I sat in the softly lit dining room at Euphoria on Tras Street, looking down at my bowl of their signature Oignon Jamboree. It was visually flawless. I took out my phone and snapped a quick photo. I knew exactly how good the intricate plating would look on my feed. Then, I remembered the price of the tasting menu.

A quiet wave of guilt washed over me. I was not paying for this meal. I was invited here as a guest, expected to document the experience for an audience of thousands. But the people watching my updates cannot simply walk in and order this food on a random Tuesday night.

We treat these luxury meals as casual content. We post videos of shaved truffles and rare ingredients, framing them as essential lifestyle recommendations. In doing so, we quietly normalize a level of spending that is entirely out of reach for most people.

A few days later, I sat at Homeground Coffee Roasters in Outram Park. I ordered their signature Vanta blend white coffee and watched the morning crowd. People were laughing, working, and enjoying a simple cup of coffee. It felt deeply normal. There was no pressure to marvel at the exclusivity of the space.

When we constantly showcase expensive dining, we distort reality. We create a false standard of what a good life looks like. Food is supposed to bring people together. It is a shared human language. But on social media, it often becomes a subtle marker of class and privilege.

We use our platforms to tell people what they should desire. We make them feel like they are missing out if they cannot secure a reservation at the newest tasting counter. The experience of eating becomes less about taste and more about proving your access to exclusive spaces.

It shows that there is more to eating than flavor. Our dining choices reveal what we value and how we want the world to see us.

I finished my elaborate dish at Euphoria and thanked the chef. The food was genuinely wonderful. But as I walked out into the warm evening air, I felt strangely heavy.

I opened my phone and looked at the photo I had just taken. It was bright and flawless. I just wondered how many people would look at it and feel a quiet sense of inadequacy.

Euphoria has long closed its doors, but the pondering I shared while taking a bite from a meal, that I never fully grasped if I deserved, lingered. I think it always will.