Founder story 

There was a time I believed happiness lived inside luxury.

Not consciously, of course.
Not in a way I would ever have admitted out loud.
But somewhere beneath ambition and achievement, I carried the quiet idea that fulfilment was waiting in a possession just beyond my reach.

A better car.
A better watch.
A better home.
Something impressive.
Something shiny.
Something that would make life feel complete.

Like many people, I worked hard — harder than necessary, if I’m honest — chasing a future where I could finally buy the objects I believed would give me a sense of arrival.

Eventually, that future came.

I had money.
I had status.
I had access to almost anything I once dreamed of.

And then something strange happened.

I reached the moment I could finally buy my “dream car.”
The one I thought would mean I’d made it.
The one younger me had imagined as proof that life was working.

But standing there, able to purchase it, another thought appeared — one I had never let surface before:

Why?

Why did I want it?
Who was it for?
Would it make life better — or would it simply look better?

I realised the uncomfortable truth:

I didn’t want the car.
I wanted the feeling I imagined came with it:

• admiration

• approval

• confidence

• status

• worth

But those things aren’t stored in engines or badges.
They can’t be purchased.
Not permanently.

That moment didn’t feel triumphant.
It felt quiet.
Still.
Like a spell had broken.

The more I looked at my life, the more I noticed how many things I owned that promised happiness but delivered only maintenance, cost, and responsibility.

The more I earned, the more I spent.
The more I spent, the more I needed to earn.
The more I owned, the more my possessions demanded from me — time, money, attention, stress.

It wasn’t wealth.
It was captivity dressed as success.

And so, without fanfare or announcements, something inside me shifted.

I didn’t want to perform a successful life.
I wanted to live one.

Not minimalism.
Not deprivation.
Just a life that worked.

A home that restored me.
Possessions that were useful, reliable, and enough.
Money that bought freedom instead of pressure.
Time I didn’t have to apologise for wasting.

The philosophy grew from there — one quiet realisation at a time:

Happiness wasn’t a destination.
It was a design.

A design based on function.
Intelligence.
Purpose.
Calm.

Life felt lighter.
Cleaner.
More human.

I called this way of living Utilitarian — not because it was cold or strict, but because it was humane.
Because it removed noise and revealed clarity.
Because it offered a gentler way to exist in a world that constantly demands more.

Today, I teach this philosophy not as a theory, but as a lived experience.

I don’t believe anyone is meant to spend their life chasing status, working to maintain possessions they barely use, or feeling exhausted by the weight of their own home.

You don’t need to impress strangers.
You don’t need to upgrade your identity.
You don’t need a bigger life.

You need a life that fits.
One that works.
One that gives more than it takes.

That is the heart of I Am Utilitarian.

A movement for people who want clarity instead of clutter.
Freedom instead of pressure.
Confidence without display.
A calm, elegant, intelligent way to live.

If this resonates quietly somewhere inside you —
if you’ve ever felt tired of the noise —
you are already one of us.

I am utilitarian.
Perhaps, quietly, you are too.