The book reframes wealth as a personal practice rather than a public performance. It exposes the quiet grip of comparison, the seduction of status, and the emotional weight behind every purchase. Through sharp insights and reflective prompts, it challenges readers to spend with clarity, not impulse—to choose freedom over applause, and intention over autopilot.
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A year ago, I read The Psychology of Money, by Morgan Housel. Yesterday, I closed The Art of Spending Money. Between these two books, something shifted in how I understand wealth, and more importantly, how I use it.
If you've ever felt that nagging discomfort after a purchase, or found yourself wanting something simply because everyone else seems to have it, this review is for you.
Let me start with the uncomfortable bit. This book doesn't let you hide behind noble intentions about money being "just a tool." It shows you the two games we're all playing, whether we admit it or not. There's money as something that improves your actual life, buying you time and options and peace. Then there's money as a measuring stick, constantly sizing you up against everyone else.
The brutal truth? Most of us claim we want the first while secretly obsessing over the second.
I had to sit with that. Really sit with it. Because how many times have I bought something not because I wanted it, but because I wanted to be seen wanting it?
How often have I confused longing with admiration, telling myself I'm "inspired by" someone's lifestyle when really, I just feel inadequate next to it?
Maybe you've done this too. Maybe you're doing it right now.
There's this razor-sharp distinction drawn here between envy and admiration that completely changed how I scroll through Instagram now. Admiration is when you appreciate something beautiful without needing to possess it. Envy is when you see someone's life and immediately feel like yours is lacking.
Society packages envy as aspiration and sells it back to us with a bow on top. That influencer's morning routine, your colleague's vacation photos, your friend's casual mention of their new investment property. It all creates this constant hum of "not enough" that follows you to the checkout counter.
I started asking myself three questions before any purchase.
1. Is this for me or for an invisible audience?
2. Will I care about this in a year?
3. Does this get me closer to the life I actually want, or the life I think I should want?
The answers were mortifying at first. But necessary.
What would your answers be?
Here's where things get psychological in a way that made me physically uncomfortable. Money can control you even when you're convinced you're in control. It hijacks your identity. You become someone who thinks about money constantly, measures every decision against it, lets it steer your entire life without realising you've handed over the wheel.
The happiest people described in these pages aren't the ones with the most money. They're the ones who figured out how to use money and then stop thinking about it. They've mastered something I'm still learning: contentment isn't about having everything you want, it's about wanting what you have.
That gap between "what I have" and "what I want"? You can close it by earning more, which is exhausting and endless. Or you can close it by examining what you actually want, which is harder but infinitely more liberating.
Which path are you on?
What brings me genuine joy might bore you senseless. My perfect day involves books, high tea with friends, a yoga class, maybe pulling some tarot cards. Someone else's perfect day looks completely different. This book doesn't hand you a spending blueprint. It gives you permission to write your own.
The 100-Hour Rule introduced here is brilliant in its simplicity. Spend money on things you'll actually use and enjoy frequently. Not the fancy espresso machine gathering dust. Not the gym membership you activated once. The actual things at the top of your life's priority list.
None of that is frivolous. It's intentional. And that makes all the difference.
What's on your list? Have you ever actually written it down?
This distinction stopped me cold. Being rich is visible spending. The luxury car, the designer labels, the lifestyle that broadcasts success. Being wealthy is invisible savings. The freedom, the options, the quiet confidence of knowing you can weather whatever comes.
One is performance. The other is peace.
I'm learning to crave wealthy over rich. To value the unseen freedom more than the seen status symbols. It's a harder flex because nobody applauds it, but it's the one that actually compounds.
Think about the last thing you bought to impress someone. Now think about the last thing you bought that genuinely improved your life. Notice the difference?
Money can buy happiness, but never directly. It's never the thing itself. It's what the thing allows.
Books don't make me happy. The worlds they open and the person I become through reading does. High tea isn't about scones. It's about laughter and connection and the safety of being fully known. Yoga classes aren't about the poses. They're about peace and strength and returning to centre.
Money buys independence. Time. Options. The space to become who you're meant to be. But only if you're paying attention.
What has money actually bought you lately? Not the object, but the experience or freedom it enabled?
A year ago, The Psychology of Money taught me how money works psychologically. This second one taught me what to do with that knowledge. It's more personal, more introspective, more about the actual art of living well rather than just understanding behavioral finance.
Where the first book explained why we make irrational decisions, this one asks what rational spending even looks like for each of us individually. There's no universal answer. There's only your answer, arrived at through honest self-examination.
Before any purchase, I pause. Is this making me more of who I want to be, or who someone else wants me to look like? Am I buying for myself or for imagined approval? Will future me thank present me for this decision?
These questions are uncomfortable. They're supposed to be. They force you to confront whether you're spending intentionally or on autopilot. Whether you're building the life you want or performing the life you think you should want.
Try them next time you're about to buy something. See what happens.
The writing feels like having coffee with someone who's thought deeply about these questions, not being lectured from a podium. There's wit without smugness, depth without jargon, philosophy without preaching. Stories from history and business weave into behavioral insights that feel immediately applicable.
Some reviewers wanted more technical detail, more investment strategy, more cultural diversity in examples. Fair criticisms. But they miss the point. This isn't a how-to manual. It's a how-to-think framework. The specifics are up to you.
After finishing this book, I understand that wealth isn't the number in your account. It's the freedom to spend on what matters, the wisdom to know what that is, and the courage to ignore everything else.
I save thoughtfully. I spend joyfully. I refuse to apologise for either.
That's not indulgence. That's the art being taught here. Using money to support your happiness, independence, relationships and passions rather than someone else's definition of success.
I'm still learning. Still catching myself in the comparison trap. Still occasionally buying things for the wrong reasons. But now I notice. Now I pause. Now I choose.
And according to what I learned from these pages, awareness is where the real game of wealth begins.
What game are you playing? And more importantly, is it the one you actually want to win?
* The Art of Spending Money by Morgan Housel is published by Pan MacMillan South Africa.