I Want to be Kanye Rich
Or, you know, even like a couple thousand dollars would suit me just fine.
I don’t think I’ve touched 53 million dollars in my entire lifetime. The number itself is mind boggling — I grew up in a household where the annual income for most of my life was around seventy-five thousand and the money in the savings account was less than I got for my birthday. I haven’t seen a bank account balance over 16 thousand dollars (that was my college one, by the way. Now gone because an education is a prerequisite to surviving). So to think 53 million dollars exists, and Kanye apparently spent that kind of money, is just a bit infuriating.
The stars we watch on television and ogle at in magazines aren’t like us, despite what People tells you. They might go grocery shopping at Trader Joe’s (which is out of my budget) and bring their kids to the park, but that’s the end of comparing them. I love the likes of Taylor Swift and Blake Lively but they can fly around the world at whim while I have to calculate in my head how long I’d have to save for an economy seat — forget leaving the country, I don’t have enough money to go to Nevada.
So Kanye tweeting he was in debt and needing a billion dollars didn’t make me feel sympathy because he’s an artist. It pissed me off because I, too, am an artist: I write to survive, but I also apply to over twenty jobs a day looking so I don’t have to move away from the first and only city I love. Adidas isn’t sponsoring me so I can become a fashion designer and I certainly don’t have the platform to tell Mark Zuckerberg I’d like his cash so I can live. But you know what, Kanye? That’s okay, because you then admitted you weren’t personally in-debt since you buy houses and furs. One of Kim’s choker necklaces can pay my way through next year, and you’re talking about debt?
I, along with millions of other young adults, am struggling to make more than a thousand dollars a month. The debt we pay off is what’s supposed to help us further in life: our credit cards help us buy essentials when we don’t have the money to, our college education is supposed to give us higher wages and easier hours. Not to mention after 4 years of struggling, the only offers we get are unpaid internships by business that won’t give us full-time positions later one. This is what debt looks like, Kanye: crying because you can’t make rent, or stressing because you have a hundred obligations, buying textbooks on borrowed money, and slaving over a job that barely pays you with a boss you hate.
You can rant all you want about our broken education system but we already know. It’s not news, Kanye West, it’s just a sad fact that we deal with because none of us are famous. None of us get record deals, or have shows at Madison Square Garden. The chance of becoming famous is too big of a risk, which is why LA is packed with burdened waitresses, janitors, and homeless people who tried going there for a better chance. The fame and fortune of the celebrities we love today is built off the backs of the people who didn’t get lucky enough to make it. They know about debt, Kanye. Your furs and cars and houses are just hilarious, ridiculous dreams to those of us who are trying to afford groceries.
I want to be Kanye rich. 53 million dollars in debt when you make 30 million a year. That means you can pay it off in five years and not lose any of your houses, furs, cars, etc. I would be lucky to have my BA, a job, and a mountain of debt in five years. Hell, I would be lucky if I just had a job. I wish I was so rich I could have a debt that wasn’t even my own debt, you feel me? I wish I was Kanye rich.
Kanye tries relate to us by Tweeting his woes and wishing he had more money. But here’s the thing, Kanye: you aren’t struggling for anything. You have enough money to pay your bills and achieve your dreams, whereas the rest of us have to choose what we’re willing to forgo. That doesn’t make me relate to you, Kanye. It just makes me hate you for being rich.