Here’s how Richard’s* lavish lifestyle broke down when he realized he was in over his head. as a senior financial executive, his annual income was $800,000, which, after tax, left him with $440,000 to cover expenses. On his 5,500-square-foot Rosedale home, he had a $1.4-million mortgage, plus operating costs—$150,000 a year in total. Private school for his four kids (ages 10 to 16) exceeded $70,000. In a good year, when there weren’t too many repairs, his Georgian Bay cottage ate up $40,000. Lease payments on his Mercedes and his wife’s Jaguar added up to $30,000. And all of the above required insurance, which cost him $25,000. Then there were clothes—which for his well-dressed family of six meant $75,000 in bills. And dinners out twice a week at Toronto’s best restaurants easily ran up a tab of $30,000. A monthly statement from his wife’s grocery account at Pusateri’s sometimes topped $1,200. A $25,000 two-week family holiday in Antigua over the Christmas holidays was a given. Plus, Richard had made commitments to charitable organizations to the tune of $20,000 annually. And to top it all off, the family’s golden retriever, Barney, needed a $4,000 hip replacement. So five years ago, when the multi-billion-dollar company where he worked unexpectedly collapsed and the stock price plummeted to zero, he found himself with no income, faced with the bewildering prospect of scaling back. The first decision was the easiest: it was more important for Richard and his wife to keep their children in private school than to hang on to the home. They sold their stately mansion and moved into a rental property, deflecting attention away from the house’s smaller size by choosing the equally desirable neighbourhood of Forest Hill.

Richard viewed his memberships at the York Club and the Maple Leaf Cricket Club (combined dues $8,000) as too professionally important to give up. The vacation was an easy sacrifice. “It was simple: we couldn’t afford it,” he says. They kept the cottage, despite the fact that it had become an extravagance. It represented so much for them—the ideal social setting for the elite.

Today, sitting in his airy, peppermint green living room with off-white wainscotting, amid antique reproduction tables cluttered with family photographs in sterling silver frames, he looks as if he’s never had a financial worry in his life. He’s dressed in a tweed jacket and Hermès tie, and when he speaks, his voice reveals that elusive Canadian patrician inflection. Although his new position at a small brokerage firm guarantees him some professional security, he still remains financially stretched. He continues to pay off the debts accumulated during his two-year period of unemployment.

He knows he can’t prevent his peers from gossiping; the saga, after all, was played out in public. His wife felt stigmatized. When she wore last season’s suits to big-ticket charity functions, people noticed. And it’s not as if she could confide in anyone. Her social circle was composed of old-money types who weren’t affected by the tenuous nature of the financial business. “Those who are fast to judge tend to be the ones who’ve inherited lots. Meanwhile, they’ve never had a mortgage,” Richard says, sounding stung.

His predicament is played out to varying degrees across the city all the time. As Canada’s richest region, the GTA is a breeding ground for public displays of affluence. Our acquisitive culture is fuelled by the economy. With interest rates low and housing prices high, we’re using credit to support lifestyles we can’t afford. A CIBC World Markets report released in September states that Canadians are spending more than they earn. And savings? Back in 1995, Canadians saved 9.2 per cent of their income. Now our savings are at minus 0.5 per cent. You no longer have to be upper-middle class to live that way.

The pressure for Richard didn’t ease up, not even when he scaled back his lifestyle to keep his three daughters at Bishop Strachan School and his son at Royal St. George’s College. Aside from books, uniforms and school trips, his kids felt entitled to the same clothes and gadgets as their privileged friends. “You work hard to put them in that atmosphere, and the price you pay is that the kids come back and say, ‘How come we can’t do this or that?’ ” he explains. Has it ever been this hard to keep up with the Joneses?

*Some names and identifying details have been changed