How the Wealthy Navigate the Big Squeeze: Cutting Back on Manicures, Sharing Meals, and Opting for Scotland over the Hamptons

It’s been a few weeks into summer and I find myself already annoyed. The constant rain and tourists asking for directions to the nearest shisha bar have made me realize that Knightsbridge is not as glamorous as it seems. I long for happier times, when one door closed (my boys’ school for summer break) and another opened (the British Airways lounge in Terminal 5).

Those were the good old days, when I could easily differentiate my mortgage payment from my phone number and had extra money to spend. And spend I did. I wasted it on luxurious poolside loungers at the famous Marrakesh hotel Mamounia, following the mantra of “if it’s not the front row, don’t bother”. I also indulged in extravagant ocean-front dining in the Maldives, where the extremely expensive meals tasted surprisingly like defrosted TV dinners (due to everything being flown in on an island).

But now, I’m tormented by the rain and tourists, and I miss those happier times, says Shruti Advani. However, we live in a different world now, and adapting to these economically challenging times has been difficult for all of us. As the privileged 1%, we know how lucky we are to be at the top, but holding onto that position is not as enjoyable as it seems.

Even small changes have a bigger impact than anticipated. Family vacations are the hardest expenses to let go of. Previously, we would research holiday options for July and August during our flight back from February half-term. However, this summer, my family of four has only been to East London for an “Immersive Monet” exhibition.

I recently questioned the purpose of getting expensive pedicures when my feet are always covered in trainers. And when the microwave repairman asked if I would be home to let him in, I snapped, asking him where else would I be. Reflecting on my flippant Instagram post from last summer, where I advised against going to Mykonos, I wonder if my current situation is karma. Naively, I assumed that most of my friends and acquaintances would also abstain from extravagant holidays like we used to enjoy in the past.

The flood of social media posts, showcasing white Zimmermann dresses and clear blue skies, condemn me as ungrateful and spoiled for complaining. Despite the glamorous façade, my memories consist of overpriced beach clubs where a glass of champagne costs as much as a bottle in a London club. I remember being appalled at the long queue for the toilet, only to be embarrassed by a VIP upgrade and escorted to the front of the line by a bouncer – about as fun as being in a nightclub with a nanny.

I hope this summer won’t be a total disappointment thanks to an upcoming week in Provence, where we are graciously staying with some friends. I understand if you’re not sympathetic, as my frugality has sparked different reactions from my peers. At the beginning of the year, research company Which? warned that holidays could be 70% more expensive this summer due to the cost of living crisis.

I had assumed that most of my friends would also refrain from extravagant vacations. After all, how many of us can afford a week in Eze on the French Riviera, which costs as much as a year’s worth of groceries? But it turns out, more people than expected are still splurging on holidays. Spending data from over 24 million UK bank accounts shows a 27% increase in holiday bookings in the first half of the year, and airlines have confirmed a 36% rise in ticket sales. We 1%ers are not easily discouraged. However, the jury is still out on whether it’s foolish or brave to continue living this way in the current economic climate.

Intrigued by this defiance of basic economics, I decided to conduct my own research by inviting friends over for dinner and questioning them. One friend was shocked by my decision to cut back on holidays, claiming it made no sense. He believed that if I didn’t spend on vacations, the money would go to HMRC. He mistakenly assumed I was one of the 12% of Londoners living in the capital and avoiding taxes offshore.

Another friend came to my defense, stating that we should remain calm and carry on. People have survived worse than spending six weeks in London during the summer. She suggested using the time to plan better, such as getting an annual subscription to NetJets to avoid rising ticket prices. NetJets is a private jet hire service, which is more affordable than owning your own private jet but not as affordable as paying for flights entirely with miles. Levelling down for our group has taken various forms. Two families who used to coordinate travel plans to overlap in European port towns are now renting a farmhouse together in Tuscany. They believe that even if all else fails, there will be plenty of cheap wine.

Sometimes, the experience of a scaled-down summer comes second-hand. One acquaintance offered her cousin, a single mother with three children, to come to her place in Scotland since affording a holiday was unlikely. This way, the cousin could continue working while her children join in with the host’s children’s activities, such as kick-boxing. However, I caution against trying this unless you have a place in Scotland with eight bedrooms and an indoor swimming pool. While the gesture was kind, it made me even more despondent thinking about single mothers who don’t have friends and family with such privileges.

That night, despite my usual digital curfew, I took my iPhone to bed and scrolled through my own photos for comfort and validation. Memories came rushing back – a post-pandemic holiday in India with the family gathered under a sandstone pergola, the Taj Mahal shining in the moonlight. It looked picture-perfect, but there was an hour of yelling before that moment. Children refusing mosquito repellent and adults trying to look tropical in single digit temperatures. With private chefs costing £1,000 per night, we now have kitchen suppers where the hostess does the cooking.

The next photo showed just my feet against a tranquil blue lake – my happy place. It transported me to a baroque terrace…

Reference

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