Who invented status symbols?
Thousands of years ago, success was demonstrated by hunting or winning wars. If you killed more animals or defeated more enemies, everyone knew it. - Communities were small.
But societies grew.
No longer did everyone witness your victories, nor could you recount them one by one. Thus, symbols were born: capable of concentrating success into a single gesture or object.
A symbol is not just an object or gesture. It is a way of communicating without speaking. It summarizes a story, a position, a power. It concentrates what you did so that others understand it just by seeing it.
A symbol allows success to travel, even when you are not present.
Thus, success that was once about hunting or winning wars began to concentrate in symbols. There was no longer a need to explicitly state status: visible signals — like clean clothing — fulfilled that function.
As Veblen observes in “The Theory of the Leisure Class,” cleanliness suggested that you did not work, nor had you had to do so. Only someone successful could live like that.
Uncomfortable clothing also communicated this: You are not working, nor are you going to do so.
The more you are restricted in movement, the more effectively it communicates that you belong to the leisure class.
Learning a language, traveling, or playing an instrument became new ways of saying that you have free time, and only those who are successful can afford it.
All these symbols converge on the same thing: free time, the silent proof of success.
This phenomenon also manifested in gestures, and it eventually became codified in manners.
Eating with utensils, in portions, and precisely at set times suggests something more than education: it suggests free time.
As Health and Potter point out in “The Rebel Sell”: manners are not just about knowing how to eat, but about giving the impression of not being hungry.
It is the body saying the same thing as clean clothing: “I have time, and I have no urgency.”
Thousands of years later, we continue to use symbols as a compass for success. We no longer hunt animals or display trophies: we publish travels, practice Pilates, consume matcha, or meditate.
Even when the content is tenuous, the form maintains its effectiveness as a signal.
Because the symbol—even if empty—still works.
So, there is no single person who “invented” status symbols: they are a response to the pressure to demonstrate success in increasingly large societies.
For Norbert Elias, symbols civilize: they regulate impulses and mark who belongs to the center and who to the periphery. For Veblen, symbols exhibit: they show leisure, consumption, and power. For Bourdieu, symbols classify: they are the language with which society translates difference into hierarchy.
In the end, symbols not only communicate who seems successful; they also shape incentives. They function as expensive signals: practices whose value lies in the fact that not everyone can afford them. But they are not an absolute truth. Signals can be exaggerated, simulated, or financed on credit. The symbol shows intention, not necessarily solvency.
From the visible leisure described by Veblen to Bourdieu's cultural capital, every gesture operates as a strategic investment in reputation. This process generates a small market of recognition, where the price is paid in time, conspicuous consumption, or refinement. And like any market, it produces its own externalities: what one exhibits redefines what others must show.
That is why symbols survive even when they seem empty. Because more than adornments, they are mechanisms through which societies distribute prestige, aspiration, and hierarchy. Objects change, fashions change, but not the logic: in the status economy, symbols remain the most stable currency, though not always the most truthful.
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