When Nikki Saryan called one of her former sugar daddies in March, she wanted to talk about money, just not in the way he expected. Though there was a time when she pulled in $20,000 a month and was treated to first-class trips to New York City, Saryan now needed investment advice.
Specifically, Saryan wanted to know what stocks to buy, “like where exactly I should safely put my money or if I should even put it in the stock market at all,” she tells WIRED. Instead, her sugar daddy, a finance guy in his late sixties, suggested a slow-growing, low-risk investment account with Charles Schwab that would be a safer bet than Wall Street. Considering that a Truth Social post by President Donald Trump can cause global markets to rise and fall in an instant, he might have a point.
“He told me not to invest in any stock right now, to calm down and relax, because everything is kind of going to shit at the moment,” she says.
During this latest economic downturn, where the cost of living has spiked for everyone and hiring is at a historic, pandemic-era low, sugar relationships—arrangements where one person provides financial support and gifts in exchange for romantic companionship—have, for some, become an essential survival strategy. But the sugar being exchanged is no longer just monthly allowances and luxury travel, it’s also financial expertise.
Saryan, who is 30 and lives in Los Angeles, doesn’t typically ask for advice—she gives it. On TikTok, where she posts under the moniker SugarBabyBestie, she teaches women how to make a quick buck, dispensing knowledge on the best sugaring websites and how to avoid scammers. “It is kind of like playing a game of chess,” she says of the lifestyle. Her former daddy’s suggestion of an investment account initially caught her off guard, but she was ultimately receptive to the idea. “It’s growing slowly,” she says of her money, “but it’s still growing.”
Fraught economic conditions have also dried up spending for many sugar daddies. The shift has created something of a sugar recession, where there is now a diminishing demand and a surplus of supply.
“In this economy, I’ve stopped sugaring,” says Brian, a daddy in his forties who works in tech and who, like many of the sources in this story citing professional reasons, asked to be identified only by his first name. “Trump’s tariffs did not help, and now we see the rise of AI. The truly wealthy will be unaffected and will continue, but I think life is about to change for the entire class of low-level millionaires who make up the majority of [sugar daddies]. In reality, there is just a lot less money to shower beautiful women with.”
And even for the daddies who don’t have to pare down their spending, despite inflation and the rising cost of goods, not everyone wants to pay top dollar anymore. “Just because men can afford to pay more, that doesn’t necessarily translate to a higher amount of money that they’re willing to provide,” says Will, a Milwaukee-based accountant and daddy in his forties. “You don’t see Jeff Bezos going to Starbucks and paying $100 for a $5 cup of coffee just because he can afford it. We’re seeing a little bit of that in the sugar bowl.”
Roxanne, a 42-year-old Denver resident, has had a dozen arrangements in her 20 years of being a sugar baby. The effect that the political environment has had on the lifestyle has changed everything, she says. “For women who rely on sugaring solely as their source of income, the impact has been hard. They have been forced to find other means of income, sometimes taking on more than one sugar daddy, working multiple ‘vanilla’ jobs, or even turning to full-on prostitution.”
That is one of the reasons Saryan is determined to make her money work for her. Social media platforms are now littered with creators glamorizing a soft life that showcases a world of jet-setting and high-end living. She says women have flooded her TikTok DMs with questions on how to get into the lifestyle. “I completely understand where they’re coming from, because I’ve been in that situation,” she says. “I love being spoiled. I love getting money. And I feel like there’s nothing wrong with that.”
In one discussion on r/sugarlifestyleforum in late March, the discourse shifted from luxury travel to dividend-yielding allowances and financial planning. “Ask him to build you a CLO … I’d melt if I got that request,” posted one user, referring to collateralized loan obligations, which provide high-income, risk-adjusted returns at a low interest rate that The New York Times once called “one of the hottest investments on Wall Street.”
Will likes to share savings and investment knowledge. In previous arrangements, where he doled out $2,000 monthly allowances, “I would push them toward a Roth IRA. Or I would give them my two cents about what they should contribute in their own 401(k), and where they should direct their money to within the funds that are within their 401(k).” He considers those moves pragmatic financial hedges.
“My arrangements always had some sort of ‘bonus’ in help,” Roxanne says. “One sent me to a class specifically about financial stability and planning. One tried to educate me on the stock market, but it didn’t stick.”
Tim, a tech entrepreneur in his mid-fifties who lives near Toronto, is old-school when it comes to his arrangements—investment advice should be additive and never replace actual money. As he sees it, sugar babies are assets with a guaranteed social ROI. He’s a big believer in weekly allowances and has paid upwards of $800 a week in previous arrangements. “If you’re attempting to replace a paycheck, well, then you should be replacing her paycheck.”
Tim sold his company a few years back and is now working on a sugar dating app of his own. “I was relatively successful. I’ve done all right for myself. So I’m happy to help when it comes to financial advice. But it’s like that Beatles song,” he says, referring to “Money (That’s What I Want).” “Your love won’t pay the bills. So your investment advice won’t pay the bills either.”
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