It seems almost self-evident that having more choices makes us better off. A supermarket offering fifty varieties of jam surely serves its customers more generously than one offering five; a career with a hundred possible paths appears richer than one with a handful. Freedom of choice, after all, is among the most cherished values of modern societies, and the expansion of choice has long been treated as a straightforward measure of progress. Yet a substantial body of research in psychology and behavioural economics has begun to complicate this comfortable assumption, suggesting that beyond a certain point, more choice may actually diminish our wellbeing rather than enhance it.

The phenomenon, sometimes called “the paradox of choice”, rests on a deceptively simple observation. When the number of options grows very large, the act of choosing becomes more difficult, more time-consuming and, crucially, more anxiety-inducing. In one much-cited study, shoppers presented with a small selection of jams were considerably more likely to make a purchase than those confronted with an extensive display. The larger array attracted more interest, but it also, it seems, paralysed the very customers it was designed to tempt. Faced with an overwhelming range of possibilities, many people simply walked away empty-handed.

Why should abundance produce such a counter-intuitive effect? Part of the explanation lies in the mental effort that comparison demands. Each additional option must be weighed against the others, and as the alternatives multiply, this calculation rapidly becomes exhausting. But there is a subtler, more corrosive mechanism at work as well. When we choose from a vast range and are subsequently disappointed, we are far more inclined to blame ourselves, reasoning that with so many options available, the fault for a poor decision must be our own. Regret, and the anticipation of regret, thus grows in proportion to the number of paths we might have taken.

It would be a mistake, however, to conclude that choice is inherently undesirable. The research does not suggest that we would be happier with no options at all; the misery of genuine deprivation is not in question. Rather, it points to the existence of a threshold beyond which the benefits of additional choice are outweighed by its psychological costs. Where exactly that threshold lies varies from person to person and from situation to situation, which is precisely what makes the problem so resistant to easy solutions.

The implications extend well beyond the supermarket shelf. In an age that presents us with unprecedented freedom in matters ranging from careers and relationships to the smallest details of daily consumption, the suspicion that limitless choice may not be an unmixed blessing is quietly unsettling. Some thinkers have gone so far as to argue that a degree of self-imposed limitation u2013 deliberately restricting our own options u2013 may be one of the keys to contentment in a world that offers, at least in principle, almost everything. It is a conclusion that runs directly counter to the spirit of the times, and perhaps for that very reason, it deserves our attention.