I didn’t think twice when my mother handed me a new pair of Air Force 1s with the Christian Dior Oblique monogram printed on them. She has impeccable fashion sense and an eye for trends, so I put them snugly on my feet and went to school as normal.

As soon as I stepped on campus, however, something changed. Like enchanted talismans, the shoes drew people toward me, their eyes filled with awe. “Are those Dior and Nike collaboration shoes? How did you get them? I heard that they are impossible to find!” One boy asked me in astonishment. At first, I enjoyed this feeling; it was the first time I felt popular at school. However, as the day went on I realized that the attention I was receiving was not because of my character as a person, but due to the expensive nature of my shoes.

Flexing — or the act of flaunting luxury items — has been around for ages. However, in recent years it has become common for luxury brands such as Gucci, Chanel, and Balenciaga to target younger teenagers, from advertising thousand-dollar “skateboard shoes” to outrageously overpriced tracksuits and backpacks. Upon first seeing influencers such as Kylie Jenner and Gabi DeMartino post these items, teens responded with enthusiasm, giving greater rise to the now ubiquitous “flex” culture that permeates our schools and social media feeds.

At first glance, this culture could be reduced to simply showing off. However, the problem lies in the psychological impact that flexing has on teenagers. One’s teenage years are highly impressionable, as we are generally preoccupied with the urge to fit in with our peers. The added pressure and expense of keeping up with the latest luxury items not only excludes those from less privileged backgrounds, but also instills the wrong values — namely, superficiality and judgment. Instead of centering our friendships on the content of one’s character, we focus instead on one another’s outward appearance and social clout. In the short-term, this affects a teenager’s confidence. In the long-term, it could lead to severely dysfunctional relationships and a lack of personal fulfillment.

When I returned home that day, I politely handed the shoes back to my mom. It wasn’t her fault that the shoes she’d bought had such a high resale value, and she was in near disbelief when I told her so. “I had no idea they were so rare!” She said, putting them back into the shoebox. “But are you sure you don’t want to keep them?”

The temptation gleamed back at me from the Pandora’s Box on our table. Why not? The shoes seemed to say. Put us on! But sticking to my principles, I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. “The Oblique monogram is nice,” I said. “But honestly, they’re not the right fit. I’ll wear them when I’m older and surrounded by people who will see me for who I am as a person and not for what I’m wearing,” I continued, and my mom nodded in agreement as well. And with that, I had gotten over my “Flexistential” crisis.