The self-help industry, having long since exhausted every scrap of credible advice, has now pivoted to its most laughable strategy yet: telling you that you can think your way into a mansion.
Yes, according to the high priests and priestesses of “manifestation,” you are but a few positive affirmations away from casually acquiring beachfront property, a Lamborghini, and a body fat percentage only achievable by Victorian consumption patients. All you must do is believe hard enough, vibrate at the correct frequency, and, most importantly, continue to buy their books, workshops, crystals, vision boards, downloadable affirmations, online courses, and chakra-aligned branded merchandise.
Manifesting, you see, is the metaphysical equivalent of sending a letter to Santa Claus, except in this case, you are the jolly bearded fool, the elves are the contents of your own brain stem, and the North Pole is a Pinterest board of luxury real estate listings you will never even tour, let alone own.
You’re instructed to “act as if” you already possess the object of your desires, presumably because nothing confuses the indifferent chaos of the universe quite like Becky from accounting strutting around a studio apartment while loudly pretending to own a yacht. Energy, we are assured, responds to intention. Reality, we are told, rearranges itself around our most deeply felt desires, provided we gaze moodily at a rose quartz long enough and don’t allow any “negative thoughts” to creep in and spoil the soufflé.
How convenient that the only obstacles between you and obscene wealth are invisible, unprovable, and entirely your fault. You didn’t visualize hard enough. You allowed a stray doubt. You failed to vibrate at the precise cosmic pitch that would have summoned a G-Class Mercedes into your driveway like a golden retriever responding to a whistle. And so you are to blame, you pitiful doubter, you faithless cretin. It’s not that the system is nonsense. It’s that you didn’t flap your fairy wings properly.
Meanwhile, the manifesting gurus themselves, astonishingly enough, seem to manifest precisely one thing with reliable, almost supernatural consistency: your money. They don’t vibrate their way into abundance; they market their way into your PayPal account with a ruthlessness that would make a loan shark blush. And you—vibrating valiantly, journaling your gratitude lists with the fervor of a medieval monk—receive in return exactly what you invested: sweet, unadulterated nothing.
One might think that after decades of people manifesting themselves no further than the “spirituality” section of Barnes & Noble, there would be a collective moment of realization, a global chorus of, “Hang on a minute, this is just wishful thinking dressed up in a kaftan.” But no. Like pigeons pecking a button for food pellets that never arrive, the manifesters double down, spending ever more hours broadcasting love vibrations into the universe while their landlords, unimpressed by cosmic frequencies, demand rent in actual, non-energetic currency.
The crowning insult is the assertion that the poor, the sick, the desperate simply failed to wish hard enough. That poverty is a mindset. That terminal illness is a manifestation of negative thinking. That injustice, suffering, systemic failure, centuries of oppression, all would simply evaporate if only the victims would vibe harder. It is a philosophy of supreme narcissism, polished to a high sheen and sold back to its believers at a 300% markup.
You’re not manifesting a mansion. You’re manifesting the slow, spiraling decay of your own common sense. And the only thing less likely than the universe materializing a Ferrari in your driveway is your ability to get a refund from the TikTok “coach” who sold you this magic carpet ride to nowhere.
Luxury homes are not awarded by vibes. They are awarded by inheritance, corporate plunder, insider trading, and—if one is particularly unlucky—backbreaking, soul-annihilating labor. If you think otherwise, you are not manifesting wealth. You are manifesting a future episode of “where are they now” featuring your bankruptcy hearing.