ageisano

From designer labels and workplace approval to kindness and social media, I’ve been thinking about why we do what we do — and whether our reasons really come from within.

We hear it all the time: “You have to make sure you’re doing things for the right reasons.” It sounds wonderfully straightforward—until we actually try to define what “right” means.

Is getting Botox for the “wrong” reason if looking in the mirror and seeing a smoother forehead genuinely makes you feel good? Is a designer handbag shallow, or do you just deeply appreciate its craftsmanship? Is posting a beautiful photograph of your holiday somehow less authentic because you wouldn’t dream of posting the terrible, blurry one?

Probably not.

I’ve realised lately that “right” and “wrong” are often the wrong words entirely. The more interesting question—and sometimes the more uncomfortable one—is simply this: Who am I really doing this for?

As we get older, our motivations shift. I’ve noticed that sometimes, the very same object or action can mean something completely different at different stages of our lives.

The Lanvin Wallet: Same Wallet, Different Reason

Let me give you an example. Back in the early 1980s, when I was about 15, my dad was doing quite well. He was always generous, and I boldly asked him for money to buy a Lanvin wallet.

Even back then, I was highly conscious of brands. Fila was a massive favourite of mine, partly because Björn Borg wore it. Nike and Puma seemed a bit too commonplace for my teenage sensibilities; Fila felt distinctive. It said something about who I wanted to be. At 15, possessions are basically the building blocks we use to construct an identity. The Lanvin label wasn’t incidental—it was the entire point.

Fast forward roughly four decades. I recently rediscovered that exact same Lanvin wallet and started using it again.

But now? The label matters far less. What appeals to me today is that it’s vintage. I love that it survived, that it has a story, and that pulling it out of my bag connects today’s me with that 15-year-old girl, and with my dad.

Same wallet. Same person. Completely different motivation. (Though, rather annoyingly, I must admit the wallet has matured with considerably fewer wrinkles than its owner).

Looking Good — For Yourself or for Everybody Else?

This shift in motivation extends far beyond vintage leather goods. It bleeds into how we present ourselves, the labels we wear, and the status we try to project.

When it comes to the things we choose to display, it is entirely too easy to judge others. But rather than deciding what is right or wrong for other people, I find it much more useful to turn the magnifying glass inward:

• Do I actually love the design of this jacket, or do I just love that people will recognise the label?
• Am I changing my appearance because I enjoy the result, or because I fear what society thinks of me aging?
• Would I still buy this if absolutely nobody knew what brand it was?

Sometimes, quality, design, and a brand name genuinely come together in a beautiful package. And sometimes? We simply want the logo. Neither requires a moral lecture. It just requires a little self-awareness.

Brown-Nosing Was Never Really My Thing

This same question of motivation popped up constantly during my working years. Let’s talk about sycophancy—or “brown-nosing,” which is considerably easier to pronounce.

My experience in the corporate world was almost the opposite of the “agree-to-succeed” playbook. I progressed primarily by speaking my mind, including those times when my view differed entirely from my bosses—even when those bosses were the owners. I always saw my responsibility as doing a good job, and to me, that included telling people what I genuinely thought rather than what I suspected they wanted to hear.

But I also recognise that environment matters enormously. I worked in media and in an American-owned organisation, which gave me the runway to be direct. Had I been in a more conservative government agency or a rigidly hierarchical organisation, exactly the same behaviour might have produced a very different career trajectory.

When I eventually managed people myself, transparency was everything—preferably served with a side of humour. My golden rule for my team was simple: “You can bitch in front of me or in front of each other — just not behind each other’s backs.” Agreeing with the boss isn’t inherently wrong. But pretending to agree simply because that agreement benefits us? That’s something else entirely.

Doing Good When Nobody Is Watching

During the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, I started putting together small care packs containing masks, little bottles of sanitiser, and a red packet (hongbao). I’d leave them overnight for the motorbike taxi riders on my soi in Bangkok.

Let me be clear: I am no philanthropist. But these are the people who have provided an essential service to my neighbourhood for years, yet they are so easily overlooked.

Today, the pandemic has faded, but I’ve kept a small version of this tradition alive. For the first three days of each Chinese New Year, when I take my regular ride out and home again, I give each rider a hongbao.

What stays with me isn’t the act of giving, nor is it telling anybody that I did it. It is their smile when they receive it. It’s a very small gesture. I’m not changing the world; I’m just acknowledging somebody whose daily contribution to my life might otherwise go unacknowledged.

But it makes me wonder: Would the gesture mean something different if my main reason for doing it was to photograph the exchange and post it on Instagram? Probably.

Yet, I’m not about to write off social media entirely. Sometimes, it actually gets it exactly right—acting as a digital scrapbook that preserves the people, places, and happy moments we genuinely want to hold onto.

Take this photograph from a trip to Sumba with a good friend. I posted it, and she did too. We weren’t performing for an audience or seeking approval; we were simply archiving a beautiful day. Because while some acts are best kept quiet, other memories are simply worth sharing.

But I’m Still Not Posting the Ugly Photo

Speaking of archiving those memories, let’s be completely honest for a moment. No, I am still not going to post the ugly shot.

Authentic living does not require deliberately choosing the photograph where my eyes are half-closed and my hair appears to have entered into a separate, highly hostile agreement with gravity.

But my core reason for posting photographs has fundamentally changed. They are now a record of good experiences. One of the things I truly appreciate about Facebook—despite not being its greatest fan—is having old memories unexpectedly resurface on my timeline. I don’t post everything anymore. I don’t need to.

There is a vast distinction between recording a life you are genuinely enjoying, and living a life simply in order to record it.

Maybe Our Reasons Are Never Completely Pure

Here is the messy truth: most of us have mixed motives, and that is perfectly okay.

We can give because we care, and enjoy the warm feeling of being thanked. We can buy something because it is beautifully made, and enjoy the prestige of carrying it. We can post a photograph because we want to preserve the memory, and because we look rather fabulous in it. We can speak our minds because honesty matters, and enjoy being known as the person who shoots straight.

Maybe “doing things for the right reasons” doesn’t actually require completely pure motives. Perhaps it just requires honest motives.

One of the great gifts of getting older is that the exhausting need to construct an identity for other people starts to fade. We are finally granted the freedom to decide what actually matters to us.

The Question I Ask Myself Now

When I look at that old Lanvin wallet today, I see the passage of time. At 15, its value was almost entirely in the name stamped on the front. More than 43 years later, its value is entirely in its history. The object itself hasn’t changed very much. But I have.

So here is the question I try to ask myself now:

If nobody saw it, praised it, liked it, envied it, or thanked you for it — would you still want to do it?

If the answer is yes, perhaps that’s as good a definition of doing something for the right reason as any.

And if the answer is no?

Well, that might be worth thinking about too.

Perhaps that’s why I like old photographs like this one I took in Cuba in 2011. It was never taken for likes, followers or to prove I was having a fabulous time. It was simply a moment I wanted to keep. And all these years later, I’m rather glad I did.

Over to You

Have your reasons for doing things changed as you’ve gotten older? Try asking yourself this week: “If nobody knew I’d done this, would I still do it?” I’d love to hear about something you once did for approval but now see completely differently. Tell me in the comments—I suspect this one could start a very interesting conversation!