Despite what many believe, money can’t buy happiness. It can, however, ease some burdens and temporarily distract from life’s challenges and pain. For some, wealth becomes a pursuit of fleeting joy—buying more things in hopes of filling an emotional void.

However, material possessions rarely bring lasting contentment.

We’ve all heard of “retail therapy,” where shopping is used as a quick fix for sadness.

Yet, once the excitement of a new purchase fades, the underlying emotions remain.

True happiness doesn’t come from what you own or the balance in your bank account. It comes from within.

Even with immense wealth, feeling unfulfilled, lonely, or sad is possible.

In my 20s, I dated and then became engaged to a millionaire. And then I walked away eight weeks before our wedding day.

‘We’ll vacation in Australia.’

Now, that’s a pickup line to remember.

As I was picking up my dry cleaning, he stood out—attractive, confident, and carrying an air of maturity.

He was in town visiting his father. It was fascinating how passionate he seemed about his family. Who wouldn’t be intrigued by the idea of jetting off on a luxury getaway with a charming stranger? Sure, he didn’t ask much about me; however, I brushed that aside, letting his charisma do the heavy lifting. That dream holiday never happened.

Still, the affluent new man in my life indulged me with beauty salon appointments to change my hair, lavish dinners, meeting Tony Bennett, and shopping sprees in San Francisco to buy me an entirely new wardrobe. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt with every extravagant purchase. The way he told it, he and his father practically owned half the beauty salons in California, all catering to the rich and famous. At just 28 years old, he had already accomplished so much, and I couldn’t help but be thoroughly impressed.

We moved in together, and I was living life to the fullest. It was a beautiful home with a chef, a housekeeper, and a small lake on the property with white swans.

We began spending more and more time together, and he asked me to quit my job as he could support me.

He made me feel exceptional—though a bit overwhelmed, too.

He proposed with an impressive diamond and emerald ring.

He and my father quickly became close, bonding over shared interests and frequenting the Playboy Bunny Club in San Francisco, where they were both members. Both carried generous amounts of cash, a trait that seemed to seal their camaraderie. Naturally, my father gravitated toward someone like him, and the fact that Tyler was Italian only added to the connection, making it all the more meaningful to my father.

Unfortunately, he had a darker side—like my father, he struggled with fidelity.

When I confronted him about his unfaithfulness, the dynamic of our relationship changed completely.

My father urged me to overlook this “small imperfection” in Tyler, eager to keep the wedding plans intact.

He reassured me it would all work out, but I remained firm. I refused to marry someone who couldn’t be loyal.

Despite that incident, he lavished me with gifts, making it easier to overlook his disparaging remarks about others.

He often made snide comments, like calling retail workers lazy or claiming, “You can tell how classy someone is by their shoes.”

His words made me self-conscious, and I questioned why he was even with me.

I wasn’t incredibly ambitious, wealthy, or “classy” by his standards.

However, I was intelligent and showered him with gratitude for his generosity, which, I suppose, was enough to keep him interested. In hindsight, we didn’t share any common ground.

However, at 21, I was fascinated with the allure of “high status.”

I became swept up in the fantasy of what our life together could look like and let myself get carried away by the possibilities. As time passed, his offhand remarks and extravagant gestures began to wear on me.

I came to the stark realization that he wasn’t kind—far from it.

To be precise, he could be downright cruel. His identity seemed to revolve entirely around his wealth, which kept him ensconced in an ivory tower of self-importance. He viewed others as beneath him, dismissing them with an air of superiority. He embodied the wealthy man cliché, oblivious to how much he fit the stereotype. While he treated me reasonably well (aside from occasionally pressuring me to change how I looked and what I wore), his unkindness started to become a major turn-off.

One incident that stuck with me was when he was rude to a taxi driver, which I found utterly unacceptable. Then there was the time he casually admitted to hiring prostitutes in the past and couldn’t understand why I was unsettled by it.

I tried to rationalize his behavior, yet deep down, I knew his lack of empathy wasn’t something I could change—or tolerate—in the long run.

Sensing my restlessness, he tried to win me by buying me a baby blue convertible Cadillac. But after a year, I couldn’t continue.

I left the car and the engagement ring behind, packed only the clothes I felt comfortable wearing, and walked away from the life he had built around me. I left the jewelry, the extravagant $10,000 wedding dress, and everything else, moving into an apartment with a friend. His response?

He dismissed my feelings entirely, labeling me “off-putting” and “insecure.”

He called my father for support, insisting the wedding was still on, as though my decision didn’t matter. To my astonishment, I later saw a wedding announcement in the newspaper. His sheer audacity left me speechless. In the weeks leading up to what he believed would still be our wedding day, he made several attempts to contact me, even showing up at my apartment. I ignored him entirely, resolute in my decision and confident that I would chart my course in life. On our wedding day, he arrived at my door, my wedding dress in hand and a limo waiting outside, still convinced I would marry him. I closed the door without a word.

Looking back, I sometimes wonder if part of his attraction to me was rooted in the fact that I didn’t challenge his carefully constructed identity. Would things have been different if I had earned a comparable income or stood on equal footing with him?

He seemed to relish the role of provider, yet I question whether he could have genuinely handled a relationship with a woman who matched his financial and social status. One of the most telling measures of a partner is how they treat others and whether they use their wealth or success as a pedestal for superiority. In retrospect, I’m certain that his condescension would have eventually turned on me as well.

I have no issue with people who earn a substantial income—I think it’s something to be proud of.

That said, it’s crucial to stay grounded and not let wealth inflate your ego.

One thing I’ve learned is that a high income can subtly start to influence your behavior when you’re not mindful. While enjoying the fruits of your labor is OK, it’s equally important to remember the privileges and opportunities that contributed to your success.

I don’t believe career achievements are ever purely the result of personal choice; they’re always a mix of decisions and circumstances.

And as the saying goes, “Money can’t buy class.”

I can almost hear him saying I’ve retreated to my comfort zone—and honestly, he wouldn’t be wrong.

It’s where I’m happiest. And yes, I still dress for comfort – every day.