequisite for being taken seriously in creative circles. It’s a high-stakes game of masquerade where “faking it until you make it” can quite literally bankrupt you before you “make it” anywhere near the VIP list.
The math isn’t mathing
For Eirian, the financial friction became undeniable as she entered Dubai’s social stratosphere. “Going to events like Sole DXB, parties, shopping, eating at expensive places, these aren’t things I can afford on a whim,” she explains. When you factor in transport costs and the precarious nature of freelance creative work, the lifestyle math quickly enters the negatives.
Yet opting out feels like social suicide. In a city where networking and nightlife are synonymous, staying home doesn’t just mean missing a party; it means becoming invisible. This is where debt culture quietly infiltrates, not through reckless hedonism, but through “survival spending.” It’s the cost of staying in the room.
The commodification of hobbies
Dubai’s relationship with brands is a tale as old as time. Every interest comes with a “shop now” button. Love music? Your headphones say more about your taste than the music itself. Into fitness? If your leggings aren’t Alo, are you even serious?
“Luxury brand names are a pothole,” Eirian says bluntly. While she acknowledges that construction and craftsmanship should theoretically trump a logo, the aspirational pull of a Gucci tag, regardless of its durability, is a powerful gravity. She points out the irony of hype-driven pieces that disintegrate after a few wears: “You’re paying a fortune for it to break down within five uses.”
When the filter fails
The disconnect between a curated digital presence and a dwindling bank balance is an
emotional tax many young expats pay. “People easily assume you have an amazing life,” Eirian admits. “But in reality, I have always been struggling with money.” This leads to a pervasive internal shame — the embarrassment of not being able to keep pace with friends, creating a bleak hierarchy of needs. “There are days when money is low, and I have to decide between buying something or eating food,” she says. “It’s actually so crazy at times.”
The phantom debt
According to Carol Glynn, a Chartered Accountant and finance coach with 16 years of experience in Dubai, this environment is engineered for expenditure. “Dubai is a city built around ease and aspiration,” she explains. “With constant convenience, people don’t always pause before spending.”
Buy Now, Pay Later (BNPL) apps like Tabby and Tamara can be insidious. While they market themselves as “budgeting tools,” they are, debt just with a label that’s easier on the tongue.
Carol calls them “phantom loans.” They disconnect us from the visceral pain of a purchase. One payment of Dhs200 feels harmless; five of them stacked together become a quiet avalanche. Eirian even admits to using these services for necessities like food.
The psychology is simple: our brains seek short-term dopamine hits to mask long-term anxiety. We’ve all seen Confessions of a Shopaholic, but in the age of the algorithm, Becky Bloomwood’s green scarf has been replaced by a brown package delivery that feels like the solution to life’s biggest problems.
How to want more without losing your mind
So how do you exist in a city built on aspiration without spiralling into anxiety?
Carol’s advice starts not with restriction, but with redefinition. “The first step is to define success on your own terms,” she says, rather than absorbing it from social media, family expectations, or peer pressure. “When you know what financial security, freedom, and abundance mean to you personally, decisions become much clearer and less emotionally charged.”
Next comes the pause. Slow down your financial decisions, create space between desire and action. This helps reduce impulsive spending and helps choices come from intention rather than comparison.
Finally, she urges people to replace judgment with awareness. Tracking spending with curiosity instead of criticism allows people to understand their habits without shame. “Calm clarity consistently leads to better financial decisions than restriction or discipline ever will,” Carol explains.
Breaking the cycle
If any of this feels uncomfortably familiar, Carol stresses that the most important step is to stop avoiding your financial reality. “Avoidance is often driven by fear,” she says, “but clarity is always less frightening than uncertainty.”
Looking honestly at income, expenses, and debt isn’t an exercise in self-punishment; it’s an act of self-respect. From there, she advises pausing new financial commitments, subscriptions, and payment plans, even temporarily. Creating space stops the problem from deepening and gives you room to breathe.
The final step is alignment. Build a simple, honest picture of your finances and set goals you’re emotionally attached to, goals you want to achieve, not ones you think you should. “When people reconnect their money decisions to their values,” Carol says, “they regain a sense of control.”
The performance of peace
So, is everyone rich? Short answer: no. Long answer: a significant portion of the population is simply “floating.” They are earning, spending, and juggling EMI plans, hoping the music doesn’t stop. They aren’t necessarily irresponsible; they are responding to a culture that rewards the appearance of wealth while offering very little security beneath it.
As Carol Glynn notes, there is nothing inherently wrong with enjoying the finer things. The danger arises when luxury becomes your only way to belong. The most radical thing you can do in a city that demands a constant upgrade is to choose peace over performance.
And if you’ve ever looked around a Dubai brunch and felt like the only person without a platinum card, take a breath. You’re not crazy. You’re just the only one looking at the bill without a filter.
Next, read about how we’re losing the art of eye-contact.