We're All Walking Around With Money Dysmorphia and Nobody Wants to Talk About It

So I'm sitting in a coffee shop in the West Village (yes, the one with the $8 oat lattes that I definitely can't afford but keep buying anyway), and I overhear this conversation between two women who are clearly doing well. Designer bags, fresh blowouts, the whole nine yards. One of them says, "I'm basically broke," while pulling out an Amex Platinum to pay. And it hits me: we're all living in some twisted financial reality where nobody actually knows if they're rich, poor, or somewhere in that messy middle that doesn't exist on Instagram.

Here's the thing that's been eating at me lately: 43% of Gen Z and 41% of millennials are walking around with what they're now calling "money dysmorphia." It's this mind-bending split-screen view of reality where your bank account says one thing but your brain is convinced of something entirely different. We're talking about people with six-figure salaries convinced they're one paycheck away from disaster. People with healthy 401(k)s who won't splurge on the good olive oil. People who can afford therapy but won't book the appointment because "it's too expensive" (meanwhile, that therapy could literally help them process their money trauma, but I digress).

Google searches for "money dysmorphia" are up 136% in the UK alone. In the US, nearly a third of Americans are experiencing it. Like body dysmorphia, but for your bank account. And honestly? It makes perfect sense. We've been so thoroughly mindfucked by social media, comparison culture, and the constant barrage of "you're not doing enough" messaging that we've lost all sense of financial reality.

Okay so get this: nine out of 10 workers making £100,000 or more don't consider themselves "well off," despite being in the top 4% of UK earners. The highest earners literally have the biggest blind spot. Most British people underestimate their earnings by 30% relative to others. Like, we're all walking around thinking we're poorer than we actually are.

But here's where it gets really twisted: people who ARE doing well don't even know it. I have friends making $150k who still check their bank balance with the same anxiety as when they were making $40k. The number changed, but the feeling didn't. They're still shopping their groceries like they're on a college budget, still turning down dinner invites because "money's tight," still wearing that coat from 2018 that's literally falling apart at the seams.

And before you come at me with "must be nice to make $150k"... that's exactly my point. We're all so busy looking up at who has more that we can't even recognize our own wins. It's like we're permanently stuck in scarcity mode, no matter how much the numbers grow.

Here's the uncomfortable truth nobody wants to acknowledge: most of our money anxiety has nothing to do with actual money. It's about control. It's about safety. It's about that deep, primal fear that we're going to end up alone, eating cat food in a studio apartment (why is it always cat food in these scenarios?).

The causes run deep. Past money trauma, societal pressures, economic crises, childhood issues. Growing up, if your family was perpetually strapped for cash, you develop this innate fear that it could all be lost in an instant. My parents would stress about money even when things were fine. That energy? It sticks to you like cheap perfume. You carry it into every salary negotiation, every purchase decision, every time you hover over "add to cart."

Social media just poured gasoline on this particular fire. We're either watching people spend like celebrities or doom-scrolling through articles about how we'll never afford a house. There's no middle ground. No normal. Just extremes that leave us feeling simultaneously behind and reckless with every financial decision.

The constant tug-of-war between financial reality and perception is making us act wild. Some people overspend, believing they have more than they do. Others become overly frugal, making drastic cutbacks even when they're financially secure. I know someone who makes $200k and still splits two-ply toilet paper to make it last longer. That's not budgeting, babe. That's trauma.

The tell-tale signs are everywhere if you know what to look for. Constantly worrying about finances no matter what's in your account. Always feeling like you're on the verge of financial ruin. Hoarding money because you never feel like you have enough. Or swinging the other way with impulsive spending, retail therapy, lifestyle creep that you immediately regret.

Therapists are saying these warped perceptions of money are regularly at the crux of anxiety and depression. It's not just about the money. It's about what the money represents: security, freedom, worthiness, success. When your perception is distorted, everything else gets distorted too.

Look, I'm not going to hit you with some toxic positivity about manifesting abundance or whatever. But there are actual things that help. Track your finances objectively (yes, actually look at the real numbers, not the scary ones in your head). Challenge those negative money beliefs that your anxiety brain loves to scream at 3am. Set realistic financial goals, not the impossible ones Instagram told you to have.

Find an accountability buddy who can call you out when you're being delusional about money in either direction. Use separate savings pots for different purposes because apparently our brains need visual proof that we're not one Target run away from bankruptcy. And for the love of god, unfollow any social media accounts that make you feel financially inadequate. That includes the "I made $30k this month, here's how" girlies and the "just bought my third investment property at 25" bros.

Balance is key, even though that word makes me want to roll my eyes so hard they fall out. It's okay to spend on necessities and things that bring joy. Financial caution is good, but not when it's making you cry in the Whole Foods parking lot because you bought the name-brand cereal.

We need to start having real conversations about money without the shame, without the performance, without the constant comparison. Because this distorted, insidious, obsessive relationship with money? It's not serving any of us. And the first step to fixing it is admitting we're all walking around with our own version of financial delusion.

Now excuse me while I go check my bank balance for the fifteenth time today, even though nothing has changed since this morning. Old habits, you know?

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