Whether you sip coffee from a brown paper cup or a hand-thrown ceramic mug, wear a Uniqlo tee or a Rick Owens drape, board a bus or a blacked-out SUV, every action says something. We are constantly, often unconsciously, broadcasting our taste, status, values, or aspirations.
In other words: everything is a flex.
Flexing isn’t just an Instagram phenomenon. It predates the internet. Thorstein Veblen coined the term conspicuous consumption back in 1899 to describe how the wealthy show off their status not through words, but through visible, often unnecessary consumption. Fast forward to now, and the principle holds only the platforms have changed.
Your Notion dashboard? A flex.
Your book collection? A flex.
Even saying “I don’t care about flexing”? That’s just the anti-flex flex.
We’re not just living life, we’re curating it. For friends, followers, clients, strangers, and perhaps most of all, for ourselves.
The Formula for Flexing
At its core, every flex can be understood as a combination of two elements:
Flex = Symbol + Message
- The symbol is the thing you use, an object, action, platform, or aesthetic.
- The message is the silent story it tells, what you want people to associate with you.
For example:
- A Tesla isn’t just a car (symbol); it signals eco-conscious wealth and tech-savviness (message).
- Posting a shot of your running app isn’t just data. It says “I’m disciplined” or “I care about my body.”
- Quoting Marcus Aurelius on Instagram? A subtle shout that you’re stoic, deep, and maybe well-read.
This simple formula helps us decode the quiet language we all speak through fashion, travel, apps, habits, and aesthetics. And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
The Psychology Behind the Flex
Sigmund Freud believed that many of our decisions stem from unconscious desires, what he called the id. The need to be seen, recognized, admired, or envied is deeply wired into the psyche. In Civilization and Its Discontents, he explores how society suppresses base urges, but they return via symbols, rituals, and performance.
Modern flexing is often that repressed ego reappearing in socially acceptable form. Not by saying “Look at me,” but through what you drive, where you go, what you read, or how you dress. Flexing is ego dressed up in taste.
David Brooks calls this “reputational self-interest” in The Road to Character. In a world that rewards visibility over virtue, people increasingly chase symbols of success instead of success itself. A job title becomes more important than job satisfaction. Owning a Kindle is fine, but reading the “right” books on it becomes a signal.
Social Media: The Global Flex Machine
Social media didn’t invent flexing, it simply gave everyone a stage and a spotlight.
Instagram made brunch a branding tool. LinkedIn turned career milestones into public theatre. Twitter (or X) lets you flex your intellect or sarcasm in 280 characters. Even Goodreads has become a performative space: “Look at the books I read, look at how I think.”
In The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, Erving Goffman compared life to theatre. He argued that all of us are performers presenting idealized versions of ourselves. Social media magnified the stage and multiplied the audiences. The casual selfie, the workout story, the tweet you pinned, they’re not just moments. They’re messages.
Even silence is a message. Logging off is a message. A minimalist Instagram with only 3 posts is also a flex. It says, “I’m above all this.”
The Subtle Flex of Everyday Life
Flexing isn’t always flashy. In fact, the most powerful flexes today are the subtle ones.
Wearing a clean linen shirt instead of a branded logo. Refusing plastic and carrying a Stanley tumbler. Traveling to Ladakh instead of London. Owning a Kindle but choosing a beat-up paperback on purpose. Telling people you meditate daily, or don’t drink coffee anymore, or have left Instagram.
These are lifestyle statements loaded with cultural capital.
As French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu explains in Distinction, taste is never just personal, it’s a social maneuver. We perform our preferences to craft our perceived value. And in the modern age, where many of us have enough to survive, flexing isn’t about need, it’s about nuance.
We don’t just say “I have.” We say “I chose this, consciously.” That’s the new prestige.
Experiences Over Objects, Still a Flex
At some point, culture shifted from owning to doing. We were told: “Don’t buy things, buy experiences.” But the experiences themselves quickly became status symbols.
Travel became the new luxury. But not just any travel. There’s a difference between going to Bali and going to a lesser-known mountain village in Bhutan. One says you’re a tourist. The other says you’re a thoughtful traveler. A seeker. A minimalist wanderer. Again: it’s all a flex.
