You’re laying in bed, one arm uncomfortably squished under the weight of your body while you tap through endless Instagram stories. You come across a video of a friend pushing their sibling into the ocean with a Saint-Tropez, France, geotag in the right corner. In another picture, an acquaintance stands in the middle of the commercial madness in Shibuya, Japan, captioned “Tokyo Drift.” 

You groan, wishing you could transport yourself somewhere — anywhere — else. 

When the summer sun beams down, social media transforms into a gallery of desirable experiences: endless luxurious holidays and decadent outings that most of us dream of but can’t afford. This disparity between our mundane summer exploits and the extravagant adventures of others can stir a powerful, insatiable mix of jealousy and frustration toward ourselves. 

But what happens when this envy goes beyond itself and morphs into a deeper, more disturbing obsession? From Patricia Highsmith’s 1955 novel The Talented Mr. Ripley to season two of the show The White Lotus, the literature and movies we consume have vividly portrayed characters driven by discontent and desire who attempt to usurp the lives of the affluent. These narratives highlight a powerful motif of a shadow self, a low-income doppelgänger who covets the identity and wealth of the privileged elite. 

As we, a new kind of doppelgänger, compare our lives to the curated perfection we see online, we risk losing our sense of identity in pursuing someone else’s reality. Others’ stories on social media mirror our feelings of inadequacy and yearning, especially during the summer when our envy — our perception of what we lack — is amplified and presented in stark relief. This cautions us against the seductive but, ultimately, destructive allure of living someone else’s life.

Ultimate impostor

Let me introduce you to Tom Ripley, a young con artist, but above all else, a “nobody who bitterly resents” his life — as described by the New York Times Style Magazine. Highsmith’s novel and Anthony Minghella’s 1999 film adaptation cleverly demonstrate that Ripley’s envy of a stranger, Dickie Greenleaf, stems beyond monetary prosperity and a carefree lifestyle. He admires Greenleaf’s charm, independence, and social standing. Ripley wants more than to merely emulate Greenleaf’s life: he wants to wear Greenleaf’s skin and walk in his shoes. Ripley wants to be Greenleaf. 

Ripley’s mimicry of Greenleaf serves as both a disguise and a psychological crutch for his own self-hatred. He loves himself more than when he is Greenleaf or a criminal deviation of the wealthy and attractive heir. 

While this psychological thriller explores a darker side of jealousy and the lengths some people would go to escape their own identities and social constraints, Ripley remains an antihero who wants a better life than that of a “petty thief” or clerk for the Internal Revenue Service.

Social climbing and interlopers

A 2007 television series Gossip Girl’s world of New York City’s upper east siders — originally created by Cecily von Ziegesar in her young adult novel series and two television spin-offs — sets class envy against the backdrop of Manhattan’s elite. 

The show presents an anonymous blogger commenting about the private lives of the wealthy high school students attending the fictional Constance Billard St. Jude’s School and their families under the pseudonym ‘Gossip Girl,’ as the children navigate a world of money, power, social supremacy, and scandal. 

Unlike most characters, the Humphrey family is deemed as outsiders because they’re from a “far-away land” — also known as Brooklyn. While Dan Humphrey is persistent in his endeavour to skip ahead of social classes by dating New York’s “It Girl” Serena van der Woodsen, his little sister Jenny Humphrey is infatuated by her peers’ privilege. 

The Humphrey siblings’ desire to be a part of the world of the elite relays the allure of transcending class boundaries, embodying how social mobility is a myth perpetuated by those in power despite the Humphreys’ attempts to escape their socioeconomic limitations.

Deception and desire

What could possibly go wrong at a luxurious resort in Sicily? Cue Cristobal Tapia De Veer’s theme song “Renaissance” because season two of the comedy-drama series The White Lotus gives us the answer through a microcosm of society’s wealth divide. 

Lucia and Mia, two local women attempting to earn their way through life by exploiting the resort’s wealthy guests embody the theme of class division. Whether they are seducing an elderly guest or soliciting money from a younger guest to save themselves from their violent pimp, their interactions with the visitors highlight the glaring difference between the haves and have-nots — and the lengths to which Lucia and Mia would go to secure a better future. 

The show critiques the social structures that leave people with limited opportunities as it relays that no ambition or action is too malicious in achieving one’s desires — especially not when the characters’ charm and cunning lead them out of their desperate economic situations.

As summer flooded our feeds with photos of rich people sipping their Aperol Spritzes by Lake Como in Italy or enjoying sweet oysters at Noma in Denmark, it is clear why such narratives resonate. Such stories appeal to the basic human need for more: more wealth, more beauty, more freedom, and more security. 

So while we scroll through our feeds, let’s take time to consider the narratives as reflections of our deepest envies and dissatisfactions. While they warn us about the dangers of letting petty jealousy consume us, I think these stories signal us to be content with ourselves and to avoid the enticing — but ultimately disastrous — appeal of living someone else’s life.