Globalisation & Its Impact On M'sian Youth: The Double-Edged Sword Of Tradition And Trends

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I was in awe of its chic yet timeless design; oh, how I wanted it so badly! The price, though? At RM9,500, I could pay off six months worth of house rent.

As someone who grew up watching Gossip Girl, the epitome of luxurious Upper East Side living, I've always been obsessed with high-end fashion. Blair Waldorf, the show's queen bee, once said, "Fashion is the most powerful art there is."

For me, owning a Louis Vuitton bag feels like a double-edged sword: it might boost my social status, but it would also mean wiping out my savings. Bagaikan pisau bermata dua — a traditional Malay proverb that translates as 'like a double-edged sword' — perfectly captures this predicament.

Luxury brands such as Louis Vuitton combine beauty and distinction with the high price of engaging in global consumer culture. For students like myself, finding balance between budget and desire can be difficult.

Ten years ago, I would go cycling with my neighbours every evening, all of us anticipating the sky to darken, its gradient shifting into an orange-yellowish masterpiece. And there we were — mesmerised, eyes glued to the horizon, as the clouds did their slow dance.

If we lingered too long, we'd either be covered in mosquito bites (the kind that itch for days) or, on the unlucky days, our mothers would unleash our full names in a way that could be heard by the entire neighbourhood.

You know, the kind of scream that sounds like a warning from a distant planet. And then, of course, she'd threaten to come out herself and drag us inside.

Ten years later, things are very different.

My youngest sister, 12 years younger than me, prefers to plop herself onto the sofa the moment she gets home from school. She'll spend hours watching some high-tech gadget-filled show that's all the rage in 2025, where the kids on screen seem to be just as glued to their gadgets as she is.

It's funny how, in just over a decade, the days of outdoor adventures have been replaced with screen-time marathons.

For Malaysian youth, the drive towards  global culture can cause disconnection from local traditions, while also offering new opportunities through multinational ideas and technology.

It's both a risk and a chance. It gives us access to global trends, but can challenge our cultural roots. It is us who must navigate whether globalisation is enhancing or eroding the traditions that shape our identity.

A girl with perfectly curled hair said, "It's an investment, okay?" as she flipped her bangs in slow motion.

Investment. That word stuck with me. I looked up the Dyson right after — RM2,699. Yikes. All that money for a hair tool.

I laughed at first, but somehow, the algorithm knew I didn't mean it. Within a week, my entire For You Page was Dyson demos, GRWM videos, and unboxings of luxury skincare hauls.

It wasn't just content anymore, it had become a wishlist.

The pressure to belong has turned consumption into identity.

For Malaysian youth, it's not just what you wear, but what brand. Not just what phone, but which version. iPhone 13? Okay. iPhone 15 Pro Max? Social currency. Still on Android? Good luck dodging the stares.

Can't afford it? No worries. You can always buy now and pay later. Buy Now, Pay Later (BNPL) apps like Atome and Grab PayLater are the new enablers of this branded dream.

According to the Credit Counselling and Debt Management Agency (AKPK), 47% of Malaysians aged between 20 and 30 struggle with debt due to poor budgeting and excessive online spending, while a 2023 Milieu Insight survey found nearly 60% of Gen Z Malaysians had used BNPL at least once, mostly for fashion, electronics, and skincare.

One afternoon, I was in Pavilion with a friend. She was eyeing a Coach tote — something she'd seen her favourite TikToker wear. The price? RM1,500.

"You think I'm crazy if I split it over three months with Atome?" she asked.

She bought it anyway. Three months later, she was skipping dinner to pay off the third instalment.

When I asked if she regretted it, she said, "A bit. But also, people noticed. I felt... seen."

You begin to associate worth with aesthetics. But what's the price? Sometimes, it's debt. Sometimes, it's anxiety. Sometimes, it's the inner conflict between status and savings.

In Malaysia, where income inequality still runs deep, the aspiration to "look global" comes at a cost, not just financially, but emotionally too.

Two students in the same classroom scroll the same TikTok trends, but only one can afford the Dyson Airwrap. Dreams become purchases. Purchases become pressure. And pressure? It becomes part of growing up.

A few weeks ago, I spent an hour trying to take the "perfect" mirror selfie. Good lighting? Check. Clean background? Check. Natural-but-not-too-natural pose? Triple check. I finally posted it, only to delete it 20 minutes later when it didn't get enough likes.

That's when it hit me: why was I letting a few double taps determine how I felt about myself?

Social media has turned self-worth into a performance. Every post silently shouts: "Look better. Be trendier. Show off more." But what are we really chasing in this glow-up culture?

We've all seen the 'before' and 'after' shots — viral transformations that glorify not just beauty, but a whole new lifestyle. It's troubling how growth is now something that has to be visible, aesthetic. We forget that not all progress can be photographed.

With rising mental health concerns among Malaysian youth, the cost of chasing these ideals is real. Milieu Insight reports that nearly 60% of Malaysian Gen Zs feel stressed by social media expectations. This global pressure adds another layer to local struggles.

I've always been more fluent in English than in Malay. Even now, I occasionally stutter or mispronounce words. But over time, Malay became a bridge back to my roots; a language that once felt foreign now feels like home.

Language is identity. According to the Malaysia Education Blueprint, over 70% of students in urban international schools prefer English for daily communication. As global fluency rises, what happens to local expression?

But it's not all loss. Lately, I've seen youth reinventing tradition.

Kebaya tops with jeans. Songket on red carpets. Local artistes like Lunadira and Noh Salleh mixing Malay lyrics with modern sounds. A 2021 Merdeka Center study found 61% of Malaysian youth view cultural heritage as a source of pride, not a constraint.

During volunteer work with underprivileged children, I saw how Malaysian culture is still lived and loved. They sang classic Malay songs, bonded across race, and cherished tradition.

So, is globalisation erasing culture? Not necessarily. Malaysian culture isn't fading; it's evolving. And evolution is not loss — it's resilience.

For Malaysian youth, it's about more than trade or GDP.

It's about feeling seen in a fast world that sells dreams in 15-second reels. It's the pride of wearing batik and the thrill of owning a Coach tote on instalment. It's balancing tradition with trend, and roots with relevance.

Perhaps the answer lies not in choosing between them, but in learning to carry both, gracefully. Maybe I still want that LV tote. But now, I want to carry it with pride in both who I am, and where I come from.

Anna Natasha is a post-SPM graduate who studied at Tunku Kurshiah College.

She is an artsy soul fueled by caramel lattes, and lives for theatre, orchestra, yoga, and meaningful chats that spark joy and connection. Aside from her love for theatre and reading about economics, she also has a deep passion for writing.