You know you're lower-middle-class when you consider these 8 stores high-end shopping

I was scrolling through social media the other day when someone posted about their "budget shopping spree" at stores I considered a splurge. It got me thinking about how our upbringing shapes what we consider fancy versus everyday.

Growing up in suburban Sacramento with a middle-class family, certain stores were reserved for special occasions. My grandmother raised four kids on a teacher's salary, so she knew how to stretch a dollar. That perspective stuck with me.

Even now at 44, living in Venice Beach where the cost of living is ridiculous, I still catch myself feeling like certain stores are "too nice" for regular shopping. It's a weird psychological marker that reveals more about class than we might think.

Here are eight stores that feel high-end when you come from a lower-middle-class background, even though they're considered pretty standard by others.

1) Target

Wait, hear me out.

Yes, Target is everywhere. Yes, everyone shops there. But if you grew up hitting Walmart or dollar stores for basics, Target feels like an upgrade.

The lighting is better. The aisles are wider. Everything's arranged in a way that makes you feel like you're making sophisticated choices, even when you're just buying paper towels.

I remember the first time I walked into a Target in my twenties after moving to LA. It felt aspirational. Like I'd made it somehow, even though I was broke and living with three roommates.

The psychology here is real. Target positions itself as affordable luxury, and if your baseline is true budget shopping, that positioning works.

2) Trader Joe's

This one hits different for people who grew up shopping at regular grocery chains or discount stores.

Trader Joe's has this wholesome, quirky branding that makes everything feel special. The hand-drawn signs. The Hawaiian shirts. The fact that they ring a bell instead of using an intercom.

When I first went vegan eight years ago, Trader Joe's became my spot. But I'll admit I still get a little thrill walking in there, like I'm part of some club.

It's not actually expensive compared to other grocery stores, but it feels fancy. The psychology of packaging matters. When your cauliflower gnocchi comes in artistic wrapping, it tricks your brain into thinking you're treating yourself.

3) Panera Bread

Something about Panera screams "I've got my life together."

Maybe it's the whole fast-casual thing. You're not eating fast food, but you're also not sitting down for a full restaurant experience. It's this middle ground that feels elevated.

For people who grew up with McDonald's as the default eating-out option, Panera represents a level up. The bread bowls. The flatbreads. The fact that you can get actual vegetables in your meal without them being limp lettuce on a burger.

I used to meet up at Panera when I wanted to seem more put-together than I actually was. It's performative in a way, but that performance says something about how we associate certain spaces with success.

4) Whole Foods

Okay, this one's obvious, but it belongs on the list.

Whole Foods literally got nicknamed "Whole Paycheck" for a reason. But here's the thing: for people from lower-middle-class backgrounds, even walking through those doors feels like a statement.

The produce looks like it's auditioning for a magazine cover. Everything's organic, non-GMO, sustainably sourced. The price tags make your eyes water, but you convince yourself it's worth it because it's healthier.

I shop at farmers markets now mostly, but I still pop into Whole Foods occasionally. Every time, I'm reminded of how much psychology plays into retail. The store design makes you feel virtuous for spending more money.

That's powerful stuff when you're trying to signal to yourself and others that you've moved up in the world.

5) Banana Republic

This store represents a specific kind of aspiration: professional success.

Growing up, the mall clothing hierarchy went something like: Walmart for basics, Old Navy for casual, Gap if you were doing okay, and Banana Republic if you'd really made it.

Banana Republic clothes say "I have an office job that requires business casual." They say "I can afford quality fabrics." They say "I'm an adult with my life figured out."

Even now, I can't walk into a Banana Republic without feeling like I should be more successful than I am. The mannequins are dressed for careers I don't have. The price points remind me I'm still freelancing from coffee shops in Venice Beach.

But that's exactly the point. These stores exist in our minds as markers of arrival, whether or not we've actually arrived.

6) Crate & Barrel

Home goods stores hit different when you grew up with mismatched furniture and hand-me-downs.

Crate & Barrel sells the idea that your home should look cohesive. That your dishes should match. That you can buy throw pillows that cost more than your monthly childhood grocery budget.

I've mentioned this before, but my grandmother knew how to make a home comfortable without spending much. She volunteered at a food bank every Saturday and managed to create a warm space for family gatherings on almost nothing.

Walking into Crate & Barrel now feels like entering a parallel universe where people just buy $80 candles without flinching.

The store isn't actually that expensive compared to high-end furniture places, but to someone whose baseline is thrift stores and IKEA, it might as well be Restoration Hardware.

7) Sephora

Makeup and skincare represent an interesting class marker.

If you grew up buying drugstore cosmetics, Sephora is intimidating. The staff is too knowledgeable. The lighting is too good. Everything costs three times what you think it should.

But there's this pull to it. Like if you can figure out Sephora, you've unlocked some secret to looking put-together that other people seem to have naturally.

I'm not big on skincare routines myself, but I've watched people I know treat Sephora shopping like an achievement. It represents having disposable income for non-essentials, which is actually a huge deal when you think about it.

When your baseline is making hard choices between necessities, spending $45 on face cream feels decadent. Even if that's normal for a lot of people.

8) Williams Sonoma

This might be the most aspirational store on the list.

Williams Sonoma doesn't just sell kitchen stuff. It sells the fantasy of being someone who hosts dinner parties. Someone who owns a Le Creuset Dutch oven and knows what to do with it.

As someone who cooks elaborate vegan meals at home and experiments with everything from Thai curries to homemade cashew cheese, I should theoretically be their target customer.

But I still can't bring myself to shop there regularly. The prices feel unjustifiable when I can get most of what I need at restaurant supply stores or even Target.

The psychology here is about lifestyle signaling. Williams Sonoma customers aren't just cooking. They're performing a specific kind of domestic sophistication that feels out of reach when you grew up watching adults stretch grocery budgets and use the same pots for decades.

The bottom line

Here's what's interesting about all of this: these stores aren't actually high-end.

They're mid-range at best. But our perception of what's fancy versus what's basic is entirely shaped by where we started.

I recently read something in Rudá Iandê's book "Laughing in the Face of Chaos" that stuck with me. He writes that "Most of your 'truths' are inherited programming from family, culture, and society."

That applies to shopping too. The stores we consider treats versus necessities, the prices we think are reasonable versus outrageous, even how we feel walking through certain doors—it's all programming from our upbringing.

Understanding this doesn't make the feelings go away. I still get a little rush walking into Target with my reusable bags. I still feel slightly out of place in Williams Sonoma.

But recognizing where these perceptions come from helps. It reminds me that class markers are often psychological rather than actual. And that moving between economic spaces means learning to rewrite some of that inherited programming.

What stores make you feel this way? The answer probably says more about your background than you think.