7 hobbies upper middle class people call 'passions' that are really just expensive status symbols

I was scrolling through Instagram the other day when I noticed something funny. Half my feed was people doing the same five hobbies but calling them their "passion" or their "craft."

There's nothing wrong with having hobbies. But somewhere along the way, certain activities stopped being things people simply enjoyed and became expensive signaling devices. Status symbols dressed up in athleisure and artisanal packaging.

I've fallen into this trap myself. My vinyl collection from my music blogging days? Half those records I bought because they looked good on the shelf, not because I was dying to hear them. 

What's interesting from a psychology perspective is how we convince ourselves these expensive pursuits are genuine passions when they're often more about identity performance than actual enjoyment.

Let's look at seven hobbies that have morphed from simple pleasures into costly status games.

1) Photography as an aesthetic identity

Full disclosure, photography is one of my actual hobbies. But I've watched it transform from something accessible into a gear-obsessed status marker.

When I started shooting around LA in the 2000s, people just took pictures. Now everyone's a "photographer" with thousands of dollars in equipment they barely understand how to use.

The camera matters less than you think. I've seen breathtaking photos taken on phones and mediocre shots from $5,000 setups. But the hobby has become more about owning the right gear than developing an eye for composition.

What makes this a status symbol is the constant upgrading. New lens. Better body. Faster memory cards. It never ends because the goal isn't actually taking better pictures. It's signaling that you're the kind of person who takes photography seriously.

The dead giveaway is that people spend more time talking about their equipment than actually shooting.

2) Specialty coffee as a personality trait

I'm guilty of this one too. My morning routine includes an oat milk latte, and I have opinions about different brands.

But coffee culture has gone completely off the rails. Pour-over setups that require the precision of a chemistry experiment. Grinders that cost more than my first car. Single-origin beans with backstories longer than most novels.

The pursuit of the "perfect cup" becomes endless, always one more piece of equipment away from achievement.

Here's what I've noticed: people who are genuinely passionate about coffee just drink it. They might have preferences, but they're not posting photos of their elaborate brewing ritual every morning or talking about tasting notes like they're sommeliers.

The hobby becomes a status symbol when the ritual matters more than the result. When you're spending 20 minutes each morning on a process that produces coffee that's maybe 10 percent better than what a simple French press would make.

Time is money. And the upper middle class has both to spend on proving they care about the "right" things.

3) Cycling beyond transportation

Biking used to be something kids did or a way to get around without a car. Now it's a lifestyle complete with $3,000 road bikes and spandex uniforms.

Don't get me wrong, cycling is great exercise. But the hobby has become less about riding bikes and more about having the right bike, wearing the right gear, and joining the right cycling clubs.

I see this in my city all the time. People driving their expensive bikes to the beach in their cars so they can ride them there. The irony is thick.

A decent road bike runs $1,500 minimum, and these aren't hobbies you casually pick up without financial resources.

The status element is obvious when you realize how cycling has created its own class system. The people you meet on expensive group rides tend to come from similar economic backgrounds. Your recreation becomes another way class segregation happens.

What separates genuine cyclists from status seekers? Genuine cyclists would ride even if no one saw them. Status cyclists need the audience.

4) Plant parenting as performance

My partner and I have a small balcony garden where we grow herbs for cooking. It's practical and peaceful.

That's different from what I'm talking about here, which is the Instagram-worthy jungle aesthetic that requires dozens of plants, elaborate care routines, and specialized equipment.

The plant parent phenomenon exploded during lockdown when people needed something to nurture. But it quickly morphed from a simple pleasure into a competitive hobby with its own language and status hierarchy.

Most people with plant collections find them stressful more than joyful, with constant monitoring for pests, anxiety when something starts dying, and guilt about the plants they're neglecting.

When your hobby creates more obligation than pleasure, it's probably more about signaling than genuine enjoyment.

5) Sourdough culture beyond bread

This might hit close to home for people, but sourdough baking has become the poster child for performative hobbies.

Before the pandemic, maintaining a sourdough starter was just something some people did. Now it's a whole identity complete with starter names, elaborate feeding schedules, and constant social media documentation.

Here's the thing, good bread is amazing. But most sourdough obsessives would be just as happy buying excellent bread from a bakery. That wouldn't come with the cultural capital, though.

The aesthetic and identity matter more than the eating experience, with most people photographing their starter more than they feed it.

What makes this expensive isn't just the ingredients. It's the time investment, the Dutch ovens, the proofing baskets, the specialized tools. And more than that, it's the luxury of having leisure time to dedicate to a process that takes days.

Not everyone has hours to spend nurturing a living organism for bread purposes. That's privilege masquerading as passion.

6) Boutique fitness as social currency

I run trails sometimes. It's relatively cheap, just requires decent shoes I replace regularly. That's fundamentally different from the boutique fitness world.

Upper middle class people often treat fitness as both health maintenance and social activity, with boutique studios becoming communities where people see and are seen.

When you're spending $40 per class or $200 monthly for specialized workout sessions, you're not just buying exercise. You're buying membership in a specific social group.

The psychology here is fascinating. We're social creatures who signal status through group affiliations. A boutique fitness membership is a visible marker of discretionary income and values alignment.

Working class folks are more likely to exercise for free or not at all, not because they care less about health but because the economics are different. When you're choosing between gym memberships and rent, the choice is obvious.

The status symbol isn't the fitness itself. It's having the resources to pursue it in the most expensive, socially visible way possible.

7) Vinyl collecting as cultural sophistication

I need to be honest here as well. I have a collection of vinyl from my indie music blogging days in the LA scene. Some of those records genuinely mean something to me, tied to specific shows or memories.

But I also own records I bought primarily because they looked good on the shelf or because owning them signaled the right cultural tastes.

New vinyl regularly costs $35 to $50 per album, with deluxe editions running double or triple that, and global demand far exceeds pressing capacity.

Vinyl went from being outdated technology to the ultimate music snob status symbol. The ritual of playing records has been repackaged as a sophisticated hobby requiring curation, knowledge, and significant investment.

What reveals the status element? Many vinyl collectors spend more time organizing and displaying their collections than actually listening to them. The collection becomes decor, a visible marker of refined taste.

There's nothing wrong with collecting records if you genuinely love the format. But when half your collection exists primarily to be photographed for social media or to impress guests, you're not collecting music. You're collecting status.

Conclusion

These hobbies aren't inherently bad. Photography, cycling, plants, coffee, bread, fitness, music, they can all bring genuine joy when approached with the right mindset.

The problem is when we convince ourselves we're passionate about something when we're actually just performing a version of ourselves for an audience. When the doing matters less than being seen doing it.

Maybe the real luxury isn't doing these things with perfect gear and Instagram-worthy aesthetics. Maybe it's having the self-awareness to ask yourself, would I still do this if no one ever saw it? If the answer is no, you might be buying a status symbol, not pursuing a passion.