Author Elizabeth Currid-Halkett coined the term “inconspicuous consumption” in her book The Sum of Small Things. She explains how elites today don’t flex with Louis Vuitton, they flex with organic produce, rare wines, artisanal coffee, niche books, and podcast recommendations.
It’s still a hierarchy. It’s just coded differently.
Even Simplicity is a Signal
There’s a popular aesthetic now: earthy tones, clean fonts, calming apps, bullet journaling. It looks like peace but it’s also performance. A signal that you’re in control. Mindful. Elevated.
Take minimalism. What started as a spiritual or aesthetic practice is now an entire market. Minimalist homes. Minimalist wardrobes. Minimalist content. But as The Minimalists themselves admit, owning fewer things doesn’t make you immune to status games. In fact, it can amplify them.
You’re not flexing that you own a Rolex. You’re flexing that you don’t need one.
Even health and wellness have become curated flexes. You’re not just going for a swim, you’re sharing your lap count. You’re not just walking, you’re pushing out how many calories you burned, which brand of smartwatch tracked it, and what quote you paired with it. This isn’t mere fitness, it’s the fitness equivalent of a performance review. Subtle, coded, aesthetic but a flex nonetheless.
In the attention economy, even our peace must be public.
The Flex of Knowledge & Intelligence
Let’s not forget the intellectual flex.
Quoting Camus on Instagram. Reading Murakami on the metro. Posting your Spotify Wrapped with obscure jazz artists. Making a Notion dashboard of your second brain. Writing threads on Naval Ravikant. These are all identity signals.
In Amusing Ourselves to Death, Neil Postman warned that when everything becomes entertainment, even learning becomes performative. The idea isn’t just to learn but to be seen learning.
Today, knowledge is currency. But like all currency, its value rises when it becomes scarce, rare, or aesthetically framed. You don’t just need to be smart. You need to appear intelligently branded.
The Flex of Tools: Especially AI
We’ve entered the era where even the tools you use are a flex.
Sharing that you’re using AI for productivity (“just automated my workflow using GPTs”), building apps without code (“shipped this with Replit + ChatGPT”), or even just casually saying “I asked Claude” or “Midjourney made this” these are all modern signals of savviness and speed.
Using AI is no longer just about efficiency, it’s cultural currency. It says:
“I’m ahead. I don’t just work. I work smart.”
And ironically, not using AI is also a flex now. Some proudly post that they wrote everything by hand, that their newsletter is 100% human-written. It’s less about the truth and more about the image of purity, depth, or analog grit.
Either way: the tool is a symbol. The mention is the message.
Why We Flex (and Why It’s Not Always Bad)
We flex because we want to matter. To belong. To be remembered. This isn’t new it’s evolutionary. In early tribes, status meant survival. The desire to be admired, respected, or even envied is a primal one.
As Yuval Noah Harari writes in Sapiens, what made Homo sapiens dominant was our ability to believe in collective myths, stories of identity, honor, tribe, God, nation, money.
Flexing is a modern expression of those same stories.
Flexing drives creativity. It pushes art, style, innovation, even entrepreneurship. It’s how movements start. How trends catch fire. How ideas evolve.
Flexception: The Flex of Anti-Flex
Perhaps the strangest modern phenomenon is how deeply meta flexing has become.
You can now flex your ability to not care. To not post. To resist. The de-influencer movement, quitting social media, writing substack newsletters instead of tweeting all of this is part of a new genre of soft rebellion that says:
“I see the game. I’m smart enough to not play it.”
But not playing is still playing. Just like unplugging from the Matrix is still being inside the Matrix.
Final Thought: You Can’t Escape the Flex But You Can Master It
And that’s okay. The difference is in the intention.
Are you curating your identity to connect, to express, to inspire or just to impress?
Flexing isn’t the problem. Unconscious flexing is. When we lose sight of what we value and start chasing what gets validated, we become performers in someone else’s theatre.
But when we flex with intention, with taste, wit, humility, depth that’s when it becomes art.
So yes, Everything is a flex.
Just make sure yours is worth flexing.
Bonus: Real-Life Flexes
- Posting your Apple Watch calorie burn after a jog. I’m fit, disciplined, and tech-savvy all before 7 AM.
- Swimming 20 laps and sharing it with motivational music. I conquer water and self-doubt before breakfast.
- Reading Dostoevsky on a Sunday. I don’t binge shows. I dive into existential crises.
