Why I Feel Awkward Eating at High-End Restaurants — Even Now

A heartfelt personal story of food, class, and self-worth. Why high-end restaurants still make me feel out of place despite changing times.

I step out of the house all dressed up, feeling confident and radiant. My hair’s done and my outfit’s carefully picked. I’m excited for a date night with my husband. He's been raving about this place for a very long time. 

But the moment I enter the high-end restaurant, something shifts. That quiet, unsettling feeling creeps in again, like I don’t belong here. I wish I could say it doesn’t happen anymore. But truthfully, I still feel awkward eating at high-end restaurants.

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Why I Feel Awkward Eating at High-End Restaurants — Even Now

The food? Absolutely delicious. The company? Usually, someone I love. And yet, something deep inside me whispers: You don’t belong here.

Growing Up Frugal 

I grew up in a simple, middle-class household. In my home, food was about nourishment and love, not luxury. We never dined out at fancy places. In fact, even going to McDonald's for an Aloo Tikki burger was a rare luxury.

My first visit to McDonald’s wasn’t as a child, but as a teenager, and even then, it was because a friend’s dad treated us to Aloo Tikki burgers for his birthday. It was exciting and unfamiliar, but I knew I was out of my element.

Up until college, most of my meals were home-cooked. Eating out was a rarity. And if we did, it was modest: local chaat stalls, simple South Indian tiffin joints, or the occasional thali at a small vegetarian restaurant.

The idea of eating out meant warmth, familiarity, and affordability, not chandeliers, suited waiters, or price tags that made your eyes widen a little. I still remember how special those outings felt, even if the bill never crossed a few hundred rupees.

So, while my life has changed, and I’ve been fortunate enough to experience a more comfortable lifestyle, parts of my mind are still stuck in the past. I still feel lost in those days when restaurant dining meant sharing one dosa between two people and stretching every rupee.

And perhaps that’s where it began — this awareness that some spaces aren’t meant for me. That feeling has stuck around longer than I expected.

The First Brush with Fine Dining

The first time I walked into a five-star buffet, it was complimentary. I tagged along with my uncle and aunt. They happily moved from counter to counter, sampling biryani, pasta, curries, and desserts. I, however, was paralyzed.

I didn’t want to seem greedy. I was afraid of judgment. It felt like I was eating for free and didn’t deserve to indulge.

I hovered near the salad bar and took the safest options: a little soup, a bread roll, some dal-rice, and maybe one dessert. My stomach wanted more. My heart, too. But my mind was busy calculating how not to look like I didn’t belong there.

When Life Changes, the Mind Doesn’t Always Follow

Life has changed since then. I now live a more comfortable life. I’ve grown in many ways. And once in a while, my husband plans beautiful date nights at fancy restaurants, the kind with dim lighting, soft music, and immaculately plated food.

I dress up. I do my hair. I put on makeup. I smile at the mirror before leaving, feeling confident.

But the moment I step in, I shrink.

I sit with my head slightly down. My eyes darting around the room, wondering if anyone’s noticed that I don’t quite fit in. I’m not sure what to do with the three forks on the table. 

I whisper my food order so softly that the waiter asks me to repeat it. I look at the menu and instinctively search for the cheapest dish, even though I can afford to eat here now.

I feel judged, not by others, but by myself. I don't want to "waste money" - a voice I inherited from years of budgeting and making do.

I try to keep my head down. I rush through ordering. I look around and wonder: 

• Am I dressed right? 
• Is my dress too casual?
• Is my hair okay?
• Should I have worn heels instead?
• Why can’t I pronounce this dish?
• Are they looking at how I’m holding my fork?
• Do I even know how to behave here?

No one’s actually paying attention. Most people are lost in their own conversations, focused on their date, or busy enjoying their wine. But anxiety doesn’t rely on logic. It feeds on old wounds and outdated narratives.

It’s Not About the Food — It’s About Belonging

This awkwardness isn’t really about the restaurant. It’s not about the decor or the food. It’s about how I’ve internalized the idea that some things are “not for people like me.”

