Do you feel judged for how much money you have?

More than a third of Australians feel judged for their wealth (or lack thereof), the nationally representative Australia Talks National Survey found.

But only 8 per cent of us "strongly" agreed that others were casting judgment on their cash flow.

Another 40 per cent felt free from the contempt (or approval) of their fellow Australians, while 20 per cent were neutral.

Unsurprisingly, the poor were likely to feel judged for their wealth. But the rich were right behind them, with middle-income earners feeling less scrutinised.

Status anxiety peaks in middle age, and is considerably higher among non-white Australians, particularly those who've settled in Australia in the past 10 years.

What's going on? Class system? Status anxiety? Envy of the rich? Disgust at the poor?

Probably all of that and then some.

We may not judge, but we notice

What society doesn't talk about money? Of course Australians talk about money. Of course we notice what money others have. But do we judge people on that? Sometimes.

Describe welfare as a burden and those on it as a problem, you're judging that their situation is their fault and they could do something about it.

Snort at the multi-million-dollar salaries of CEOs, you're making a judgement that it's not deserved.

If we celebrate and respect the wealthy and successful — a Mike Cannon Brookes, a Cate Blanchett or an Ash Barty — then we are making a judgement that they've earned it and deserve it.

And perhaps part of our admiration for firefighters, nurses and teachers is we know they're not stacking it away and we offer them respect accordingly.

We do judge, but this question asked whether we feel judged and perhaps really most of us don't.

But don't think that means we don't notice. Because it's not hard in Australia to figure out if you've got the dough and those who've got it don't mind flaunting it.

Even when we consider those areas that used to be thought of as classless and where we all mixed together; the footy, the beach and the racetrack, there was always a stark difference.

High and low-born, rich and poor were all at the Melbourne Cup or the cricket on the same afternoon, but we'd be in different stands.

At the beach, we're all frolicking between the flags together, but once we go up and wash the sand from our feet, there's a big difference between those heading to the caravan park and those walking up to a beach house on the ridge.

We may all swim together between the flags but once we leave it's a different story. ( Audience submitted: David Stefanoff )

These days, a prominent architect might have been called into the beach house, to create a space that speaks to the Australian beach tradition while maintaining a dialogue with the landscape and the ocean.

This is where a partner in a law firm holidays with his spouse, pulling up in a BMW X5 with a hand-crafted paddle board on top and $10,000 worth of road bike on the back. (The kids won't be down 'til next week; they're skiing in Japan with school friends.)

Meanwhile, no-one at the caravan park is worried about the dialogue their Jayco is having with the estuary. Their kids are all there already and are out at the back beach on K-mart soft foams.

There may not be much judgement going on and we may all be at the surf club together but we notice the status markers.

Property is hard to hide.

A true Sydneysider will know the median prices for not just your suburb but your street. How long you've been there tells them how many property boom-and-bust cycles you've survived and whether you're coming out ahead.

Few among the poorest 40 per cent own homes, which means they haven't benefitted from the large rise in house values. ( Reuters: Daniel Munoz )

Cars are a clue but can be misleading: many a brutish HiLux and Ford Ranger is owned by a hedge-fund manager with masculinity issues. Struggling real-estate salesmen will keep the lease going on a high-end Merc, believing that to pull the "Open For Inspection" board from the boot of anything less will dent their credibility.

The only certainty is that anyone driving a lime-green Lamborghini is a legally dubious Sydney nightclub owner or a disgraced former-deputy mayor.

(Both are common descriptions now for those who were once known in NSW as "colourful Sydney racing identities". Or for shorthand, "known to Kate McClymont".)

Clothing and accessories — these can be judged by cognoscenti. I know people, mainly women, who can spot a fake Prada bag across a crowded ristorante, pick Paspaley from plastic at a glance and name the surgeon responsible for the lips and tits — all while ordering a negroni and a plate of vegan antipasto.

Some men can pick watches and shoes, every teenager can price a sneaker, every kid knows which of their peers has the full Harry Potter Lego, not just enough to make a wand.

In Australia, the wealthy do tend to display their wealth.

Going overseas (or abroad) was once only the province of the wealthy. It took a lifetime's saving to go on a Women's Weekly cruise.

Before the arrival of the Jumbo Jet in the early 1970s, a plane ticket to London was the equivalent of $30,000. That was also the price of a house.

Now we all travel, but the details matter.

I can go to Bali with the footy team to get smashed in Kuta, or to a yoga retreat in Ubud, or to a new piece of terraced mountainside yet to be discovered by the riotous hens weekends.

Even when we do the drive around Australia, if we can afford the top-end HiLux and a Mcmansion-esque caravan when we decide to girt the nation, we will. You're not going to do it in a Camry wagon and Kathmandu tent if you can arrive at Monkey Mia with a self-composting toilet, a hot shower and a solar rig that connects you to Netflix.

What we have and do is a clear indicator of our wealth. ( Pixabay: bridgesward )

The bottom line

We are more comfortable with displaying wealth than we once were. More of us have more stuff.

At either end, perhaps the judgement has sharpened. We are kind of proud of our mega-wealthy — "Look, our billionaires have big yachts too".

And we are less forgiving of those without — "Look, I worked hard and no-one gave me a handout".

But if most are not feeling judged, then perhaps that's to do with our colonial history.

Australia has never had the equivalent of a European aristocracy — generations of inherited capital and property, or the notion of the American dream, where we can all aspire to have a hotel chain and be president.

Our aspiration was more muted. The wealthy were encouraged to mix. The middle and lower class were not cowed by wealth and status.

So now, even though the wealthy whoosh by in their large, black-tinted-window SUV, while others struggle to make the payments on the ute they need for work, perhaps we don't habitually judge one another.

But it's hard to say if that historical egalitarianism can survive a 21st-century mix of social media display and an ever-widening income disparity.

The Australia Talks National Survey asked 54,000 Australians about their lives and what keeps them up at night. Use our interactive tool to see the results and how their answers compare with yours — available in English, simplified Chinese, Arabic and Vietnamese.

Then, join Annabel Crabb as she takes you through some of the most surprising and exciting insights with Waleed Aly on the Australia Talks TV special on iview.