We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful (And If They’re Scottish, It’s Even Worse): The Envy Of Friends' Success

Success. It’s a tricky, fickle thing. One minute, you’re congratulating your pal on getting that promotion. The next, you’re realizing that they’re pulling up to brunch in a Tesla, talking about their latest vacation home in the South of France. And if they’re Scottish? Well, that just stirs the pot. Because, let’s be honest, there’s something particularly stinging about watching someone with whom you’ve shared a pint and some good-natured cynicism start prattling on about investments, angel funding, or worse—self-care retreats in Ibiza.

We’ve all been there: nodding politely, summoning all our inner generosity as we listen to a friend’s latest accomplishment. But here’s the catch. When that friend is Scottish, the whole “I’m so happy for you” act has to weather another layer of… well, complex cultural baggage. Because in Scotland, success isn’t just applauded or envied. No, it’s dissected, grilled, and—in true Scottish form—sometimes mocked, mostly behind closed doors, with a wry smile and a knowing nod.

The Scottish Ambivalence Toward Success

Here’s the thing: Scottish culture is practically built on humility and suspicion of anyone getting “too big for their boots.” Historically, Scotland’s heroes aren’t flashy, loud, or overtly ambitious—they’re grounded, resilient, a bit skeptical of anyone claiming too much importance. It’s a culture that values the underdog, the gritty grafter. Someone who puts their head down, does the work, and would rather cut off an arm than brag about it.

So when a Scottish friend starts climbing the ranks and flaunting their wins, it triggers something deep, something primal. It’s not that you’re not happy for them; it’s just that you’re Scottish, and happiness for other people’s achievements comes with an undercurrent of “Aye, but don’t get carried away.”

Take Gus, for instance. Gus is the kind of person who’d once scoff at anyone who so much as used the word “networking.” But then Gus moved to London, started rubbing shoulders with finance types, and now he’s got a wardrobe of crisp shirts and a LinkedIn profile that looks suspiciously… curated. Now, he’s back in Edinburgh for a visit, ordering artisanal gin, talking about “portfolio diversification,” and you’re sitting there thinking, “Is this the same Gus who once split a kebab with me on a park bench at 3 a.m.?”

The Art of the Backhanded Compliment

In Scotland, success is best served with a healthy side of sarcasm and downplaying. Praise is a delicate thing here—it’s meted out in doses so small that, in other parts of the world, it would barely register as a compliment. In Scotland, however, a sincere “not bad” or “you’ll do” is the equivalent of a full standing ovation.

But here’s where it gets sticky. If your friend gets too shiny, too successful, they may find themselves at the receiving end of that classic, passive-aggressive Scottish compliment—the backhanded compliment. Imagine Gus, freshly promoted, telling you about his latest job perks. You smile, raise your glass, and say, “Och, well, look at you, Mister Big Shot. Don’t forget us wee folk when you’re off buying the Highlands, eh?”

That’s just how it’s done. Scottish friends keep each other grounded, sometimes by force. We dole out reminders that success should be kept on a leash, lest it run wild and embarrass us all. It’s not that we’re jealous (not entirely). It’s more that we feel a responsibility to keep each other from tumbling into the abyss of self-congratulatory nonsense.

The Social Media Brag: A Scotsman’s Minefield

There’s another layer to this, of course, and it’s spelled out in all its glory on social media. If your friend starts broadcasting their success on Instagram or LinkedIn, it gets even worse. Scots on social media have to walk a very fine line. Too many #blessed posts, and you risk being quietly but thoroughly judged by everyone you went to primary school with. There’s an unspoken rule: You can succeed, but for heaven’s sake, don’t flaunt it.

Picture Gus again. There he is, posting about his new startup’s funding round. But instead of the obligatory “humble brag,” Gus goes full #grateful with a filtered photo of his new co-working space in Canary Wharf. The caption? Something nauseatingly cheerful like, “Hard work pays off! Here’s to the next chapter. #hustle #blessed.” The Scots scrolling past just purse their lips and mutter, “Oh aye, Gus, pure ‘blessed’ now, are we?”

In Scotland, there’s no quicker way to court eye rolls than by taking yourself too seriously. We come from a culture where self-deprecation is the norm and where broadcasting success too loudly feels like inviting disaster. Any time a Scottish friend starts inching toward the influencer zone, we can feel ourselves tensing up, wondering when they’ll return to earth.

The Taboo of Self-Improvement

Then there’s the ultimate offense: self-improvement. Nothing draws more suspicion than a friend who becomes successful and then starts preaching the gospel of self-optimization. Because let’s be honest, in Scotland, self-improvement is largely viewed with suspicion. To be Scottish is to believe that you’re just fine the way you are—slightly flawed, a bit rough around the edges, but proud of it.

So when Gus starts talking about his morning meditation routine or the power of visualization, we can’t help but feel a bit betrayed. Gus used to be the guy who thought an early night meant 1 a.m. And now he’s here, sipping matcha lattes, talking about mindfulness. “Next, he’ll be telling us he does yoga,” we mutter, “with Gwyneth Paltrow.”

The Thin Line Between Envy and Pride

Here’s the thing, though: as much as we might poke fun, roll our eyes, and deliver a steady stream of passive-aggressive comments, there’s a strange, underlying pride in seeing a Scottish friend make it big. It’s the paradox of Scottish culture—where success is viewed with a mix of suspicion and genuine admiration. Sure, we’ll laugh at Gus’s hashtags and begrudge him his fancy London loft. But deep down, there’s something uplifting about seeing one of our own break through, if only because it reminds us of what’s possible.

Because beneath the sarcasm and the backhanded compliments, we do want our friends to succeed. We just want them to stay grounded, to keep a bit of that old Scottish grit intact. We want them to remember where they came from, to understand that true success doesn’t require renouncing the quirks and imperfections that made them who they are. And if they stray too far, we’re here to lovingly, sarcastically reel them back in.

The Envy of Friends' Success: So, Do We Really Hate It?

The envy of friends' success. At the end of the day, do we hate it when our friends become successful? Maybe, a little. But not for the reasons you’d think. We don’t hate the success itself—we hate the feeling that it might change them. We hate the idea that the Gus we knew, who used to complain about the price of a pint, might disappear into a world of expense accounts and networking events. And, okay, maybe we hate that he’s somehow gotten the hang of LinkedIn.

But here’s the truth: for all the jokes, all the jabs, all the eye rolls, we’re proud of Gus. We’re proud that he made it, that he’s doing well. And we know that if he ever starts to take himself too seriously, we’ll be right here to bring him down a peg or two, with a pint, a smirk, and a good old-fashioned Scottish slagging.

Because that’s friendship, the Scottish way.

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