When people from working-class backgrounds finally have money to decorate their homes, they often unconsciously signal their economic anxiety through design choices that upper-class people would never make.
The first time I visited my partner's childhood home, I noticed something immediately: it looked almost empty.
Not actually empty, but sparse. Minimal furniture. Almost nothing on the walls. Lots of open space.
My parents' house in Sacramento, by contrast, was full. Every surface had something on it. The walls were covered in frames and decorations. Shelves displayed collections. The space felt packed with evidence of life and acquisition.
Neither approach is wrong, but they reflect completely different relationships with possessions and space. And when people from working-class backgrounds move up economically, they often bring design instincts that inadvertently broadcast their origins.
Here's what I've observed.
1) Filling every surface with decorative objects
People who grew up working-class tend to display things. Lots of things.
Countertops have decorative bowls, candles, and figurines. Shelves hold collections of items arranged for viewing. Coffee tables are styled with books, coasters, and accent pieces.
The impulse makes sense: when you finally have nice things, you want them visible. Displaying possessions feels like celebrating abundance after years of scarcity.
But upper-class design principles move in the opposite direction. Empty countertops. Minimal styling. The expensive version of having things is looking like you don't need to display them.
I caught myself doing this when I first moved into my Venice Beach apartment. I filled every shelf, covered every surface, made sure the space looked full and decorated.
My partner gently pointed out that it looked cluttered. Not messy, just busy. They grew up in spaces where less was more, where empty space itself was the luxury.
That had never occurred to me. Growing up, empty space meant you couldn't afford to fill it yet.
2) Matching everything too perfectly
Working-class design often emphasizes coordination. Matching furniture sets. Color schemes that repeat throughout the space. Everything clearly part of a unified vision.
This makes sense if you grew up acquiring furniture piece by piece as you could afford it. When you finally have the ability to buy a whole set at once, matching everything feels like an achievement.
But upper-class design is more eclectic. They mix periods, styles, and aesthetics because they inherited pieces, collected over time, or can afford to curate rather than coordinate.
Perfectly matched furniture suites—the couch, loveseat, and chair all from the same collection—signal that you bought everything at once from a furniture store. That's a working-class marker.
Upper-class spaces look like they evolved over generations, even when they didn't. The aesthetic is curated mismatch, not coordinated matching.
3) Choosing furniture that looks expensive over furniture that's comfortable
I've been in working-class homes with formal living rooms that no one uses. The furniture looks nice but isn't comfortable. It's there to impress, not to live with.
This reflects an approach where furniture is about signaling rather than function. When you're worried about being seen as low-class, you prioritize how things look over how they work.
Upper-class people don't do this. Their furniture might be expensive, but it's also comfortable because they're not trying to prove anything. They assume their class position is secure, so they optimize for actual use.
The most telling difference: working-class homes often have rooms that are off-limits or only used for special occasions. Upper-class homes are designed to be lived in completely.
When I started paying attention to this, I realized my parents had a formal dining room that got used maybe five times a year. The furniture looked nice but was uncomfortable. It existed to show that we had a formal dining room, not to actually serve dining needs.
4) Displaying luxury brands visibly
Logo pillows. Designer shopping bags saved and displayed. Visible brand names on appliances, decor, or accessories.
This is the home design equivalent of wearing clothing covered in logos. It's about making sure everyone knows you can afford nice things.
Upper-class design hides brands. They have expensive items, but you wouldn't know by looking. The luxury is in quality and materials, not in visible branding.
I've noticed this pattern in how people photograph their homes for social media too. Working-class design showcases recognizable expensive items prominently. Upper-class design makes you work to spot what's valuable.
The underlying psychology is different. One approach assumes you need to prove your status. The other assumes your status is obvious without proof.
5) Keeping spaces too clean and staged to actually live in
Working-class design often treats the home like a showroom. Everything has its place. Nothing is out. The space looks ready for photographs at all times.
This comes from the same place as keeping plastic on furniture or not using the nice dishes. There's an anxiety about things losing value or getting damaged, so you protect them by not fully using them.
Upper-class spaces look lived-in. There might be a book left on the coffee table, a throw blanket casually draped on a chair, signs that people actually occupy the space.
The difference is subtle but significant. One approach treats the home as something to maintain pristine. The other treats it as something to inhabit fully.
My apartment in Venice used to always look staged. Nothing out of place, everything deliberately arranged. It looked nice in theory but didn't feel like anyone lived there.
I've slowly gotten more comfortable with letting it look lived-in. Leaving my camera equipment out. Not immediately putting away everything after use. It feels less anxious.
6) Over-investing in kitchens and bathrooms
People moving up from working-class backgrounds often put disproportionate resources into kitchens and bathrooms. High-end appliances, expensive countertops, elaborate tile work.
This makes sense because these are the rooms that signal class most clearly in home valuations and design magazines. They're also the spaces where you can see your investment every day.
But upper-class design spreads value more evenly across the home. They care about the quality of bedroom furniture, study design, and living spaces just as much as kitchens.
The overinvestment in kitchens and bathrooms reveals anxiety about which spaces matter most for signaling economic status. It's defensive spending—making sure the most scrutinized rooms are beyond criticism.
I see this in my own instincts too. When I think about home improvements, I immediately go to kitchen and bathroom upgrades, even though I spend more time in other rooms.
7) Avoiding anything that looks worn or imperfect
Working-class design replaces things before they look old. Everything should look new and well-maintained because anything worn might signal that you can't afford to replace it.
Upper-class design embraces patina and age. They have furniture with visible wear, vintage pieces with imperfections, inherited items that show decades of use.
The difference is that visible age means completely different things depending on context. For working-class design, it signals inability to update. For upper-class design, it signals longevity and inheritance.
I struggle with this constantly. I want to replace things the moment they show wear because my instinct says worn things look cheap. But I've slowly learned that in some contexts, worn actually looks expensive—as long as the item itself is quality.
An old wooden table with scratches and patina looks elegant in an upper-class home. The same wear in a working-class context would look like you need a new table but can't afford one yet.
Final thoughts
None of these overcompensations come from bad taste or ignorance. They come from deeply rational responses to growing up in circumstances where your economic position felt precarious and needed defending.
When you grow up working-class, you learn that how your home looks communicates your worth to others. You learn that visible markers of success matter. You learn that you need to prove you've made it.
Those lessons don't disappear when your income increases. They just manifest as design choices that feel normal to you but signal anxiety to people who grew up with more security.
My partner and I are still navigating this five years into living together. They think my instinct to fill and match and display everything is overcompensation. I think their preference for sparse, eclectic spaces looks unfinished.
We're both working from different baseline assumptions about what a home should communicate and to whom.
Understanding that these are class markers rather than taste differences helps. It's not that working-class design is bad. It's that it serves different psychological needs than upper-class design.
If you grew up working-class and now have the resources to design your space however you want, the question becomes: are you designing for comfort and actual preference, or are you still designing to prove something about your economic status?
There's no wrong answer. But it's worth asking which instincts are actually yours and which ones are residual anxiety about class position.
Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is design a space that feels comfortable to you, regardless of what it signals to anyone else.
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