Money Mindset | Dayo’s Take
You probably think this is one of those generic posts about how to manage your money. I can assure it is not. Mostly because I’m broke, which subsequently means I have no money to manage. Instead, let’s talk about my complicated relationship with money.
Young Dayo
(What a great rap name that would be.) As a first-generation Nigerian-American, I grew up consistently caught between two worlds — my friends’ world and my parents’ world. At school, you know how it is. The first day of school, you wear your freshest fit to stunt on ’em. (Who was ‘em? Unclear.) A lot of popularity stemmed from who had the $2.25 to splurge on Fruitopia and Ronzio’s Pizza instead of eating the basic ass sloppy joes. Little ‘ole me heard the term allowance and thought parents were supposed to give their kids money for treats and shit at school.
The first time I asked my dad for an allowance, he laughed like this. I felt that laugh in my soul.
The first time I asked my mom for an allowance, my mom told me the longest back-in-my-day story of all-time.
“Allowance? You want me to give you money for being useless? For getting a C+ on your tests? You don’t even work. You don’t know how good you have it. In Nigeria, every day we would go 10 miles to go fetch water BEFORE SCHOOL.” (This is typically where I would roll my eyes and get slapped.)
With le pressure to flex and with parents who didn’t understand why I would complain I didn’t have enough, I learned to be hella frugal. I would stretch out monies I got from Christmas until my birthday, which is a week before school starts. Then I would stretch out the monies I got from my birthday until Christmas. Cycle. Rinse. Repeat. It’s nothing short of a miracle that I would stretch $75 across eight months, while also being able to get the mystery flavor Airheads if I wanted to. Net net, I learned to ball on a budget.
Today Dayo
But now, I have money. Allegedly. It’s actually a very interesting exercise to think about your time back in college. We was broke. Broke broke. Broke Phi Broke. We ain’t got it! broke. Despite working part-time 15–20 hours a week, I had enough money for gas, food AND alcohol. Not that weak shit. No Natty Lights. No Burnett’s. Only zhe finest for my team. That’s right. We was swimming in Blue Moons and Bacardi Limon. Looking back, it doesn’t really make sense how I stretched it so far. But then, I graduated college. And got an adult job. I thought I was rich rich, but I was still hood rich.
Mo’ money, mo’ problems is cliche, but so true. (Fun fact: When I was a youth, I thought this song’s chorus said “the more brothers we come across, the more problems we see.” I was predisposed to women complaining about us black men.)
As someone who now lives in New York, I feel like I don’t need to convince you how broke I am. The cost of living is well documented, but it’s not even the bills that get you. Are rent prices high? Yes. Have I been in sandboxes bigger than my current apartment? Also yes. But it’s the other stuff you gotta be mindful of. It’s the random night out at a 4-star restaurant with the #TurnUp after that gets you. As philosopher Drake once said: I’m here for a good time, not a long time. It is very easy to get caught up in feeling obligated to take advantage of all New York has to offer, pero that’s why I started budgeting recently. I love you Seamless, but had to cut back on takeout. Having my fun, but doing it in moderation. If you take nothing away from this long ass paragraph, it’s that last sentence. (Alternative solutions: make more money. I am still working on that one.)
Future Dayo
I hope to be I-used-to-be-a-Democrat-but-now-I-am-a-Republican rich. So I will definitely be on my Michael Scott, Scott’s Tots, sike dummy shit. On my Michael Jordan, fuck them kids shit. That’s future me. The end.
