No one wants to be perceived as rich in 2024. It’s cool to be anti-capitalist, billionaires are what’s wrong with the world, and rich kids are vapid, boring and insensitive anyway. But it wasn’t always like this.
Recently, my 17-year-old housemate said the thought that being rich once made you popular was insane.
“When I see that in old movies I’m like what the fuck are you talking about?” she mused.
Nowadays – in a twisted reversal of the 2000s desperation to exaggerate wealth by flinging a Louis Vuitton knockoff over your shoulder and hiring a limousine to take you to prom – being seen as a rich kid will cause more aversion among your peers than praise.
In Lee’s words: “having a struggle is a currency for popularity”.
It’s not a new turn-of-phrase to flippantly say you’re “broke” in conversation, or to not-so-subtly indicate that you’re unwilling to crack into your savings. It’s an easy term to throw around that no one can really fact-check or disprove. But the use of the word broke is developing a more insidious undertone, as brokeness – or cultivating the image of poverty and struggle – broaches on becoming a status symbol.
More often than not, those spouting the line “I’m sooo broke” actually have a regular income. They’re people who did extra-curricular bass classes all through school or whose parents have a house on a beach somewhere.
Often those truly struggling – ie, unable to scrape $80 together each week to feed their families – aren’t jumping to publicise it.
A fascinating sub-genre of faux-broke bitch is the art school student wanting to perpetuate the time-old starving artist stereotype. So they take up in shitty little flats, consume only cigarettes, black coffee and muesli, and accessorise their Rick Owens jacket with stained $2 tank tops.
Fashion and identity are inextricably linked and emerging trends are indicative of this same desire to seem “poor”. We’re not just saying it, we’re wearing it. It’s part of the brand.
And, of course, not everyone saying they’re broke is co-opting the aesthetic of the lower class. Sometimes we just don’t have the extra $25 in our account. But being actually broke and feeling the pinch between pay cheques are two completely different things.
It’s easy for the middle class to feel like they don’t have money when they’re just not able to uphold the lifestyle they’re used to.
And it’s the middle class that plays the most criminal role in this, all wanting to give off the appearance that they’re not like the other middle-class folk.
Financial status is often treated as a dichotomy, separating rich and poor, with little acknowledgement of the in-between: the vast amount of people doing just fine.
And when you become self-supporting you realise there’s no way everyone around you could be genuinely broke. They’re still eating halloumi, getting drinks out most weekends, and occasionally buying $300 sneakers.
The most standard definition of broke is “having completely run out of money,” not “I spent last week’s student loan on a cheeseboard”.
This isn’t to say financially unstable people shouldn’t get to enjoy these same delights as everyone else, but this lack of a grey area has evolved the idea that being middle-class or in an average income bracket is something to hide. Because if you’re open about being financially comfortable, others might conclude that you have a lot of money. Everyone is trying to sweep their wealth under the rug so people don’t assume they’ve had an easy ride.
And all of these concerns are embarrassingly middle-class compared to the concerns of anyone coming out of actual generational poverty.
On top of ostracising the truly underprivileged, all this avoidance creates a misleading image of what’s normal. We see this concealed wealth a lot in Aotearoa with young people buying houses – headlines claiming that they put their heads down and worked until you find “with some help from their parents” six paragraphs down.
The negative impact of this is a society that is desensitised to the idea of brokeness and ultimately overlooks the existence of people who are genuinely on the poverty line.
If everyone is saying they’re broke, we might fail to recognise when people genuinely need assistance.
If we were all just a little more honest we’d have a far clearer picture of how to survive in this world – and how everyone else is genuinely keeping afloat.
You’re allowed to complain about money, but complain transparently.
And shut the fuck up the next time you go to say “I’m broke” when what you really mean is you’re unwilling to tuck into your $10k savings account to buy a croissant.
Rachel Barker is a writer / producer at VICE NZ in Aotearoa. You can find her @rachellydiab on IG and Letterboxd and see her film criticism on YouTube.
The post Stop Saying You’re ‘Broke’ When You’re Not appeared first on VICE.
