Essay Series | Part 4 of 6

The Structure of Happiness and Income

Would a Full-Course Meal Every Day Make Us Happy?
— Consumption May Be Unlimited, but the Body Is Not —

In the previous installment, I compared a standard three-bedroom home with a luxury mansion.

A home does not become more comfortable simply by becoming larger.

With swimming pools and gyms, using a specialist facility can sometimes be more convenient than owning one.

And when possessions multiply too far, the relationship can even reverse: “I own it because I want to use it” becomes “I have to use it because I own it.”

Apparently, being able to spend a great deal of money is not the same as being able to live comfortably.

What, then, about food—the second element of food, clothing, and shelter? The structure may be even easier to see here.

Suppose our income rises dramatically. We no longer need to worry about the cost of food.

The finest ingredients at breakfast. Lunch at a celebrated restaurant. A full-course dinner every night.

We could have luxury ingredients delivered from anywhere in the world.

We might gain access to restaurants where reservations are nearly impossible to obtain.

If we wished, we could even hire a private chef to cook at home.

Viewed only in terms of how much can be spent on a meal, there is almost no upper limit.

A meal might cost ten dollars, one hundred, or even one thousand. Still more expensive meals exist.

But one difficulty appears.

The human stomach does not grow in proportion to income.

If income doubles, the stomach does not double with it.

If income increases tenfold, the amount of food needed each day does not become ten times greater.

Even if income increases one hundredfold, no one can eat dinner one hundred times.

This is obvious. Yet that very obviousness is unexpectedly important.

Money has enormous room for expansion. Income can grow. Assets can grow. In principle, the amount spent on a single meal can keep rising almost indefinitely.

But the human being who receives what that money buys has clear limits.

The stomach has a finite capacity. A day has only twenty-four hours. Even taste is subject to adaptation.

And every body has an amount that is right for it.

In other words, spending can increase, but the human body itself cannot.

This differs slightly from cars and houses.

With cars, the basic function eventually reached saturation.

With houses, once the necessary space and equipment were present, the value of additional floor area began to diminish.

Food imposes an even stronger limit. Beyond a certain amount, continuing to eat does not merely fail to increase happiness; it becomes a burden on the body.

No matter how refined the cuisine, overeating is uncomfortable.

Even the finest steak may not be welcome when another one is served after we are already full.

No matter how famous the pastry chef, a dessert cannot deliver its full value once the diner has reached the point of saying, “I cannot eat another bite.”

This is not a question of price. It is a limit on the receiving side.

Seen this way, the structure is rather fascinating.

A warm bowl of soup eaten while hungry can be deeply satisfying.

Adding a thousand-dollar dish afterward does not create a thousand dollars' worth of additional happiness.

It may instead leave us feeling that we do not want to eat anything else.

Food clearly has a “just right.”

Too little is a problem. Poor quality is also a problem.

But more is not always better.

Nor is more expensive always better.

Simple addition fails here as well.

Could the answer be to improve quality rather than quantity?

Certainly, quality matters.

Fine ingredients. Careful preparation. Beautiful presentation. Thoughtful service.

The discovery of a dish we would not ordinarily encounter.

Time spent with someone important in a special restaurant.

Such experiences have genuine value.

There is no reason to dismiss fine dining itself.

Part of its pleasure may come precisely from enjoying it only occasionally.

The question is whether making it an everyday occurrence would also make happiness reach its maximum every day.

A full-course meal every day. A special restaurant every day. The very best every day.

The first few days might be delightful.

But once it becomes routine, it is no longer special.

A full-course meal yesterday, another today, and another tomorrow.

Before long, it would not be surprising to think, “I would rather have something ordinary today.”

Human beings adapt.

Even an exceptional experience becomes ordinary through repetition.

Price cannot solve that problem.

Luxury dining has another curious side as well.

A popular restaurant requires a reservation.

Sometimes the date must be fixed far in advance.

We have to arrive at the appointed time.

Some restaurants require thought about what to wear.

Even if our mood changes that day, it can be difficult to say, “I would rather eat something simple at home.”

We go because we made the reservation.

Thus, “I go to the restaurant because I want to eat there” can become “I go out to eat because I have a reservation.”

We have seen this structure before.

With the supercar, “I drive it because I want to” became “I drive it because I own it.”

With the holiday home, “I go because I want to” became “I go because I have it.”

And with the luxury restaurant, “I go because I want the meal” becomes “I go because I have a reservation.”

Prosperity was meant to increase, yet another obligation has appeared on the calendar.

Then perhaps the answer is to bring a chef into the home.

That would certainly remove the need to travel to a restaurant for a reservation.

But now someone comes to the house at an appointed time.

They bring ingredients, cook, and clean up.

Naturally, another person is in the home throughout that time.

Some people would consider this the finest possible service.

Yet there are also days when we want to see no one, dress casually, and eat whatever we like whenever we like.

If the chef arrives even on such a day, the service itself becomes another appointment.

Money can reduce the work of cooking.

But it does not necessarily increase the freedom of having no one else to accommodate.

Here again, what is luxurious and what is comfortable for a particular person are not the same.

Seen in this light, happiness in food is a curious thing.

Being able to eat expensive food is a form of prosperity.

Being able to visit a favorite restaurant is also a form of prosperity.

And freedom from anxiety about the food budget is unquestionably a profound source of security.

But beyond that point, the human body does not change.

The stomach is finite. Time is finite. Appetite is finite.

Even if we had enough money to eat the finest cuisine every day,

money could not rewrite the body's request for grilled fish and miso soup today.

The deeper structure of this series is gradually coming into view.

On the side of money, there is room to keep moving upward.

But on the human side—the side that turns money into happiness—there are many limits.

With cars, there is a limit to how much mobility we can receive.

With houses, there is a limit to how much space we can use comfortably.

With food, we finally encounter the limit of the body itself.

That is why continually increasing expenditure cannot make happiness continue rising at the same rate.

Beyond a certain point, choosing the amount that suits us becomes more important than adding more.

Before reaching a conclusion, however, there is one more part of food, clothing, and shelter to examine.

Clothing.

Here too, greater spending can produce almost unlimited luxury.

Fine suits. Dresses. Luxury brands. Rare materials. Bespoke tailoring.

Yet if we think only about the human body, clothing that is easy to move in, light, pleasant against the skin,

neither too hot nor too cold, and easy to wash can be remarkably comfortable.

If the price keeps rising, does the happiness of wearing it keep rising too?

In the next installment, I would like to consider a fine suit and a favorite T-shirt.