Even though I’ve worked hard to get here. Even though I’ve earned every bit of my life today. Even though I deserve joy, celebration, and the occasional overpriced dessert.

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It’s a strange feeling to love food so much and yet feel disconnected from the experience of fine dining. I love flavors. I live for good food. There have been times when a single spoonful of something extraordinary has made me forget everything else, including my own awkwardness. That’s the power of food. But I wish I didn’t have to fight my own mind to get to that moment.

My Husband’s Gentle Support

I think my husband notices. And bless him — he tries to make me feel seen, normal, grounded. 

He never says it outright, but I can feel his eyes watching me with concern and care. Sometimes, he’ll reach across the table, hold my hand, and smile, like a quiet reminder that this moment is ours. That we’re allowed to enjoy it.

He’ll crack a joke, tell me how beautiful I look, talk about something silly or just order for both of us to make things easier. His presence often pulls me back. Helps me breathe.

And honestly, there are times I’ve laughed at myself too. Midway through a meal, I’ll realize how silly I’ve been acting. It helps.

But the work of feeling like I belong is still something I have to do from the inside out.

I’ve had meals where the food was so divine, so unexpectedly comforting, that I forgot everything — forgot the napkin rules, the awkward silence, the cost. Just me and a plate of joy. But those moments are still rare.

Is It About Class? Culture? Childhood?

I’ve thought a lot about why I feel this way.

Maybe it’s class anxiety. Maybe it’s the guilt that comes with upward mobility. Maybe it’s the childhood training to be modest, frugal, and “not waste money on fancy things.” Maybe it’s because I never saw anyone in my family dine like this, and so there’s no memory template to fall back on.

Whatever it is, it lingers. It fades slowly — meal by meal, year by year.

Even when you grow, succeed, and "move up," your past doesn’t disappear. Sometimes, it shows up as a lump in your throat in a 5-star restaurant when you wonder whether to use the spoon or the fork first.

Maybe It’s Not About the Restaurants After All

Truth is, I don’t even know what would make me feel truly comfortable at these places. Maybe it’s not about the place, or the lighting, or the etiquette. I feel, it’s about healing that younger version of me, the girl who once felt like luxury was for other people.

What I’d Say to People Who Love Fine Dining

If you’re someone who enjoys fine dining, that’s wonderful. But I hope you know, for some of us, it takes more than just money to walk into a fancy restaurant and feel at ease. It takes unlearning, healing, and a kind of emotional permission we never gave ourselves before.

Please be kind to the quiet girl across the table who’s only eating bread. She might be overwhelmed, not picky. Please don’t judge the guy who mispronounces “quinoa.” He probably grew up calling it something else entirely.

And if you’ve ever felt like I do — know this: you’re not alone.

I don’t know how many people will relate to this. Maybe most have always felt at ease in places like this. Or maybe, just like me, some of you are still learning how to be comfortable in rooms you once felt were never built for you.

To those people: you’re not alone.

If you love food but struggle with the setting, it’s okay. If you feel like you don’t belong in certain spaces even after all these years, it’s not shameful. It’s human.

You don’t need to change who you are to belong somewhere. You just need to let yourself be — exactly as you are — even if you’re still figuring it out.

Final Thoughts

I don’t have a perfect ending to this post. I haven’t “conquered” my discomfort. I still feel awkward in high-end restaurants. But I’m learning to sit with the feeling instead of running from it. I’m learning that I don’t have to change who I am to enjoy where I am.

Maybe next time, I’ll try the dish I really want, without looking at the price.

Food has always been the way to my heart. But learning to feel worthy of the experiences that come with it — that’s been the harder journey.  And maybe, just maybe, writing this is one step toward making peace with that.

Because the girl who once felt too small for such places? She’s sitting at the table now. And little by little, she’s learning to stay.

Have you ever felt out of place at a fancy restaurant? Share your story — I’d love to hear how you’ve navigated those moments!

This post is a part of the Blogchatter Food Fest.