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I am a big fan of the concept of a little treat. A pastry from your favourite market on a Friday morning, an unexpected slice of pizza, a bag of chips stuck to the brown paper with grease and vinegar, a little chocolate with your flat white. I love a little treat, I deserve a little treat and so do you.
There is something charmingly human about the concept of a little treat. A morsel of something sweet or savoury, unassuming in size or cost, yet immense in its ability to delight and soothe. A little treat can bring a fleeting sense of control to your day and provide some relief from the chaos of life.
The start of a new year, for many, is a time for great change and hope, filled with plans, goals and resolutions. It’s a time of austerity, self-imposed or otherwise. Into the boxes filled with Christmas décor we pack away the decadence of December, trading it for celery juice cleanses, gym programmes and the relentless pursuit of self-improvement. Indulgence of all kind is out, mindful monitoring and goal orientation is in. Treats firmly fall in the ‘out’ bin but is it any wonder we crave little treats more than ever this time of year? The dark days of winter stretch out endlessly, the world feels cold and grey and the sparkle of the holidays is a distant memory. This time of year is exactly when we should focus on the things that bring us joy and allow space for rest, which Mother Nature demands of us.
In an era of overstimulation, endless scrolling and information overload, small pleasures help us to reclaim a sense of being, focus and mindfulness.
According to the internet, “a little treat is a small, affordable, everyday luxury; like popping into a café for an iced coffee, taking a break from work to grab something sweet or giving yourself time to do any little act of self-care you so wish.” Diving a little deeper, the Premack Principle which dates back to the ‘60s states: “if you pair a less preferred activity with a more highly preferred activity or reinforcer, then you’re more likely to do that less preferred activity.” Basically, a little treat is an incentive.
Its appeal lies in its ability to trigger the brain’s reward system. Treating ourselves, even in small ways, releases dopamine. In an era of overstimulation, endless scrolling and information overload, small pleasures help us to reclaim a sense of being, focus and mindfulness. Even the phrase “treat yourself” has become synonymous with self-compassion; a reminder that it’s okay, even necessary, to carve out moments of joy in a world that often demands sacrifice and endurance. It is a ritual, a time to just be.
“Little treats make long days more bearable and can be little celebrations for accomplishments,” says food journalist Vritti Bansa. “However, the meaning of a little treat has changed for me, from being a reward for finishing a task to something I inherently deserve. It feels self-indulgent to say so, but I’ve grown to believe that enjoying my favourite food shouldn’t be conditional. The opposite implies that I’m depriving myself of something I otherwise like and we all need to be kinder to ourselves. I usually pick a guilty pleasure for a little treat — like fries or ice cream. Although recently, I’ve been enjoying them even if I haven’t accomplished anything.”
Not all little treats are seen this way. When men indulge in small treats, be it craft beer or a fancy steak, it’s usually celebrated as refined or well-earned. When women do the same, especially in domains associated with food or self-care, it’s infantilised or treated as wasteful and overindulgent. In the same way, if men indulge in something that’s considered feminine, they are often criticised. In a patriarchal society, anything associated with femininity is seen as lesser. Indulgence is acceptable for men—so long as it aligns with traditional masculine ideals.
The moment that little treats veers into territory deemed feminine, like a pink drink, it becomes a source of shame, a transgression of the unwritten rules of masculinity which command that men must be strong, practical and impervious to the desire for little treats. Even the language used to describe women’s indulgences is often tinged with judgment. A man’s treat might be called a “reward,” while a woman’s is more likely to be described as a “guilty pleasure.” The implication is clear: men’s joys are rational and justified, women’s are frivolous and shameful.
None of this is anything new. The little treat harks back to rituals of reward and celebration that are deeply ingrained in human culture. Across societies and centuries, food has been used as a marker of milestones, a means of connection and celebration and a way to symbolise abundance, good fortune and well wishes, often even when abundance itself was scarce. To me, the little treat is a modern manifestation of this tradition, distilled into a single bite.
In more modern times, many would agree that the little treat thrives in times of uncertainty. The concept of “affordable luxury” has been well-documented in times of financial strain; The lipstick effect is a theory that spending on small indulgences such as a lovely lipstick increases during periods of recession, something I have seen twice now in my lifetime. A €5 coffee, a €6 croissant or a box of premium chocolates. These indulgences feel accessible, even when larger luxuries remain out of reach.
In a world increasingly aware of sustainability and the excesses of late capitalism, the little treat feels almost more ethical than a big splurge. It’s small, intentional and often artisanal. It’s about quality over quantity: a single perfect cookie rather than a cheap pack of many.
Joy doesn’t have to be grandiose to be profound.
On platforms like TikTok and Instagram, the little treat has become a star. Videos of pastries being pulled apart or the satisfying snap of a chocolate bar are digital-age food porn. Because of this appreciation of the aesthetics of little treats, many are now being tailor-made for social media, where beauty and brevity reign supreme. Consider local viral trends of Roots Marshmallow Bomb hot chocolate for one and Russell Street Bakery’s stuff croissant wheels. Businesses are crafting little treats with the camera in mind.
Adding to this, this global stage has also allowed local little treats to transcend cultural boundaries, reaching global treat hunters’ eyeballs. French patisseries, Hong Kong toast, Japanese mochi, Italian gelato—all of these are celebrated and shared, creating a sense of connection through culinary delights. Equally, global audiences know where to get the best spice bag or pint of Guinness in Dublin. We all love to watch the experiences of others online, which is why people-first content reigns supreme in TikTok and a more brand and consumption-focused Instagram has fallen behind. So it makes sense, that in a divided world, the little treat can become a unifying force, a reminder that pleasure is universally sought out and universally understood.
As we step into 2025, it’s clear that little treat culture is not going anywhere. If anything, it’s evolving. It’s a reminder that joy doesn’t have to be grandiose to be profound. And perhaps, in its smallness, it offers a way to navigate the bigness of the world, a tiny anchor in turbulent times. If there is a lesson to be learned from little treat culture, it’s this: joy is not a luxury; it’s a necessity. A biscuit with your tea, a slice of cake on a dreary afternoon or even a moment of savouring the first bite of something warm and comforting—these are not guilty pleasures. They are small acts of self-care, of rebellion against a world that often feels relentless in its demands.
Reclaim the treat. Dismantle the shame. Allow yourself the pleasure of a moment that is just for you—a moment that reminds you that joy is not only allowed, it’s essential. If that joy comes in the form of a little treat, all the better. The next time the weight of the world feels unbearable, remember this: you can’t fix everything. But you can have a little treat.