Do you have life dysmorphia? This is why we're really all so unhappy...

Earlier this year, the World Happiness Report – an annual barometer of wellbeing – recorded ‘disconcerting drops [in happiness], especially in North America and western Europe.’ The UK was placed 23rd in the global ranking, while the US took the 24th spot – its lowest ranking ever. Elsewhere, The Priory reports 37% of women in the UK live with high levels of anxiety, while research from Mind and Office for National Statistics reveal soaring levels of depression and stress, particularly among younger adults.

Amid a backdrop of economic, political and social instability – see: the climate crisis, leaders playing chicken with the economy, rise of far-right political parties across the globe – much of our collective gloom makes sense. But are we making things harder for ourselves? And what can we do to feel happier in the here and now?

Perceive and believe

Everything, those in the business of self- improvement say, starts with mindset. So it was to them I turned first for answers. ‘Look, the truth is that, in many ways, we’ve never had it so good,’ Jacqueline Hurst, one of the UK’s leading life coaches tells me, in a tone that reminds me of Leo Woodall’s ‘If you can’t be satisfied living now, here, you’re never gonna be satisfied’ monologue in season two of The White Lotus.

She would argue the case for life dysmorphia being, very much, A Thing. ‘Historically speaking, women today are incredibly lucky: we’re living the dreams of our great-grandmothers [a generation who fought for the vote and suffered the atrocities of WWI]; we’re doing things they never could,’ she adds. ‘But we also live in a culture of navel- gazing; an era defined by individualism. Younger generations are encouraged to celebrate wealth and material possessions like never before – and while this mentality isn’t exactly new, social media has seen our human tendency to compete explode.’

One way this can manifest is in a toxic cycle of spending to keep pace with the looks and lifestyles of a consumer world that now operates at the breakneck, incessant speed of a TikTok explainer video. A study by Credit Karma states that Gen Zers and millennials collectively spend £400+ a month imitating influencers, with seven in 10 going into debt as a result.

This is how things began to spiral for Amber*. ‘It started with a few splurges: a Chloé purse here, a Smythson notebook there,’ the 28-year-old tells me. ‘When I qualified as a solicitor, I felt like I could justify buying the same sort of luxury goods influencers normalise. I would scroll through TikTok and Instagram, making a shopping list of status items that signalled success,’ she confides. ‘I spent £1,500 on a shearling coat I barely wore.’

Things came to a head when Amber’s rent was unexpectedly hiked and she was forced to confront her spiralling spending habits. ‘My utility bills were through the roof, food costs had shot up and my landlord suddenly wanted to charge me 25% extra. In the end, I moved back in with Mum, £13,000 in debt and on the brink of declaring myself bankrupt – which would have jeopardised my job,’ she recalls. ‘I’m ashamed of the financial mess I’m in. I can’t afford to move out, dating has become harder because I’m at home and now I’m worrying about my biological clock ticking, too.’

But for every tale of five-figure debt amassed by accumulating luxuries beyond your means, there are thousands of young women struggling to afford to exist – let alone progress – at a time when living cost increases dramatically outpace any growth in wages; which, in turn, are taxed more aggressively than wealth, creating a widening inequality gap and a disillusion- driving gulf in living standards. Late-stage capitalism feels bleak for many right now – and while we’ll allow a wry laugh at the recession indicator memes on our timeline, the economics of daily life is no joke.

Mind the lack

When you consider this, the idea that the nation’s misery is a perception issue rooted in too much screen time and shallow consumerism starts to feel like borderline gaslighting. Is the issue here actually less about ‘life dysmorphia’ and more about real material disparity – both between wealth demographics and with what we’ve been raised to expect out of life versus its reality?

For Liz Hunter, commercial director at MoneyExpert.com, it’s a noxious mix of both. ‘In the early 20th century, the main focus was on basic survival and economic stability,’ she explains. ‘Now women are bombarded with messages promoting consumerism, while battling the economic landscape left by COVID-19, the cost-of- living crisis, rising interest rates and rents, as well as wage stagnation. All this means many are likely to be financially worse off now than they were prior to 2020.’

She tells me she’s worried about the cumulative impact of these pressures on women’s self-esteem: ‘Financial success is often used as a measure of worth, and the pressure to achieve it can lead to insecurity, self-doubt and feelings of inadequacy when people feel they aren’t meeting these expectations.’

This is especially true when you consider that we’re not just struggling to keep up with influencers or the insatiable trends cycle. For many young women, the misery stems from the bleak economic realities of not being able to reach traditional markers of adulthood. A report by the McKinsey Global Institute credits high property prices and record student debts with ensuring younger generations are, for the first time since the industrial revolution, poorer than their parents; something that’s seen many re-write long-established life scripts. This leads many women to delay, opt out of – or be straight-up priced out of– motherhood.

‘There have been genuine setbacks in our ability to reach the same milestones as previous generations,’ adds BACP counsellor Ragini Jha. But she believes that our digital culture amplifies the emotional weight of these very real economic challenges. ‘The pressure to meet key life events early – and visibly – has intensified because of our culture of self-display.’

Break the cycle

Her take resonates with Alex, 33, a travel comms specialist who is from London, but who emigrated to Sydney after she turned 30 – to deal with the struggle of not being able to meet traditional adult milestones. ‘As friends bought houses and started having kids, I felt stuck. I didn’t have a partner and couldn’t afford a house on my own. I threw myself into work and kept thinking I would meet someone; that when I did, I would be “normal”. But stress and anxiety took its toll.’

Ultimately, her bold move paid off: ‘Relocating to the other side of the world has given me the breathing space to work out what’s important to me, rather than what society expects of me. That shift in perspective has made me happier.’