Watching an Argentinian show, Envidiosa, I found myself uncomfortably confronted by its protagonist Vicky, a 40-year-old woman whose decade-long relationship crumbles, leaving her desperate for love, self-acceptance, and conventional markers of happiness that elude her grasp. The show is positioned as a funny romantic comedy. But what struck me was how accurately it reflects our own capacity for corrosive envy.
Vicky longs for marriage, children, and the family she’s dreamed of since her father left in childhood. As her friends reach the milestones she craves, she cannot rejoice, her envy rooted in old wounds more than malice. Despite being surrounded by loving family and friends, she is unable to transcend her myopic self-absorption or toxic behaviour. The show’s genius lies in its unflinching portrayal of how envy can transform us into creatures we barely recognise.
There exists a Vicky within each of us. Mercifully, most of us manage to keep our impulses in check. Anyone claiming immunity from envy’s sting would be lying or lacking in self-awareness.
The theme of envy has always haunted art and literature. From Shakespeare’s tormented Othello to Euripides’ vengeful Medea, from Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca to Edvard Munch’s lesser-known painting Jealousy—which depicted his friend against an Adam and Eve backdrop, allegedly inspired by Munch’s affair with the man’s wife—art has consistently explored this destructive emotion. Louisa May Alcott’s domestic classic Little Women features Amy burning her sister Jo’s manuscript, demonstrating that envy need not be romantic to be devastating.
Experts draw a distinction between envy and jealousy. Envy arises when someone else possesses something we lack yet desire. It is dyadic: between the self and the other. Jealousy, on the other hand, is triangular. It involves the fear of losing something we believe to be rightfully ours, such as a partner’s affection, to a rival. But whether we name them envy or jealousy, I think of them as close cousins.
In our hyper-connected digital age, envy has only intensified. The curated lives of others are constantly on display, leaving us exposed to the dangerous illusion that everyone else is happier, more successful, more fulfilled.
Yet envy isn’t inherently destructive. Like anger or sadness, it serves as emotional data, revealing our deepest desires and insecurities. But we must learn to manage it. Left unchecked, envy destroys relationships, blinds us to our own blessings, leaving us perpetually dissatisfied.
The antidote requires conscious effort: cultivating gratitude, staying mindful of our emotional responses, and developing genuine empathy for others’ journeys. Though clichéd, consistently acknowledging and focusing on what we already have restores perspective, reminding us of the abundance in our lives.
If we fail to do so, we risk ending up like Vicky, unhappy, dissatisfied, and derailed. Envy will always be with us. What matters is what we let it make of us.