- Minimalist home tour with beige walls and linen drapes.
I’m calm, curated, and allergic to clutter. - Traveling to a remote village instead of Paris. I seek meaning, not mainstream.
- Buying vegetables from a local farmer’s market. I care about soil, soul, and sustainability.
- Screenshotting your morning meditation streak. Inner peace, tracked and publicly displayed.
- Sharing your Goodreads 2025 reading challenge. I don’t just read. I achieve literature.
- Saying “off to a silent retreat for 10 days.” I ghost people spiritually, not just emotionally.
- Wearing all-black and calling it a uniform. I’m serious, stylish, and slightly mysterious.
- Drinking pour-over coffee with single-origin beans. I romanticize mornings like a French indie film.
- Taking a selfie from your WFH setup with backlighting. I hustle hard with taste and perfect lighting.
- Using Notion to plan your grocery list. My bananas are tracked with a UX mindset.
- Quitting Instagram and announcing it with a post. I’m here to be free but you need to know.
- Posting a book quote with deep meaning. I feel deeply and I read things you don’t.
- Only owning 12 clothing pieces. I dress simple because my identity is complex.
- Learning a niche skill like pottery or Japanese calligraphy. I’m not like others. I create in silence.
- Doing yoga on a cliff at sunrise. I bend my body and the algorithm.
- Using an old Nokia phone to “escape distraction.” I flex by un-flexing.
- Tweeting your screen time stats after a detox. Look, I touched grass and tracked it.
- Getting 10k steps before noon. I win the day before most people finish coffee.
- Wearing Birkenstocks with no socks on purpose. I’m practical, ugly-chic, and don’t care (but I do).
- Showing your Spotify Wrapped with niche genres. I don’t just listen. I curate sound.
- Sharing your journal entry aesthetic on IG. I cry in cursive.
- Explaining how you quit your high-paying job for peace. I walked away from the Matrix, in style.
- Posting a travel pic with no humans just fog and trees. I’m mysterious and profound like a nature monk.
- Name-dropping your therapist or life coach. I’m working on myself and letting you know.
- Hosting book clubs on obscure philosophy. I’m not intellectual. I’m post-intellectual.
- Having a custom domain for your portfolio. My name is also my brand.
- Announcing your Substack on “slow living.” I write slowly and monetize it mindfully.
- Tracking every meal in an aesthetic bullet journal. I don’t eat. I document nourishment.
- Buying a Kindle and still reading physical books. I’m paperbound, but with range.
- Using oat milk in your coffee and telling people why. I drink with conscience and microtrends.
- Saying “I don’t do small talk” on your dating profile. I’m complex, efficient, and too cool for awkwardness.
- Wearing retro sneakers “ironically.” I’m old-school in a Gen Z-approved way.
- Taking a sabbatical to “find yourself.” I budgeted for my spiritual crisis.
- Volunteering abroad and posting selfies with local kids. I save the world ethically and photogenically.
- Listening to a 4-hour Tim Ferriss podcast at 2x speed. I grow exponentially. With AirPods.
- Typing on a mechanical keyboard in cafés. I click, therefore I am
- Posting your M1 Ultra setup with zero wires showing. I work hard with immaculate cable management.
- Bragging about not using ChatGPT. I use my brain. And occasionally Google.
- Quoting Nietzsche casually. I’ve read pain. And flexed it too.
- Using film cameras for “authenticity.” I wait 10 days for a vibe check.
- Eating sourdough you baked yourself. I ferment, therefore I flourish.
- Working from Bali for “fresh inspiration.” I solve problems with sunsets.
- Tweeting “building in public” updates. I ship and make you watch.
- Editing your photos to look like they’re unedited. I fake rawness with real effort.
- Using “🫶” in emails to seem chill. I’m professional and precious.
- Collecting vintage books but not reading them. My shelf has more depth than your Instagram.
- Quoting this blog post and tagging it “relatable.” I see the Matrix. And I meme inside it.
- Posting a thread made using ChatGPT plugins. I outsourced brilliance strategically.
- Saying you built an app “in a weekend with AI.” I don’t code. I prompt and conquer.
- Adding ‘No AI used’ at the bottom of your essay. I’m analog by choice, not by force.
The list to be continued in comments…
