I Pretended to Be Rich in London for 24 Hours—Here’s What I Learned

StartA few weeks ago, I decided to run an unusual social experiment: I wanted to know what it feels like to be rich. Not just upper-middle class or decently successful, but genuinely wealthy—the kind of wealth that turns heads, opens doors, and changes how people treat you.

As someone who has always lived a fairly normal life, this wasn’t something I was doing out of boredom or for content. I was deeply curious. Does the world really treat you differently when you look rich, even if you aren’t?

To find out, I set aside one full day, rented some expensive clothing, borrowed a friend’s luxury watch, and booked one night at a top-tier hotel in central London using a steep discount. My goal? Live for 24 hours as a “wealthy” version of myself and observe how people responded to me.


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Morning: A Luxurious Wake-Up Call

I woke up in a suite at The Ritz London. The bed felt like a cloud, and everything in the room—golden fixtures, velvet curtains, and fresh flowers—screamed elegance. I had breakfast delivered to my room: a small plate of truffle-scrambled eggs, a croissant, and freshly squeezed orange juice. The bill? About the same as my weekly grocery budget.

I took a few pictures for Instagram. Nothing too obvious—just a corner of the breakfast tray, a blurry shot of my watch beside a coffee cup, and a glimpse of the chandelier in the background. Within minutes, my inbox was full of messages.

“Big moves, bro!”
“Are you staying at The Ritz?!”
“You’ve made it, haven’t you?”

I didn’t lie. I also didn’t explain. I just smiled, realizing how little it takes to make people assume something about your life.


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Afternoon: The Illusion in Action

Dressed in a tailored navy-blue suit and shiny brown loafers, I stepped into a chauffeured Bentley I had rented for an hour. We drove through some of the wealthiest parts of London—Mayfair, Kensington, Knightsbridge.

I visited a few designer stores. Gucci. Dior. Louis Vuitton. I didn’t plan to buy anything, but I wanted to see how the staff treated someone who looked like they had unlimited spending power. To my surprise, it worked. I was greeted with champagne in one store, offered a private consultation in another. Salespeople smiled, made polite conversation, and hung on to my every word.

No one asked for proof of wealth. My clothing, posture, and confidence were all the proof they needed.


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Late Lunch: Expensive, but Lonely

Around 2 PM, I had lunch at a rooftop restaurant that overlooked Hyde Park. I chose the cheapest thing on the menu—a salad that cost nearly £30. The presentation was beautiful, and the service was flawless.

But there was something hollow about it.

Everyone around me looked polished, serious, and a little bit... disconnected. Conversations were quiet, eyes often on phones, and no one was really laughing. I felt like an actor in a movie I didn’t fully understand.

A woman nearby struck up a conversation. She asked if I was in finance or “some kind of startup.” I gave a vague answer. She handed me her card and told me to call her if I ever wanted to collaborate. I thanked her politely and watched as she left with her wine barely touched.

The view was amazing. The food was average. The whole moment felt surreal.


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Evening: The Act Starts to Fade

By sunset, I found myself at Sky Garden. I sipped on an overpriced cocktail, watched the sun dip below the skyline, and looked out at a city that never sleeps. People took selfies, couples posed by the window, and I tried to enjoy the moment.

But I couldn’t.

For nearly 12 hours, I had been pretending. Every smile, every comment, every movement—I was constantly thinking, “How would a rich person do this?” I hadn’t relaxed once all day.

Later, I attended a networking event at a luxury lounge. Everyone looked like models or CEOs. I mingled, made small talk, and nodded politely as people discussed property investments and art auctions. But I didn’t feel like I belonged. I missed being myself.

By 11 PM, I was back in my actual apartment—a small, shared flat in a less glamorous part of London. I took off the borrowed clothes, washed off the cologne, and finally exhaled. The day was over.


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What I Learned

Pretending to be rich didn’t just teach me how people perceive wealth—it taught me something deeper about identity, pressure, and the value of authenticity.

1. People Respond to What You Project

When I dressed the part, people assumed I had money. They treated me better, offered more respect, and smiled more often. It made me realize how much of our daily experience is shaped by appearance.

2. Wealth Is a Language

There’s a subtle way wealthy people move, talk, and even stand. It’s a performance, whether intentional or not. If you don’t speak that “language,” people notice quickly. And maintaining that image is exhausting.

3. Luxury Feels Good, But Doesn’t Equal Joy

Sure, the food was fancy and the views were stunning, but I wasn’t happy. I was performing. The pressure to keep up the image made it hard to actually enjoy anything.

4. Social Media Is Just a Highlight Reel

My photos made it seem like I was living my best life. But no one saw the reality—the stress, the borrowed outfit, the loneliness. That made me question how much of what I see online is real.

5. Authenticity Is More Powerful Than Appearance

The moment I stepped back into my own shoes—literally and figuratively—I felt better. There’s nothing wrong with success or luxury. But when it’s real, it feels peaceful. When it’s fake, it’s just pressure.


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Final Thoughts

Pretending to be rich for one day was thrilling, eye-opening, and slightly depressing. I got a glimpse into a world many dream of, but I also saw the cracks beneath the surface.

I don’t regret doing it. In fact, I’m glad I did. It made me more focused than ever—not on looking rich, but on becoming successful in a way that feels true to who I am.

Next time you scroll through Instagram and see someone living a dream life, remember: they might just be acting, like I did.

And sometimes, being real is the richest thing you can be. writing...